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thethousandyearwitch · 3 years

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Fatal Taste

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw. “Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.” -----------

Ging Freecss has been summoned by his elusive pen-pal Pariston Hill, to examine his claim of a rare and unheard of art collection. Even despite the warnings and difficulties on the way, he was not prepared for what awaited him at the artful mansion.

M-Rated; Vampire!Pariston Hill x Art Appraiser!Ging Freecss.

AO3 Link!

It was the height of summer, as a horse drawn carriage made its way into a small valley village, about 8 miles off the coast, 20 miles from the country’s capital. The sky was mostly clear, and hungry crows on fenceposts watched the carriage pass between grazing fields. The carriage itself didn’t carry a heavy load, just some imported goods from the harbour destined to be sold in the capital, the carriage driver, and a stranger to the country, with messy black hair and rough beard stubble, who had asked for a lift. During the ride he kept mostly quiet, though he introduced himself as “Ging Freecss”.

As they reached the village’s main plaza, the man hopped of the carriage, and bid the driver goodbye with a thanks and some money he had pulled from his trousers, seemingly with no mind paid to how much he was actually giving out.

There wasn’t much to this town, a couple rows of houses with dusted windows, a quaint pub with a few tables decked outside, one of which was occupied by an elderly couple, and a shrine to a local god adorned with candles and food offerings. Ging decided to sit down for a brief rest at the pub, grateful to take refuge in the shade of a sun umbrella next to the tables.

After a short while, a short and stout young woman greeted him and offered him a menu, though he knew well that all he wanted to order was a cold beer. And his wish got fulfilled, as she returned quickly with half a litre of local beer and some trail mix in a bowl. The waitress spoke up with a bubbly voice. “We don’t get many outsiders, sir, you’ve must have had quite a trip. Are you on your way to the capital?”

Ging took a large gulp of his drink before he replied, welcomed the cool chill that chased down his throat. “Ah, No, though I heard it’s a beautiful old city. I’m here to appraise someone’s art collection. Do you think you could help me find an address, actually?” He handed the waitress a neatly folded letter and pointed at the sender’s address. She mustered the handwriting closely before gasping lightly.

“That’s mister Hill’s manor! How do you know him, sir?”

At the same time, the old man at the other table turned around with a stern look. “You must not go there if you value your life, son.”

“I’ve only been in correspondence with him over letters, and though he seems like a weird fellow, I doubt that his antics will cost me my life.” Ging laughed with a rough voice, though the man’s stare didn’t waver.

“He’s a strange and dangerous man. I’ve heard of women visiting him and never returning.”

“Maybe they liked it there so much that they didn’t want to leave! I’ve met him before, he was real polite and friendly, even invited me to his home. But my parents would have killed me if I’d gone out that late in the night.” The waitress sighed wistfully.

“Do you insist to go, young man?” Now the old lady spoke up, her voice sounded sore and stutter-y.

“I’m here to do a job, and if his collection is the real thing, then I’d hate to miss it. But I’ll be quick, probably on my way back to the harbour by the end of the evening.”

The old woman stood up and walked with slow steps over to him, before insistingly grabbing at his hand and pulling him up from his seat. “Come pray then, boy.”

“Ma’am, really, I will be fine, I- I am a grown man- “She pushed him towards the shrine and signalled for him to kneel. “I’m not very religious, y’know- “

“Nonsense, in the face of danger, every man can turn towards any god. Let me pray over you.” Ging rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue with an elderly woman, being beaten with a cane can teach you that lesson. “Dear Gods, watching high above, protect this soul who has strayed from his dedicated path. Guide him to safety and be the shining armour that repels any and all mischievous evils. Assist him in making his judgement, and forgive him for his faults, as we forgive as well. Hold him tight within your hand until he may part which his earthly body to meet you once again.”

Ging waited and listened to the eerie prayer until she removed her hand from his shoulder. “Say, Auntie, a couple rumours don’t turn a man into a monster, do they?”

“People have gone missing in the woods around the mansion. The house itself, it’s always been known to home something evil, for centuries. You youngsters are not in touch anymore with recognizing something malevolent even if it were to spit in your face.”

That cryptic message- or insult- still couldn’t convince Ging not to head towards his destination. Afterall, something like evil spirits couldn’t be real, or else he’d be haunted twice over after disturbing crypts and burial sites, places of worship and sacrifice, the last remains of civilisations long gone. Not once did he think about ghosts or monsters taking revenge.

This ‘Pariston Hill’ was no monster, but most likely just a pretentious man with too much money, feigning interest in art without understanding their purpose and meaning.

Ging asked the waitress again about the address, and she explained a step-by-step on which road he had to hike up to reach the manor. He left her a tip, bid farewell to the old couple, and started to head up the hill road, burlap sack with a few travel belongings over his shoulder.

The road quickly turned from sturdy cobblestone to dirt as he walked, the surrounding forest grew thicker and unkempt around the trail. The woods were quiet except for the occasional crow-cry and wing flutters in the tree crowns. Sweat made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, his hair frizzed due to the humidity. He was an experienced hiker, but he still was sure that anyone who decided to build a mansion only accessible via dirt road was a sadist.

But as much as Ging craved refreshment from the heat again, the subtle static in the air and the increase of tiny insects flying around hinted at something unwelcomed: A summer storm was brewing. It wasn’t unusual for this part of the country, but it could certainly throw him off his schedule.

“Please, anything but- “Ging tried to plead to whatever deity in these parts might be responsible for weather, however he was interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, followed by booming thunder, and finally cold rain. “Asshole.”

After a half-hearted jog through the rain and mud that would soak him head to toe, dim lights of a fenced in mansion came into view. A lit oil lamp illuminated an unlocked gate, and a gold-plated sign with fancy curled letters that spelled ‘Pariston Hill’. Ging didn’t second guess the open gate and let himself in, eager to get out from under the downpour. As the gate creaked open, he could have sworn he saw a cat that scurried around the corner, but it was gone before he could have been sure. An orange brick path led directly to the main entrance of the house, adorned on either side with well-kept lawn, hedges cut into elaborate shapes, and exotic flowers that Ging had seen in other countries and continents. The entrance was made up of two large solid wood doors, intricate floral carvings, and two iron door knockers that seemed to be decades old but kept in good shape.

But as the rain seeped deeper into his clothes, Ging disregarded the aged architecture and gave the door a few heavy knocks. Through the rain he tried to listen for a response or approaching footsteps, in vain. And yet without any warning, the door clicked, creaked, and slowly opened. Bright light from inside illuminated the outside area of the entrance. In the middle of the light, there he stood.

He seemed a bit taller than Ging, a perfect posture as if practiced. His hair stood out even against the equally golden light, and he wore a vermillion suit, most likely more expensive than the entirety of Gings closet combined. For some reason, the term ‘handsome devil’ came to mind.

For a second, the man looked down on him with a serious, even hostile expression, before he gave a pleasant smile in recognition. “Ging Freecss, I assume? Seems like you had a refreshing journey here.” He leisurely held out a hand, which Ging immediately took for a hearty handshake, subtly making sure that rain splatter from his hand and sleeve would scatter.

“I do enjoy a good hike, and a free shower is a free shower.” He flashed a determined grin, and Pariston removed himself from the man’s cold and clammy grip, still smiling though disgust flashed within his dark eyes. He stepped a bit to the side and made an exaggerated hand motion to invite Ging to step inside the manor.

The entrance hall was lit with a large crystal chandelier and a warm fireplace at the other side of the room, with two red velvet seats facing the fire. Marble floor was covered with a long red carpet, while the walls were adorned with classical paintings. Just at a glance Ging could tell they weren’t imitations.

“Ging- If you allow me to address you so intimately,” Pariston started, though he didn’t wait for an answer before he continued, “Ging, I’ve been anxiously looking forward to your visit. Now, I could have always called a local appraiser to come and do their job, but I sense a sort of passion within you that I’m sure won’t disappoint me.” He flashed another smile, though far from genuine as his stare and tone dripped with mockery.

“Well, usually I would have declined to come such a long way on a shallow request of a pen-pal, but it would be a shame to let the outrageous claim of a complete Ushiromiya portrait collection go unchecked. Where’s the goods?” Ging leisurely started to press out the water that had soaked into his clothes, directly onto the red carpet below. In any other case he may have shown an art collector more respect, but the smug aura of this man, which had already seeped through any and all letters he had ever received of him, pushed Gings buttons in all the wrong ways.

“I’d think a professional appraiser such as yourself wouldn’t want to examine rare paintings in such a condition that you’re in. It would be a shame if you were to get some dirt on them. Why don’t you go ahead and have a shower, while I retrieve the paintings from their safe?”

“I’m pretty confident in my ability to spot a forgery from a safe distance.”

“I’d be a terrible host if you were to catch a cold.”

“Never been sick in my life, now, I insist- “

“This is my humble home, and they are my paintings, Ging. I am the one who insists. And after all, a free shower is a free shower, isn’t it?” Pariston approached him and took clear advantage of his height, looking down at his visitors with an overly polite smile. Ging had never backed down from a challenge, however, his curiosity about the paintings had increased more and more as he looked around the mansion and noticed more authentic art and architecture. If Pariston Hill had truly come into possession of a rare collection, he didn’t want to deprive the world of this discovery just because he refused to take a shower.

“Alright then, but I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll generously lend you some of my attire, though I won’t make any promises about it fitting someone of your stature.” Pariston laughed lightly as he proceeded to push Ging towards another room down the hall. “Use any towels, soaps, and the likes as you please, be my guest~”

The washroom Ging got ushered into was equipped with a marble sink, a spacious shower, and a white cabinet that held towels of different sizes and colours. It was clean, maybe too clean, as he could find no trace of this room being used…ever. No water stains on the faucet or at the shower tiles, no used toiletries. Most likely it was a washroom just for guests, and he didn’t want to think about the over-the-top luxury that must hide in the master bathroom.

As he pulled his water-heavy clothes off his body, cold air hit his damp skin, there was a knock on the door. “I’ve got your change of clothes~ I’m sure you’ll like these even more than your regular attire.”

“What am I supposed to do about my clothes? I assume you don’t want me to leave them on the floor to rot?” He cautiously pressed one shoulder against the door, just in case his strange host would get any ideas.

“If you insist to keep them, I can hang them to dry by the fire.”

“You mean ‘dry’, and not ‘burn’, right?”

There was a moment of hesitation, before another light laugh echoed through the door. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

“I’ve been told it’s rude to insult a host. Thanks for the clothes!” Ging quickly opened the door just enough that he could fit his arms through, grabbed the neatly folded pile of fresh laundry, and dropped his soaked clothes into Paristons still extended arms, before he shut the door and clicked the lock. He could hear the sound of the clothes hitting the floor with a wet noise and snickered to himself.

After a long, warm shower, Ging tried his best to towel dry his hair, though in the end he opted to just slick it back. The clothes Pariston had picked out for him were simple, though not necessarily his style: Black slacks, and a white button up that didn’t seem to fit quite right, thus opting to roll up the sleeves just below his elbows and tuck most of the shirt into the pants. He kept the three most top buttons unbuttoned, because he had always hated the stuffy feelings of suits and dress shirts. The faint smell of cologne that wasn’t his stuck to the clothes, but he pretended not to notice. It smelled of cinnamon.

He exited the bathroom, towels discarded in the sink for whoever to clean up, only to find Pariston at the fireplace, Gings clothes neatly folded over the velvet chairs, as he held a small piece of paper. A picture.

“What an adorable baby!”

Ging approached him with quick step and snatched the picture out of his hands at an admirable speed. “Do you usually go through your guests’ belongings or am I a special case?”

“My, I was merely picking up something that fell out of your pockets. Is it your child?”

“What if he was?” Ging glanced over his spread-out clothes, suspicious of any tempering that might have been done.

“He certainly looks like you, if not as, how do you say,” Pariston waved his hand around as if he were to grab a word out of thin air, “bellicose.”

“Whatever that is supposed to mean. He’s my son; since you’re so curious.”

“Well, well~ Congratulations to you and your- “Pariston glanced at Gings hands, before he made eye contact again, prying smile “wife?”

“No such woman exists. Did you invite me here to pry in person about my life, or do I actually get to see the art?”

“Just making casual conversation. But since you are less of a hazard now, I’d love to see you go to work.”

“Don’t throw me out when you have to face the hard truth, though.” He shuffled through his light luggage to retrieve some appraisal tools, then followed Pariston Hill up a wooden staircase that opened to a long hallway of unmarked doors, and the walls here too were lined with paintings. Some were simple landscapes; others elaborate portraits of different eras. A couple of the artists seemed familiar, though most of them seemed to come from absurd sources or lacked an artist’s signature at all. He stopped in front of one particular painting: A painting of this very mansion. It was yellowed with age, and the edges that poked out from its golden frame seemed worn out and somewhat burned. A signature at the very bottom read in cursive ‘P.H.’ and a date around 50 years back. “Huh?”

“Ging~ Here please.” Pariston held a door open, this time with a smile that seemed almost painful with how his teeth were clenched. Ging decided not to question it, and followed his host into a dim room, packed with various dusted boxes and furniture covered in blankets. At the very end stood a row of aged easels holding up paintings.

“Think they will look more genuine in the dark?” he joked dryly, but his eccentric host flicked on a gas lamp in the row with a fool’s confidence, and-

The room lit up and Ging faced four stunning paintings.

He had studied the previously only known Ushiromiya painting painstakingly when he was still just an apprentice. He learned the way the brush strokes had been made in deliberate ways, burned the colour choices into the back of his eyelids, knew the exact curvature of the one-winged eagle that adorned its signature.

These paintings were real. There was no other explanation.

He went up close, examined the texture, searched for any mistakes in disbelief. But each one was flawless.

“And? Did I waste your time?” Pariston stood a couple feet back, arms crossed, and head tilted.

“They are real… Pariston, this is ground-breaking!” Ging spun around, his face a mix of bewilderment and pure joy. This joy only doubled when Pariston clapped his hands together and seemed to be just as elated.

“Wonderful! Simply splendid!”

“We might be some of the only people alive to have ever seen these!” Ging enthusiastically grabbed Parison by the shoulders, his mind was racing with potential studies he could write on these paintings and the way their existence was to alter history. “How did you get these?”

“They were given to my family by the original artists; So I’ve been told.” A mysterious smile, almost melancholy danced on his lips, before he gave another flash of his shining teeth. “I never doubted their authenticity, but I couldn’t keep their existence to myself, could I?”

Ging gave an enthusiastic slap on Paristons shoulder, feeling for the first time like the two of them shared a surprising, genuine connection. “Will you donate them to a museum? Try to contact the family of the Artist? Or the remaining Ushiromiya family members?”

“I will keep them here. Maybe hang them in my study. Now, would you care for a meal, Ging?”

“What?”

Pariston had already walked back to the door and flicked off the light, his silhouette only illuminated by the faint lights in the hallway. “I’ve let my chef prepare us a meal. I assume you don’t get asked for dinner often then.” He chuckled.

“I thought you didn’t want to keep their existence to yourself!”

“And I didn’t. You know about them now. Exciting, isn’t it?” He chuckled once again, before he disappeared into the hallway.

Ging weighed his option if he were to grab the paintings and escape into the night, but the storm still raged on outside, and he couldn’t safely juggle 4 large canvases all the way to the harbour or capital by himself.

For now, all he really could do was to find a way to convince Pariston to change his mind, through persuasion, threats, or force. Maybe if he were to get some outside forces to apply pressure, he recalled his colleague in forensics, Cheadle, owed him a favour.

He stepped into the hallway and quickly fell into step besides Pariston. “Dinner would be lovely, I’m sure, unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule, so I’d rather get going. I could write you a certificate of authenticity for the collection, though I’d need a second appraiser for the process. My good colleague Miss Yorkshire would be thrilled to visit, I’d think.”

Pariston came to a halt, ran his hand through his messy blond streaks of hair with a sigh. “Oh, Ging, I simply can’t let you continue in this weather. No ship will sail under these conditions, and the way to the capital is prone to mudslides. I don’t want to be complicit in your accidental death.” Ging was about to argue before he was cut off once again. “As for your colleague, you can gladly summon miss Cheadle Yorkshire here, though we’ve never been on very good terms.”

“Wh- How do you know her?”

“Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”

Ging expected to be taken to a large dining hall with a table set for a dozen people, but in the end, they entered a separate room adjacent to it, with a medium scale dining table only decked for two. Unlike the other rooms in the house, this one was lit with multiple candles in elaborate holders -17thcentury bronze, Ging thought – and a phonograph was playing a concert recording. The men took their seats at opposed ends of the table, Ging sat with a natural comfort and slack, as if any seat he claimed was immediately his own with no regard to manners or humility; Pariston sat with seemingly practiced confidence and superiority as he made a show of crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. A confidence that irritated Ging to no end.

“Must be lonely to usually eat by yourself in this large, dusty room, huh?”

“I keep company one way or another.” Pariston spread a napkin on his lap, though the twitch of his eyebrow indicated his true annoyance with Gings remark.

Just then the door from the hallway opened, and a tall man in a chef’s uniform entered, as he pushed a small silver cart stacked with dishes. As he stepped closer, Ging noticed strange markings around his eyes, though there was no telling if they were tattoos or merely makeup. “Good evening,” he mumbled, in a voice unlikely for a man of his tall stature, “tonight’s meal is wagyu rump steak with rice and garlic Bok choy, served with a bottle of mister Hills personal wine selection.” After Pariston nodded in approval, the tall man started to serve the plates and poured two glasses of deep red wine.

“Don’t tell me you eat like this every day.”

“Of course not~ I prefer Kobe Fillet. I was trying to be mindful of less acquainted tastes.”

“You’re right, I don’t eat beef a lot. I prefer fish, but I understand that not everyone can get their hands on bluefin tuna.”

“Maybe I will let it be prepared for next time.”

“Is it that lonely up here that you’re already inviting me to another dinner?”

“I just assumed you’d appreciate the company, without a significant other and the fact that your child is most likely not under your care.”

The men exchanged challenging looks. Pariston still had a polite smile, though he started to lean forward in his chair like a predator about to pounce, while Ging couldn’t keep an irritated smirk form his lips. The tension was only interrupted by the chef, who cleared his throat and told the men to enjoy their meals. Just then the sweet and savoury smell of the food hit Ging, and he couldn’t deny the hunger that had built itself up.

Pariston lifted his own wine glass up, red liquid sparkled in the candlelight. “To the most interesting guest who has found his way into my home.”

In response, the man in question raised his own glass, though with less bravado and more at leisure. “To the Ushiromiya collection and their questionable owner.”

Both of the men started drink from their wine, though Ging noticed Paristons eyes on him, as if he awaited a reaction. The wine was sweet on Gings tongue, it lacked the usual sting that wine would give him once he swallowed.

“How is it?”

“Could be worse. You’ve got a lot of time on your hands to even make your own wine.”

The blond started to cut off a piece of his meal, and took a small bite, never breaking eye contact. “I am a man that easily gets bored. I need a lot of hobbies.”

“That makes two of us.”

They ate mostly in silence, music from the phonograph kept the atmosphere light. Ging hadn’t realized just how hungry he was, until he finally ate enough and the lingering knot in his stomach loosened. He emptied his plate in what felt like record time, no regard for table manners, and drank more wine while Pariston ate at a patient (and reasonable) pace. After his third glass, he was expecting the normal pleasant buzz that alcohol gave him, in vain.

“You still need to explain to me how you and Cheadle are acquainted.” He poured himself another glass, which Pariston seemed to approve.

“We have met a couple years prior, at a theatre opening in the city, hosted by Sir Netero. A friend of a friend, so to say. Unfortunately, people like us aren’t meant to get along. I offered her a dance out of curtesy, but I felt like she might have mauled me if I insisted.”

Ging laughed lightly, “She does have a temperament. I can’t imagine her being much of a dancer.”

“Saying something like that about a lady isn’t very nice, especially considering the same could be said about you.”

“Bold assumption, with no evidence.”

“You don’t look like you’d have the grace required for dancing.”

“I may not get invited to many balls, but I’ve known myself around a couple dancing events.”

“Are you willing to prove yourself?” Pariston got up from his seat, walked over to Ging, and as the phonograph started to play another orchestra song, he extended his hand to him. “May I have this dance?”

The shorter man hesitated, but unable to admit defeat to the other, he took the hand and immediately got pulled into the starting position for a Viennese Waltz, his right hand in Paristons, his left rested on the others upper arm; Paristons right hand rested on Gings shoulder-blade. As they started to move, Ging had to concentrate hard to not look at his feet, seeing as it would be an admission to not being confident in his steps, though locking eyes with the other man stirred something uncomfortable within him. He couldn’t clearly remember the last time he had danced with someone else, so the closeness of it felt foreign. As the music continued, they waltzed through the room, at first only in the ‘natural box’, though soon Pariston led them to side whisks and natural turns, a steadily increased pace.

“I do have to admit, you’re better at this than I initially thought.” Pariston smiled.

“You shouldn’t judge a book so easily by its cover.”

“You shouldn’t forget who has the lead.” Before Ging could question the statement, he was dipped low as the orchestral music seemed to reach its climax, hands immediately grabbing for more hold before he’d meet the ground. In the end, he clung to Paristons shoulders in a move that lacked grace but not force. The other man meanwhile had let go of his shoulder-blade, and instead had both hands secure at Gings waist. “Afraid I would drop you?”

“It’s what I would have done.”

The two men laughed and stood themselves up straight once again, but their hands remained where they were, whether it was a conscious decision or not. A slower song started, the name of it at the tip of Gings tongue, and as he pondered it, he may not have even noticed that they started a slow dance together. It was a simple three-step, and Pariston would occasionally close his eyes to hum along to the music, uncaring of the closer contact between him and the other man; The longer it went on, so did Ging.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to dance.”

“Maybe the alcohol made me more susceptible to idiocy.”

“There was no alcohol in that wine, Ging. Or at least not enough, to get you anywhere near an inebriated state.” He chuckled.

“A wine without alcohol can barely call itself a wine. What is in it, then?”

“I wonder if you can guess~”

Ging thought about it for a minute, determined to prove himself better once again. “It was very sweet, but too water-y to just be crushed fruit.” This only elicited a humoured ‘Mhm’. “I think it is a process of combining younger wine with some sort of flavoured tea.”

“Incorrect, but a good try~”

“What is it then?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ging rolled his eyes, but continued their slow dance, as he got used to the hands on his waist that occasionally tapped their fingers to the music. “Keeping secrets must be another of your hobbies. The wine, the portraits…” He trailed off when he realized that Pariston inched closer; He smiled, self-satisfied, dark eyes focused solely on the other. Suddenly Ging felt the blood in his veins run cold, like faced with a predator in the woods, his heart was beating in this throat. Every nerve in his body started to feel shocked and screamed to run. But he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. And so, he stood still when Paristons ghostly cold hand cradled the side of his face as if another rare piece of art. When Ging didn’t flinch away from the touch, the blond placed a first kiss just on the corner of the others mouth. Then another. And another. Until Ging turned his head just enough to connect their lips.

Paristons lips were soft and faintly tasted of that sweet wine, with each kiss his hold on the others waist would tighten, like he was afraid he’d turn and run. But instead, the shorter man wrapped his arms around the blonds’ neck, even a tad eager to press his tongue between his lips, to be closer, to taste more. Every new connected kiss made his stomach twist in just the right way, he relished that it felt dangerous, maybe even wrong, and yet so satisfying.

After what felt like hours, though realistically it was probably a couple of minutes, their lips parted and Gings head was left spinning as Pariston continued to kiss along his jaw. But there is one thing that pulled at his mind, annoyingly so.

“Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.”

“Wha- “Suddenly a sharp, paralyzing pain shot from Gings neck to the ends of his body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, all he could do was to drive his nails deeper into the others shoulder, and let out quiet gasps. Meanwhile a thumb stroked over his cheekbone as if to soothe, the other hand on the small of his back to keep him from collapsing.

He wondered if he was going to die here, at the hands of a vampire that he’d been warned about. He wondered if he’d been deliberately seduced- did he consider himself seduced? – just to be killed.

He threaded his fingers through the vampire’s hair, with no energy to pull him away from himself, just enough to hold on. Acceptance. He felt cold.

A tongue lapped over the fresh wound on his neck, followed by a few soft kisses. The pain subsided to a dull numbness. His line of sight started to darken. Pariston cradled Gings face in his hands, lips and chin stained red. He pressed another kiss to his lips, so tender as if he had never revealed his true nature, and the shorter man but couldn’t help but huff out a laugh with the last of his strength.

“Tastes like wine.”

“Another secret revealed to you.”

The last thing Ging saw was Paristons smile and dark eyes. Then blackness.

When Ging came to, the past day felt like a distant dream. He felt no pain, only a comfortable warmth that surrounded him, and someone’s fingers that combed through his hair.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. A dim room he did not recognize, next to him a bedstand with a carafe of water and some medical tools that included gauze, needle, thread, and a dirtied scalpel. He himself was still wearing the clothes he had been presented with after his spontaneous shower. He turned his head to the other side, and there sat Pariston on the same bed, one hand in the man’s hair, the other held an aged book. At the movement, he retracted his hand in shock, before his signature smile flashed once more.

“You’re awake.”

“I’m alive.” It somewhat hurt to talk, and as he reflexively reached for his own throat, he felt a thick bandage at the side of his neck. “You kept me alive. Why?” He started to sit himself up, not wanting to be physically talked down to.

“I don’t want to be bored. You’re the first visitor I’ve had in a while that managed to keep my interest. I guess I am pretty selfish.”

“You are.” Ging reached out to brush a strand of hair from Paristons face, before gently pulling him in for a kiss. “So am I.”

He felt his stomach twist again as they kissed, so sickly sweet, and he wanted more. He deepened the kiss, drank up every relaxed sigh that came from the other, let himself be greedy and reach for more. Even though Pariston almost killed him, still could, he touched Ging like he was something treasured, close enough to not let him escape, but not enough to break him. And maybe that’s what Ging wanted, to be desired, even in a destructive, dangerous sense.

As the feeling returned to all his limbs, he took advantage of it to properly sit himself up, then straddle Paristons lap. He broke their kiss, leaving the other somewhat panting. Again, the blonds’ hand was at the side of his face, not as cold this time, and his thumb traced small circles into his cheek.

“How often have you coerced someone here, just to feed?”

Pariston closed his eyes in thought, “It would be pointless to keep count. But no one has ever made it as far as you have.”

This prompted Ging to claim the vampires’ lips with his own in a possessive kiss. Paristons free hand started to trail up and down the shorter man’s thigh; In response, Ging started to feel his way from Paristons shoulders to his chest, lean but firm muscle.

And no heartbeat.

Of course, there wouldn’t be. He was dead.

Ging thought about how, maybe in a different lifetime, the two of them could have met through different means, both alive and entirely human. He thought about the countless people that have stepped into this mansion, never to return to their families. How even he would one day pass, either through natural means or because Pariston had lost interest in his existence. Would he ever let someone else get this far, after Ging? He felt cold steel in his hand.

This time, Pariston was the first to break the kiss, only for a moan to escape his lips. By now, they had slipped further down the mattress, with Pariston flat on his back while Ging still firmly straddled his hips. He looked so human under Ging, dark eyes half lidded and even the faintest flush on his cheeks.

Ging thought about how long he could stay here. About all the paintings in this mansion and their history he could study. About shared dinners and slow dancing to orchestral music. The image of himself as a corpse, entirely dry, flashed in his mind. A wine bottle with his name written on it.

Ging took Paristons hand from his face and held it over his racing heart. “I don’t think someone else has ever done this to me.” It felt ridiculous to say but it also tasted so bitter with truth to say out loud. His other hand grasped the foreign, cold object harder.

“What an honour~” Pariston purred, and he tried to lean up to unite in another kiss before he got pushed back into the mattress.

“We are both selfish, Paris. I don’t want you to do this to anyone else. And I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

In the vampires’ eyes flashed confusion, irritation, and then the glistening object that Ging had hidden. The scalpel from the bedside table. And in his last moment, he smiled with such honesty, that it felt like it was Ging who would receive that fatal blow to the heart.

It was over in a moment.

The scalpel, with enough force, had swiftly pierced through the ribs all the way to his heart, and after a pained gasp and a bit of twitching, Pariston Hill had died.

Ging remained seated for a while; He did not move, just looked. He wondered if he should cry, if he even could if he wanted to. But in the end, he closed Paristons eyes, gave him a parting kiss on the forehead, and left.

He never told anyone about the paintings.

Never told anyone about what he experienced in the mansion.

He wanted to be selfish and keep this secret just between himself and Pariston. Forever.

#ALMOST 1 AM BUT IM FINALLY DONE HELLO PARIGING TAG <3 #Pariging #pariston hill #Ging Freecss #Hunter x hunter #fanfiction #hxh fanfiction #pariging fanfiction #vampires #pariging hxh #vampire au

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nicogayngelo · 4 years

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alright kids this is gonna be long so we’re going under a read more:

i’ve spent nearly a decade on this site, so this is a collection of people from the VERY START OF MY TUMBLR LIFE to most recent. we all know this is a hellsite, but i cannot explain how many genuine friendships i have made and how thankful i am for everyone. to everyone who have stuck w/ me from my fandom days to my one dee days, i love you all with my entire heart.

special shout outs (in no particular order):

@lovedpants: leab! you are such a gem. i love your passion for your friends, your girlfriend, and life as a whole. your typos rival mine (which is impressive). you are so supportive and make me feel so warm and i am thankful to be carrying you as one of my close friends into this new year/decade. thank you for your joy in life.

@blakebellafuckingdonna: kara. you are one of my oldest tumblr friends. you have seen me grow into who i am and i have loved having you as a friend and watching you grow as well. im so proud of where you are, and will continue being an annoying cheerleader on twitter in everything you do. i cannot wait to see where your writing takes you and you can bet your ass i will be one of the first to buy copies.

@ginnyweaslays: caitlin caitlin caitlin! you are also one of my oldest tumblr friends. your heart is something i’ve admired since the beginning of our friendship as well as your kindness. you make me feel warm as a friend and i love you so much. you are the reason izzy and i are dating (seriously) and for that, as well as your continuous friendship, i cannot thank you enough. you have the most beautiful heart, inside and out.

@alwaysxyou: miss maggie! when i say i feel like we got on from the bat, i mean it. i feel like i can go to you for anything and you’d be like “i know what you mean completely” and thats fucking beautiful. i feel so grateful to have you (and the rest of midwest gays) in my life. your passion and love in life is so beautiful and you deserve all the good things in life. thank you (and megan) for accepting me into your life and i cannot wait for tequlia and taylor swift and dancing and all good things in 2020.

@polithicc: ana! my darling. i am so glad izzy brought you into my life. you are one of the funniest people i’ve ever met. your dedication makes me want to be a better person. youre one of the best friends ive ever met and you know you always have a place at our house. your typos and crying selfies get me through the day and i want to give you all the hugs always. thank you for being one of my favorite people and i cannot see where this next decade takes you because you are going so so so far and going to do such amazing things.

@littlelouies: mISS MEGAN! you make my heart feel so warm. you have one of the most beautiful souls ive ever met. i love your kindness and how f u n n y you are. you (and maggie) accepting me into your life means so much to me and i constantly feel surrounded by love in the midwest gays chat. i cherish our friendship more than you know. you deserve the world and i cannotcannot wait to meet you and mr morris and maggie this upcoming year!

@dimpledgucci: samm. thank you for accepting me into mario karts sdfdhsgf. i love you so much and want nothing but the best for you. im speaking it into existence - we’re gonna do disneyland together and new orleans together soon. but honestly, your love of animals is so beautiful and i think you are one of the funniest people and have a big heart to match. you are wonderful and i am grateful to have become your friend.

@kkazbreker: mandy mandy mandy. probably my second oldest tumblr friend. you and i didn’t call each other soulmates for no reason - you just get me. i know i can go to you after any amount of time and you’ll be there, cheering me on, and the same goes the other way. you have grown so much since i’ve first met you and im so so grateful to have been your friend along the journey. and i cannot wait to hold your first book in my hand, crying over how you did it. i love you so much and cannot wait to carry our friendship to the new decade.

@herravenboys: megha! my dear heart. i also love you so much and am sO proud of everything you’ve accomplished since we’ve become friends. i love your heart and dedication. you make me so proud to be your friend. and i love that you (like mandy) are someone i know i can always go to, no matter the time in between everything, and vice versa. you have such a sweet soul and i cannot wait to cheer you on through med school and watch you continue to flourish in the new decade.

@xoziva: liv! you are one of the sweetest people i’ve met. thank you for accepting me into mario kart and your friend group. i am so excited to see where this new decade takes you and cannot wait to be cheering you along the way. thank you for always checking in on me/sending me happy things when im down - youre such a sweetheart and i want to give you the biggest hug always. i love you so much.

@thesparklemoji: liz! you and i are one and the same. i love that we started talking and just havent shut the fuck up. you are so warm, so kind, and so encouraging in everything i do and i cant thank you enough for that. your endless love is so inspiring and i cant thank you enough for your friendship. i love YOU! so MUCH.

@wallsvinyl: miss sherri wine! your soul? is so beautiful? i love you with my whole heart and am SO GLAD YOU GOT TO MEET LOUIS THIS YEAR BC YOU DESERVED IT. i love how excited you get for things and your support of your friends and loved ones. you warm my heart every time and you, truly, deserve nothing short of the world. thank you for being so fucking great and nice and accepting izzy and i into your life.

@jimmytfallon: kelli! you are hilarious, sweet, and so kind. you deserve the best upcoming year and i cant wait to watch you thrive. you have such a good energy about you and i always smile when i see you on any of my social medias. i cant wait to (hopefully) run around disneyland with you and the rest of the gang.

@28lesbian: my sunshine, the love of my life, my future wife. you have been a bright spot in this decade. you are my soulmate. you support me in all my crazy ideas, surround me with so much love, and continue to push me to be the best person i can be. you are the best cat mom, my best friend, and my favorite person. i cant wait to spend this next decade dancing in the kitchen with you, going on long drives together, and loving each other. thank you thank you thank you.

my follow forevers (mutuals bolded):

@ananbeth // @anchortied // @aphrodettes // @barneslwt // @czernys // @cznerdy // @danasscully // @definegirlfriends // @droo216 // @dylanatsaralee // @endlesslovsrs // @fireprooof // @flicker-album // @fl0ral-gh0st // @floweredhalo // @ginnyweeaslxy // @girlalmighty // @girlalmightys // @goldenkissy // @harryisapackersfan // @harryjamcs // @harryspdf // @honeyedyke // @hs2live // @ishipmutualrespect // @kow // @larentslarrie // @lightssup // @lordesribs // @lovedangel // @lt-28 // @microlouis // @moonlightlouie // @niallstardust // @nikkibelikov // @organicstunts // @paris-geller // @parislarry // @pridesobright // @punklouie // @reneeswalkers // @ronaldswheezy // @rosegoldeyelids // @sapphicau // @shehearsadifferentdrummer // @spiky-lesbian // @softcoeurs // @summrfeeling // @tenderpotter // @tennantsangels // @themagicswithin // @themedusacascade // @virgoisms // @wallsxlouie // @wallywvst

#2019 follow forever

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putschki1969 · 4 years

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2019/12/31 Blog post by Wakana 【12月の出来事その②&2019年「令和元年」ありがとう】

【December Events Part 2 & Thank you 2019 ~ 1st Reiwa Year】

It’s New Year's Eve, seems like we will get temperatures up to 19°C in Tokyo today (* _ *) Ever since the morning I have had all my windows open but surprisingly it hadn’t gotten cold in my house, it’s very pleasant. Is it really December …(^-^; It’s the last day of 2019, the last day of the first Reiwa year. I feel a little sad, how the time has gone by, how we have transitioned from one era to the next, in a way we are always rushing, running through the year thinking, “ahhh, one year really passes by in the blink of an eye”. Hello, this is Wakana (0￣ ▽ ￣0) / While rushing through 2019 I enjoyed many lovely sceneries 🌠 Well, today I will talk some more about my December events. Five days after my one-man live, I had an appearance for the public recording of "Yoshida-Yamada's Doremi File" on December 15 @Odawara Dynacity. That day I woke up to a beautiful sunrise. During the program we had a section where I introduced Yoshida/Yamada-san to my favourite gyoza sauce, I had previously shared my so-called Moon-Viewing Sauce on Instagram. I enthusiastically prepared the sauce ...but the reactions were rather underwhelming *laughs* I confirmed, “yes, I am really putting an egg in there!” People may have mixed feelings about it but I really want everyone to give it a try! Hot gyoza served with Chinese black vinegar, soy sauce, chili oil and egg yolk taste exceptional! !

And although that part wasn’t aired on TV we also had a little live corner where I performed three songs accompanied by piano. I really hit it off with the pianist Sakai Yurie-san who I had met during the rehearsals. We love the same Western TV shows so we got super excited about that, on top of that we use the exact same method of crime prevention when we are walking alone in the streets at night, it’s very unique so I was quite surprised to finally find someone who is doing the very same thing. I never thought anyone else would come up with such an idea *laughs* At that point, I literally closed the distance between us in one go by switching from "Yurie-san" to "Yurie-chan". At this kind of mini-live I was able to clearly feel the warmth of the audience, I wanted time to stand still so that I could create special moments of music for everyone. The warm atmosphere surrounding the venue and the Christmas decorations were very impressive, I treasured singing each and every song. During the second half of the program we celebrated Yamada-san’s (he was born on Dec 13) and my birthday with a cake and some singing. I was so happy ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ Yoshida-san, Nat-chan, staff members, everyone at the venue, thank you so much for singing together for us ♪ Well, let’s continue with December 22! That day I held a fan club exclusive special talk event to commemorate the release of my "Aki no Sakura EP". Once again I was joined by Natsuko ♪♪ During meetings I wondered about what kind of event I would like it to be, I really wanted the fans to be able to see lots of behind the scenes stuff so that’s what we decided to do. First of all, Nat-chan and I started with some excited chit-chat then there was a slide show of various photos taken with my Wa-kame (e.g. bts pics of the "Aki no Sakura" MV shoot, the cover shoot, pictures of my latest recording sessions, pictures of summer memories together with Nat-chan, etc ...) While we were looking at the pictures we kept talking and explaining...[Day event] & [Evening event] We also watched a digest of my appearance at Odawara Dynacity (personally I thought the the video was really good since it covered everything starting from the rehearsal up until the actual performance). And since it was almost time for Christmas we all sang Jingle Bells together. In JAPANESE! (Isn't that super exciting? A Japanese version of Jingle Bells! I didn’t even know that existed!!) (Look! This mysterious rawness of our singing) And then we had everyone’s favourite part, the present game! (I really love that feeling of excitement when I don’t know what kind of present I will be taking out of the bag next) [Day event] & [Evening event] Everyone who came really participated with all their might, you laughed, clapped along and sang along with bright shining eyes...THANK YOU!! I really hope you had a good time ♪ [Day event] & [Evening event] I guess 2019 is really over ...there is so much that happened. I had my solo debut, this year was like a celebration of a new start for me. I experienced so many new things. When I released my first single and first album, I thought, "I want to make more songs from now on, I want to treasure them and sing them for the rest of my life." As the number of songs increased, precious thoughts and memories also increased. I always sang with these thoughts and memories in mind, I was constantly being reminded of everyone’s faces so I looked forward to meeting you again. Looking back, 2019 was a year in which my thoughts and my music changed a lot. I really cherish the fact that I have been able to meet so many of you. I'm truly grateful to all of you! I wonder what the next year is going to be like. I want it to be a year where I can meet as many of you as possible. Everyone, please have a Happy New Year! Until next year～🌠( *'▽'*)/🌠 *** Wakana ***

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　SOME NOTES　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Before anyone asks, I do not have a recording of the “Yoshida-Yamada's Doremi File" episode.

Please DO NOT share pictures from Wakana’s blog posts on other sites. Her blog is fan club exclusive so those pictures shouldn’t be posted all over the internet. Yes, I choose to share this content with you here (because I genuinely feel like fans should be able to see it) but I want everything to remain here in the more or less contained environment of my blog.

Please support Wakana and join her fan club. The annual fee is very affordable. All you need is a credit card and a Japanese address (which you can get by registering a TENSO account). In the past I posted a detailed tutorial on how to join the Harmony fan club, everything I wrote there also applies to Botanical Land and FictionJunction Station (since all fan clubs are run by the same company).

#kalafina #wakana #wakana blog #botanical land #fan club exclusive content

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spamzineglasgow · 4 years

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(REVIEW) All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone, by Joe Dunthorne

Is it fiction, is it poetry, is it truth — what are the rules here? Kirsty Dunlop tackles the difficult, yet illustrious art of the poet bio in this review of Joe Dunthorne’s All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone (Rough Trade Editions, 2018).

Whenever I read a poetry anthology - I hope I’m not the only one - I go to the bios at the back before I read the poems…it’s also a really strange thing when you publish a poem…you brag about yourself in a text that is supposed to sound distant and academic but is actually you carefully calculating how you’ll present yourself.

> It’s the middle of a night in 2019 and I’m listening to a podcast recording from Rough Trade Editions’ first birthday party at the London Review Bookshop, and this is Dunthorne’s intro to the reading from his pamphlet All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone (2018). As I lie there in that strange limbo space of my own insomnia, Dunthorne’s side-note to his work feels comfortingly intimate because it rings so true (the kind of thing you might admit to a friend over a drink after a poetry reading rather than in the performative space of the reading itself). Like Joe, and yes surely many others, I am also fascinated by bios - particularly because I find them so awkward to write/it makes me cringe writing my own/this is definitely the kind of thing you overthink late at night. Bios also function as this alternative narrative on the margins of the central creative work and they do tell a story: take any bio out of context and it can be read as a piece of flash fiction. When we are asked to write bios, there is this unspoken expectation that we follow certain rules in our use of language, tone and content. Side note: how weird would it be if we actually spoke about ourselves in this pompous third person perspective irl?! Bios themselves are limbo spaces (another kind of side note!) where there is much left unsaid and often the unsaid and the little that is said reveals a lot. Of course, some bios are also very, very long. Dunthorne’s pamphlet plays with this limbo space as a site of narrative and poetic potential: prior to All The Poems, I had never read a short story actually written through the framework of a list of poet bios. The result is an incredibly funny, honest and playful piece of meta poetic prose that teases out all the subtle aspects of the poet bio-sphere and ever since that first listen, I can’t stop myself re-reading.

> This work is an exciting example of how formal constraints in writing can actually create an exhilarating sense of narrative liberation. I see this really playful, fluid Oulipo quality to the writing, where the process of using the bio as constraint is what makes the rollercoaster reading experience so satisfying as well as revealing a theatrical stage for language to have its fun, where the reality of our own calculated self performance can be teased out bio by bio. The re-reading opens up a new level of comedy each time often at the level of wordplay. I’ll maybe reveal some more of that in a wee bit.

> It’s a winding road that Dunthorne takes us on in his narrative journey where the micro and the macro continually fall inside each other. So perhaps this review will also be quite winding. Here is another entry into the text: we begin reading about the protagonist Adam Lorral from the opening sentence, who we realise fairly quickly is struggling to put together a ground-breaking landmark poetry anthology. His bio crops up repeatedly in varying forms:

‘Adam Lorral, born 1985 is a playwright, translator and the editor-publisher of this anthology.’

‘Adam Lorral is a playwright, translator and the man who, morning after morning, stood barefoot on his front doorstep […]’

‘Adam Lorral is a playwright, translator and someone for whom the date Monday, October 14th, 2017 has enormous meaning. Firstly Adam’s son started smiling.’

The driving circularity of this repetition pushes the narrative onwards, whilst the language is never bogged down: it hopscotches along and we can’t help but join in the game. Amidst a growing list of other characters/poets- that Adam may or may not include in this collection he seems to be pouring/ draining his energy into, with just a little help from his wife’s family money- tension begins to build.

> Although Adam is overtly the protagonist in the story, to my mind it is, in fact, Adam’s four-week-old son who is the real heroic figure. Of course this baby doesn’t have a bio of his own but he does continually creep into Adam’s (he’s another side note!). He comes off as the only genuine character: there is no performance, no judgement, he just is. Adam is continually amazed by his son’s mental and physical development which is far more impressive than the growth of this questionable anthology. The baby is this god-like figure, continually present during Adam’s struggles, with the seemingly small moments of its development taking on monumental significance. Adam might try to immerse himself fully in this creative work but the reality of his family surroundings will constantly interrupt. This self-deprecating, reflective tone led me to think about how Dunthorne expansively explores the idea of the contemporary poet and artist identity through metanarrative. In Ben Lerner’s The Hatred of Poetry (Fitzcarraldo Editions, 2016), he writes ‘There is embarrassment for the poet – couldn’t you get a real job and put your childish ways behind you?’ In a recent online interview with the poet Will Harris[1], when asked about his own development as a writer, he spoke about how the career trajectory of a poet is a confusing phenomenon and I’ve heard many other poets speak of this too: there are perhaps milestones to pass but they are not rigid or obvious and, of course, they are set apart from the milestones of more ‘adult’, professional pursuits. I think Dunthorne’s short story accurately captures this confusion around artistic, personal and intellectual growth and the navigation of the poetry community, through these minute, telling observations and the rejection of a simplistic narrative linearity. The story doesn’t make any hard or fast judgements: like the character of the baby, the observations just are. Sometimes, it feels like this project could be one of the most important aspects of Adam’s life (it might even make or break it) and we are there with him and at other moments it seems quite irrelevant to the bigger picture, particularly as the bios get more ridiculous. Here, I just have to highlight one of the bios which perfectly evokes this heightened sense of a poet’s importance:

Peter Daniels’ seventh collection The Animatronic Tyrannosaurus of Guadalajara, is forthcoming with Welt Press. He will not let anyone forget that he edited Unpersoned, a prize-winning book of creative transcriptions of immigration interviews obtained by the Freedom of Information Act, even though it was published nearly two decades ago. His poetry has been overlooked for all previous generational anthologies and it is only thanks to the fine-tuned sensibilities of this book’s editor that has he finally become one of the chosen. You would expect him to be grateful.

> Okay…so I said above that there weren’t hard or fast judgements; maybe I should retract that slightly. The text definitely doesn’t feel like a cruel critique of poets generally (its comedy is too clever for that) but, yes, there are a fair few judgements from Adam creeping into those bios. I am so impressed with the way in which Dunthorne is able to expertly navigate Adam’s perspective through all these fragments to create this growing humour, as the character can’t help inserting his own opinions into other poets’ bios. Of course, we are also able to make our own judgements about Adam and his endearing naivety: shout out here to my fave character in the story, Joy Goold (‘exhilaratingly Scottish’) who has submitted the poem, Fake Lake, to the anthology. Hopefully if you’re Scottish, you can appreciate the comedy of this title. Adam Googles her and cannot find any trace of her, which feels perfect…almost too good to be true.

> Dunthorne plays with cliché overtly throughout the text. You could say all the poets in this story are exaggerated clichés but that certainly doesn’t make them boring: it just adds to the knowing intimacy that, yes, feels slightly gossipy (which I can’t help but enjoy). For example, there is the poet who has:

[…] won every major UK poetry prize and long ago dispensed with modesty […] Though he does not need the money he teaches on the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His latest collection is Internal Flight (Faber/FSG). He divides his time between London and New York because they are both lovely.

I am leaving out a fair bit of this bio because I don’t want to take away some of the joy of simply reading this text in its entirety but it is one of many tongue-in-cheek observations that feels very accurate and over-the-top at the same time (I feel like everyone in the poetry community knows this person). It is also even more knowing when you consider that Dunthorne actually has published a collection with Faber, O Positive (2019), a totally immersive read that also doesn’t shy away from poking fun at its speaker throughout. I always like seeing the ideas that repeatedly crop up in a writer’s work and explorations of calculation and cliché are at the forefront of this collection. I keep thinking of this line from the poem ‘Workshop Dream’:

We stepped onto the beach. The water made the sound: cliché, cliché, cliché.

Interestingly, there is this hypnotising dream-like quality to O Positive - with shape shifting figures, balloonists, owls-in-law – in contrast to the hyper realism I experienced in the Rough Trade pamphlet. However, like All the Poems, in O Positive, we’re always one step inside the writing, one step outside, watching the poem/short story being written. It’s this continual sensation of being very close to failure and embarrassment/cringe. (I can also draw parallels here between Dunthorne’s exploration of this theme and the poet Colin Herd who speaks so brilliantly about the relation between poetry and embarrassment- see our SPAM interview.) Failure is just inevitable in this narrative set up. It makes the turning point of the narrative- when it arrives- all the funnier:

As Adam typed, he hummed the chorus to the Avril Lavigne song–why d’you have to go and make things so complicated?–and smiled to himself because he was keeping things simple. Avril Lavigne. Adam Lorral. Their names were a bit similar. He was looking for a sign and here one was.

> If it isn’t clear already, this is a story that I could continually quote from but to truly appreciate the work, you should read it in its beautiful slim pamphlet format created by Rough Trade Editions. For me, the presentation of this work is as important as the form: this story would have a different effect and tone if it was nestled inside a short story collection. I think a lot of the most exciting creative writing right now is being published by the innovative small indie presses springing up around the UK. Recently I listened to a great podcast by Influx Press, featuring the writer Isabel Waidner: they spoke about both the value of small presses taking risks with writers and the importance of recognising prose as an experimental field, rightly recognising that experimental work often seems to begin with, or be connected to, the poetry community. Waidner’s observation felt like something I had been waiting to hear…and a change that I had noticed in writing being published in the last few years in the UK. I could mention so many examples alongside the work of Rough Trade Books: Waidners’s We are Made of Diamond Stuff (2019), published by Manchester-based Dostoyevsky Wannabe, Eley William’s brilliant Attrib. and Other Stories (Influx Press, 2017), the many exciting hybrid works put out by Prototype Publishing, to name just a few. There is also a growing interest in multimedia work, for example Visual Editions, who publish texts designed to be read on your phone through their series Editions at Play (Joe Dunthorne did a brilliant digital-born collaborative text with Sam Riviere in 2016, The Truth About Cats & Dogs, I would highly recommend!). But this concept of combining the short story with a pamphlet format, created by Rough Trade Books as part of their Rough Trade Editions’ twelve pamphlet series, feels particularly exciting to me and is a reminder of why I love the expansive possibilities of shorter prose pieces. Through its physical format, we are reminded that this is a prose work you can read like a series of poems without losing the narrative tension that is so central to fiction. The expansiveness of the reading possibilities of Dunthorne’s short story also reminds me of Lydia Davis’s short-short stories. Here’s one I love taken from The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (Penguin Books, 2009):

They take turns using a word they like

“It’s extraordinary,” says one woman. “It is extraordinary,” says the other.

You could read this as a sound bite, an extract from an article, a writing exercise or a short story, the possibilities go on; there is a space created for the reader and consequently it encourages the unravelling of re-reading (which feels like a very poetic mode to me). Like Davis, Dunthorne’s work also highlights how seemingly simple language can be very powerful and take on many subtle faces and tones. I think short forms are so difficult to get right but when you encounter all the elements of language, tone, pacing, style, space, tension brought together effectively (or calculatingly as Dunthorne might say), it can create this immersive, highly intimate back-and-forth play with the reader.

> All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything to Everyone. The title tells us there is a collection of poems here that are hidden: the central work has disappeared leaving behind the shadowy remains of the editor’s frustration and the marginalia of the bios. We feel the presence of the poems despite not actually reading them. The pamphlet’s blurb states that this: ‘is the story of the epiphanies that come with extreme tiredness; that maybe, just maybe the greatest poetry book of all is one that contains no poems.’ The narrative, as well as making fun of itself, also recognises that poetry exists beyond the containment of the poems themselves: it can be found in the readings, the performances, the politics, the drafts, the difficulties, the funding, the collaboration, the collectivity, the bios.

> A friend of mine recently asked me: Where are all the prose parties?…And what might a prose party look like? We were chatting about how a poetry party sounds much cooler (that’s maybe why there’s more of them). I think prose is often aligned with more conventional literary forms, maybe closed off in a way that poetry is seen to be able to liberate, but I think Dunthorne breaks down these preconceptions and binaries around form and modes of reading in All The Poems. I want to be at whatever prose party he’s throwing.

[1] University of Glasgow’s Creative Conversations, Sophie Collins interviewing Will Harris, Monday 4th May 2020 (via Zoom)

Text: Kirsty Dunlop Published: 10/7/20

#review #reviews #Rough Trade Books #Joe Dunthorne #Kirsty Dunlop #poetry #poet bios

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sunlightdances · 5 years

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One Heartbreak Closer to You (2/3)

– You’re not sure how you missed the fact that three fucking Avengers moved into the apartment across the hall from you, but you did, and now they always seem to be around at the most inopportune times.

Author: Katie @sunlightdances Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: PG-13 (this part, just a bit of cursing) Author’s Note: This part is longer than the first because I have a problem. Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel, or any of the characters. Please don’t re-post my work on any other sites without my permission! Reblogs are okay and welcomed.

You’re making dinner a few nights later when there’s a knock on your door. You frown - you didn’t buzz anyone up to your floor.

Looking out of the peephole, you don’t see anyone, so you slowly undo the locks and open the door. There’s a small paper bag in front of the door with a note attached, the loopy scrawl unfamiliar to you.

You bend down to pick it up and are surprised at the weight of the bag. Looking inside, a smile blooms across your face when you see it full with fresh fruit and veggies. The note on the front reads, Hope these are better than the ones you dropped. - JB

You instinctively look at the apartment across the hall, even though you know the door is closed. You find that you’re sort of disappointed that he didn’t wait long enough for you to come to the door, but you try not to take it personally.

Heading back to the kitchen, you shut and lock the door behind you, already planning ways you can use your newly acquired bounty in your dinner prep. It was a kind gesture, really. You half expected to never see the three of them again unless something crazy was going on.

You finish dinner - stir-fry vegetables with rice and warmed pita bread - and sit down to eat, when you find yourself staring at the door. What if you-- you shake your head, not giving yourself time to second guess.

Abandoning your plate, you quickly head across the hall and knock on the door. It’s only a few seconds before you can hear cautious footsteps.

The door opens a small fraction.

“Um, hi,” you say, waving.

The door opens wider. “Hi,” he says.

The two of you just… sort of stare at each other for a few seconds. “I just wanted to thank you for the groceries.” You tell him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I-- It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You smile, watching the tension in his shoulders slowly dissipate. “I used some of the stuff you got me and made dinner. I made too much, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to-- if you haven’t already eaten, that is--”

“I’d love to.” He blurts, looking surprised at his own words.

You smile again. “Okay. Well… follow me, then.”

You hear him shut the door behind him and flip the lock, and you smile before turning around. There’s nervous energy buzzing through you and him, but you’re determined not to show it.

He walks into your living room, keen gaze taking in every inch of his surroundings. His gaze lingers on the photos of you and your family, and a few of you and your friends. You watch as he reaches out and trails his hand over the back of your couch, before he looks up and meets your eyes, looking sheepish. “Sorry. That’s rude, I--”

“It’s fine, Bucky.” Your eyes widen. “I-- is it okay that I call you that? I can call you James--”

“Bucky is fine.” He says, a small smile on his lips. “I like your apartment. It’s a lot cozier than ours.”

He meets you at the small table where you’re dishing up a plate for him, before you both slide into your chairs.

“How long have you lived there?” You ask, genuinely curious. You don’t know how you missed them.

“A few months,” he says, gesturing with his right hand, fork and all. “Wanted to get away from… well, everything.”

You nod. You don’t really know what to say and now you’re worrying that you’re out of your depth. How do you talk to a guy like this? An actual superhero?

You’re both quiet for a few minutes, tucking into your food. You feel like you can practically hear the gears turning in Bucky’s head, and you want to laugh at how awkward you’re both being.

“What’s so funny?” He asks around a mouthful, the corner of his mouth tilting up in amusement. For a second you’re struck by the idea that he must look incredible when he smiles.

“Nothing, I just-- I feel so awkward. I’m sorry if I’m the worst host of all time.”

“Can’t be a worse host than I am a guest,” he points out, and you snort. He grins, and - yep, you were right. He’s got a great smile. “Conversation used to be my strong suit, I think.” He says, giving you a look, and for a second you’re frozen, not sure if you should laugh or not. “It’s a joke,” he says. “You can laugh.”

“Sorry--”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re-- it’s fine. I’m still…” He trails off. You feel awful, immediately. The whole point of this was to treat him like your neighbor, like someone you could see becoming your friend.

“It was funny.” You reassure him.

He looks at you with something like gratefulness in his eyes.

Bucky wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He’s practically vibrating with anxiety in the first place, and then he had to go and put his foot in it.

He remembers when he was funny, sort of. He remembers a time, certainly, when he could crack a self-deprecating joke and people wouldn’t freeze, not sure how to react.

Still, she doesn’t seem put off. She takes it in stride and continues to eat like nothing’s out of the ordinary. He’s grateful for it. He just wants to have dinner with his neighbor.

When he bought her the groceries, he thought it was too much. Then he chickened out at the last second and dashed back into his apartment before she could find him there, lingering like an idiot. The only way it could have been worse is if Sam or Steve had been home. But he was alone for dinner tonight, another instance of the stars aligning so that he could be here with her right now.

He likes her apartment. It feels lived in. There’s memories all over the place - photos on the wall and gently-used books on the shelves and on the coffee table. There’s a collection of blankets on the couch and a mug in the sink.

She’s a great cook, too, if dinner is any indication. He can’t remember the last time someone cooked for him. It was probably at one of Stark’s mandatory-but-don’t-make-me-tell-you-it’s-mandatory team dinners. Somehow, this is better. He thinks it’s the company.

“So…” He starts, “What do you do?” It comes out more awkward than he intends it to, and he thinks he’s going to give her a run for her money in the ‘who’s more awkward’ contest.

She swallows. “Uh, I’m- sort of in between jobs right now.” She looks down at her plate. “Just, you know, exploring my options…”

He nods slowly. “Uh huh.” He pauses, “What sort of work are you looking for? Stark is always recruiting--”

“Oh, god, no.” She blurts, then blushes.. “Sorry! I just mean-- I’m definitely not cut out for that kind of thing. I mean, I can barely make it down the stairs without tripping over my own feet, let alone trying to fight off whoever it is--”

“I meant like, an office job, or something. At Stark Industries.” Bucky says, trying not to laugh at the look on her face. “I could see if there’s anything floating around.”

“Oh. Right.” She says, and shakes her head. “God, sorry. I don’t know why I’m so…” She just sort of, flails her hands about, and he’s positive it’s the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“What do you say we start over?” He asks, content with the way she immediately settles, a relieved albeit embarrassed smile on her face.

“Only if it means you’ll forget you met me sprawled on the floor in the hallway.”

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You see Bucky on and off for the next few weeks. You start ramping up your job search, so you see him in the mornings when you’re both leaving the building, and grab coffee from the place on the corner with him a few times.

Several of those times, Sam and Steve join you, but mostly it’s just you and Bucky. He’s a lot different than he seemed when you first met him. You catch glimpses of this stoic, serious person, mostly when you’re in a large crowd with him, but other times, he seems more sure of himself. More at ease.

You don’t take Bucky up on his offer to introduce you to Pepper Potts. It’s not that you don’t think you’d like the job, but you hate charity, and that’s what it feels like, even if you know Bucky just wants to help you. He must have mentioned it to Steve, because now you’ve got two super soldiers constantly badgering you to come to Stark Tower in Manhattan or come to the Avengers Compound upstate to meet her or meet the rest of the team.

You’re content here in your little apartment, and you don’t want to change that. Not right now.

There’s a week where you don’t see Bucky at all. You don’t think he’s home - you haven’t heard or seen anything happening in the apartment across the hall, and you wonder if he’s on some kind of mission.

The thought immediately makes your heart clench, and you know you have to get over yourself. You’ve only known the guy for a few weeks. You’re friends, and that’s all. There’s no reason for you to worry.

You’re on your way home from dinner with a friend when you stop at the coffee shop and are fumbling in your purse looking for cash when a hand thrusts itself towards the cashier, handing her a few bills.

Your heart flies to your throat until you recognize his voice. “This should cover it,” he says, his voice rough, and you turn around to greet him before the sound dies in your throat.

There’s no sugar-coating it - he looks terrible. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and stitches with a butterfly bandage over his left eyebrow and on his cheekbone. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair pulled back from his face except for a few tendrils that have escaped around his ears.

“Hi,” you say, strangely breathless. “You scared me,” you say, a teasing tone to your voice, but he misses it and winces.

“Sorry. I was walking home and saw you.”

His voice is dull. No emotion.

“Are you okay?” You ask, trying to meet his eyes.

“Like, in general? Or right this minute?” His eyes dart up, and they’re a little wild, a little desperate. “Because right now, I feel like--” He stops himself when the barista calls your name, signalling your coffee is ready.

“Hang on,” you tell him, absently squeezing his metal hand as you brush by him to get to the counter.

When you glance back, he’s staring at his hand. Your heart clenches again.

“Come on,” you say softly, and he follows you without a word, exiting the shop with you so you can start walking. “Do you want to go home, or--”

“Can we-- will you walk with me?”

“Sure, Bucky.”

You let him lead the way, even though you don’t think he has a specific destination in mind. He’s frowning, and you wish you had the words to say to see that smile on his face again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask him quietly, not wanting to startle him.

He takes a deep breath. “Not really. I know I should, but…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

He stops on the sidewalk, looking down at you. He’s got a few inches on you, but it’s not intimidating. Especially not with the way his shoulders are hunched down, practically folding in on him. “I don’t know how to do this.” He says. “I don’t know how to be a person that other people depend on to help. I’ve done things…” he shakes his head, “I’ve done awful things.”

Your heart cracks a little, because you’ve always only seen him as a hero.

“Look,” you say, trying to find the words, “I don’t know what you’re going through. I can’t pretend to ever understand how you’re dealing with all this. But Bucky… the person I know? He’s a hero, okay? It’s a lot of responsibility, and it’s not fair, but you’re… it doesn’t matter who you were before now, because you didn’t have a choice. Now you get to choose who you want to be.”

He looks… stunned. Like he has no idea what to say. Frankly, you don’t know either. You’re terrified you’ve said the wrong thing, or that he’s going to turn on his heel and leave you here because you couldn’t possibly understand.

He doesn’t.

He just-- he smiles, and that’s the first inkling you get that you’re about to be in big, big trouble when it comes to Bucky Barnes.

It’s late one night when Bucky hears your voice, loud, in the hallway. He’s on edge instantly because it’s almost two in the morning. Sam is asleep in his bedroom, and Bucky’s awake, still.

He creeps to the door slowly, trying to figure out if he’s just imagining things, or if you’re really out there.

He hears you again, and he cracks open the door and sees you down a couple doors, trying to fit your key into a lock that clearly isn’t yours. He’s momentarily distracted by the sight of you in a short, tight black dress, and a pair of high heels that make your legs look miles long.

You’re swaying a bit on your feet, and he grins when he realizes that you’re drunk. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you like this. He calls your name, and something inside him twists when you turn around, your eyes lighting up when you see him.

“Bucky!”

He smiles. “Hi. What are you doing down there?”

You frown. “Trying to go to bed, duh.”

“Uh huh.” He points a finger at your front door. “Might be easier if you don’t get arrested for breaking and entering, first.”

“What?”

He leaves his apartment and heads towards you, trying to get you away from the other apartment before whoever lives there hears you. “Wrong apartment, sweetheart.”

You giggle, the sound going straight to his heart. “That’s impossible. I’ve lived here for years, Bucky.”

“I know. Since college, right? How did you get home after parties in college, huh?” He asks, guiding you towards your apartment.

“Slept at a friend’s.”

He hums. “Sounds like that might have been a good idea tonight.”

“I’m fine!” You protest. “You’re just-- a little blurry.” You poke him in the chest, and he bites back a laugh. “Can you--” You’re shoving your purse into his hands before he has a chance to get your keys out of your hands.

You lean down and take off your shoes, leaving them dangling from one hand, and Bucky suddenly has a vision of you like this in your apartment after one too many glasses of wine, eyes a little glossy but bright and happy, hair mussed and face flushed. He has a vision of himself there with you, smiling as you tell him bad jokes, and he has to almost physically shake himself out of it.

“That’s better,” you sigh. “Now. If you could kindly point me in the direction of my bed, I’m going to sleep for the next twelve hours.”

Bucky chuckles. “Good idea.” He takes your arm and turns you to face your front door, grabbing the keys from you and sticking the right key in the lock for you. “There.”

“What would I do without you, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky can’t speak. He’s too-- he’s overwhelmed with affection and nervousness, and the realization that he’s starting to have real, actual feelings for you. It scares him half to death.

When you wake up the next morning, you have to force your vision to focus long enough for your head to stop aching. You groan, rolling over, seeing a gatorade and a bottle of ibuprofen on your nightstand.

There’s also a note.

“Oh, no…” you whisper, reading it, your mortification growing.

Drink up, and take these after you eat something. Hope you’re not feeling too bad today. You’re welcome for keeping you out of jail. - JB

“God,” you groan, because you can barely remember seeing Bucky last night. You have a vague memory of strong arms helping you get into bed, and the cool touch of metal fingers to your cheek right before you drifted off.

But that had to be just your imagination, right?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #one heartbreak #bucky barnes fanfiction

292 notes · View notes

your-iron-lung · 5 years

Text

The Unsolved Chapter

aka, the crossover absolutely no one asked for; also available to read on AO3

Story Synopsis: While investigating what remains of the infamous Léry’s Memorial Institute for their popular channel, two Youtube celebrity ghost hunters go missing overnight, vanishing in a freak occurrence that has decided to lay claim to their souls.

While the world they were abruptly taken from grieves their absences and tries to figure out what befell the beloved comical duo, Ryan and Shane struggle to make sense of the new, terrible and violent reality they've woken up in. Drawn to a campfire that never seems to burn out, they meet others who have been condemned to the same, eternal fate and are forcibly taught how to survive in an attempt to keep their collective hope and souls alive.

Part 1 of 5

Chapter Word Count: 6031

Pairings: None; just a genfic

Genre: Survival Horror/Supernatural/Angst-y

Next Chapter: Part Two

Notes: uhh yep, here it is, a buzzfeed unsolved/dead by daylight crossover fic bc once i started to think about it, i couldnt stop. there will be temporary character death, lil bits of gore, and a fair amount of blood and violence in the story, just not in this installment. careful if you click the embedded link, as it might be loud

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‘Sometimes human places, create inhuman monsters.’ Stephen King, The Shining

Léry’s Memorial Institute was probably the filthiest building Shane had ever stepped foot in, which, when you took into account just how many foul, decrepit locations he’d been to in the past, was really saying something. The building itself was beautiful in its own haunting way, as most older buildings often were, but Léry’s took the definition of ruined to a new extreme he’d yet to see before now. It was an architectural thing of beauty to be sure, but the grit and grime that covered the entirety of the stonework did manage to dampen his enthusiasm for exploring the dilapidated structure.

And he had been excited for it, originally; a chance to fly back to Illinois to shoot the season finale of Unsolved on his home turf had been generally appealing, even if he hadn’t heard of Michaelstown or Léry’s before. But then they’d all gotten their first look at the Institute, looming horribly tall over the long horizon of pines as they drove up to it from the bumpy dirt road, and he felt all his excitement leave his body in an instant, evaporating like a cold drop of water on hot asphalt.

The silhouette had been menacing and boxy, regal in an old fashioned way that modern constructions had abandoned in favor of more modern designs. It was, perhaps, one of the most imposing feats of architecture he’d ever laid eyes on; it certainly ranked up there with Waverly in his mind, and perhaps that was why he felt so inexplicably nervous as he’d looked at it. Rather than dwell on it, he compartmentalized his anxiety away in his brain and turned to make a comment about how spooky the hospital was to Ryan, but whatever effects looking at the building had had on him appeared to have hit his co-host three times as hard; Ryan’s brain already looked like it was melting, an expression of mute terror written plainly across his face.

Shane couldn’t fault him for that, considering his own momentary scare, and was actually grateful for his silence. If Ryan had pressed him for a comment on whether or not he thought Léry’s was haunted in that moment, then Shane might’ve reluctantly admitted that, in the event that ghosts were real, he wouldn’t be surprised to find a few here, but Ryan had been too horror-stricken to ask. In all actuality, no one on the team had been up for much conversation after that first initial glimpse, an uneasy vibe settling into all of them as they parked. They had all taken a moment to appreciate how terribly ominous it looked against the backdrop of a sunset red sky before TJ ushered them into their usual business routine, unpacking their equipment and getting their bodycams set up.

“Man, I feel like Jack Torrance walking into the Overlook here. This building feels downright predatory, man,” Ryan said, voice already shaking with nervousness.

Evening was falling fast upon them as they shuffled around in the entrance hall, carefully avoiding the large panes of broken glass and other debris that littered the floor. The layer of dust on the ground was so thick, distinct footprints could be seen as clear as though they’d been walking through snow, their tracks leading around in circles as they got their first look at the interior.

Shane hummed a noncommittal response as he shined his camera light around, disgusted by the amount of dust on the floor and in the air; if he were an asthmatic, he’d probably have run through several inhalers just from walking in.

“So tell me what I’m looking at here, Ryan; what’s the history behind this magnificent pile of rubble?” Shane asked as he nudged a thick piece of wood with the toe of his boot.

They would cover most of the history of Léry’s Memorial Institute in the voice over, but that wouldn’t be done until they got back to California and Ryan had yet to tell him much about the place. Keeping Shane in the dark about the past of some the places they went to was a good way to get genuine reactions out of him, but he felt that if they didn’t start bantering soon then Ryan would lose whatever was left of his poor, impressionable mind.

“I feel really weird,” Ryan said instead of answering, glancing around the area with wide, uncertain eyes. “There’s like, some kind of an energy in the air in here; do you feel it?”

“No,” Shane replied calmly, though that wasn’t entirely true. He could feel something akin to static in the air around them, but he didn’t register that as a supernatural phenomenon. The air felt charged in a way that reminded him more of an impending thunderstorm getting ready to unburden itself than it did of something unearthly. “It is a little chilly, though; probably should’ve worn more layers.”

“Good Christ, I hate it here already.” Ryan shuddered and rubbed at one of his arms as he turned to look down the dark hallway that lead further in. “Right, so. Léry’s. I couldn’t find any information on who the original owners were, or who built it, but I did find out that the original building was built sometime in the 1800’s.”

“This isn’t the original?”

Ryan shook his head and reluctantly took the lead in guiding them down the long, narrow hallway, adjusting the straps of his bodycam rig subconsciously as he went.

“Well, yes and no,” he said, stopping every few steps to shine his light and camera into any rooms they happened to pass. “The original building was just a really big mansion the owners lived in before they donated their land to the government; all this hospital space was added onto it during the Korean War to help rehab returning vets.”

“This is one hell of a remodeling job; the Property Brothers would be proud with how many square feet they managed to pump into this thing,” Shane remarked, grinning a little when Ryan let out a slight laugh. “So, army hospital?”

“Yep, up until the CIA took possession of it in the 60’s, and that’s where all my research brought me to dead ends. I couldn’t find what they wanted it for or what they did with it after they got it, but boy, the conspiracy theories run wild with this one.” He turned to flash Shane a conspiratory grin.

“Are you gonna use the voice on me?” Shane asked with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t lay it on too thick now; save some for the voice over.”

“Some say that the CIA turned Léry’s into a black site in order to perfect ‘information gathering’ techniques they’d wanted to put into practice during the war,” Ryan began, easily slipping into the professional tone of voice he used for narrations. The familiarity with which he spoke seemed to restore some of his confidence as they continued down the hall, as he no longer seemed to shrink away from the darkness surrounding them. “They reportedly hired a large number of staff to run the medical facility, but no records of anyone working here exist- at least to the public-, though there are rumors of one particular doctor who was well known for his sadistic use of electro-convulsive shock ‘treatments’.”

“Torture, you mean,” Shane said, shining his light into a room of indeterminate purpose. Ahead of him, Ryan nodded in affirmation. “Great, a secret torture hospital. I’m sure you’ll get a lot of angry, resentful ghosts to talk to here.”

Ignoring his comment, Ryan continued his monologue, clearly having spent time rehearsing it. “Supposedly. As the rumors go, they began implementing experimental interrogation methods on American citizens first before moving on to actual spies, and oh- oh my god, that’s a fucking big rat,” Ryan sputtered, his Unsolved voice breaking as he skipped back down the hall and almost knocked into Shane, who barely managed to sidestep his panicked retreat.

He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as he put an arm to Ryan’s shoulder to steady him before stepping ahead of him, shining his camera light into what looked to be a large reception area. It was wide and spacious, full of dark corners with plenty of dust and run down furniture covered in graffiti. The rat Ryan had stumbled upon was underneath one of the waiting room benches, turned over on its side and very clearly dead, though it was exceptionally large.

They stared at it together contemplatively for a moment before Shane said, “I gotta tell you, Ry, that I am not at all thrilled about spending the night here. I think I might ask my mom to call your mom to tell you I can’t come to your little sleepover.”

From behind, they could hear Mark laugh before stepping into the room, aiming the lens of his camera at the rat for a dramatic close-up they could potentially use to promote the episode.

“That’s disgusting, don’t film that,” Devon said, clicking her tongue in disapproval as she placed her hand in front of the camera lens until Mark lowered it off his shoulder. “This place is foul; I can’t say I envy you boys for staying here one bit.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ryan muttered. “Hell, I might cancel the sleepover myself, no moms involved.”

“You can’t, you already walked out of one overnight this season,” TJ cut in, to which Ryan responded with a quietly spoken ‘fuck’ under his breath. “Let’s just start filming, yeah? The sooner we get this done, the sooner morning will come, the sooner you can leave. Now, where do you think you’re gonna want the static cams set up?” TJ asked as Mark held up the bags he’d carried in with them.

Against Devon’s wishes, they decided to film the intro for the episode in the lobby with the dead rat, the compromise being that Shane and Ryan had to sit on opposite sides of the hallway that lead back the way they’d come so that the rodent’s body wouldn’t make it into the final shot. This was agreeable to all of them, but as Shane sat there, waiting for the camera to start rolling, he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering back to its corpse occasionally, trying to deduce what it could have died from.

They tried to film with what little natural light they had left, but the sun had already been sinking when they’d arrived. Whatever light it managed to provide ended up fading away too fast for them to effectively use, eventually prompting TJ to insist on bringing in big, bright lights so they weren’t stuck filming in the dark. As Shane squinted into the newfound light source, his eyes adjusting poorly to the brightness, he managed to get a better look at the room they were set up in.

Based on his own opinion and how little he actually knew about Léry’s, it certainly didn’t look like the kind of place run by a malicious, CIA sanctioned group of sadists; to him, it looked like a hospital, plain and simple. The white paint along the walls was cracked and peeling, revealing discoloured splotches of drywall that furthered the eerie, run-down atmosphere the building had as a whole. Regardless of that and the dead rat, there was nothing in the general vicinity that implied Léry’s might have been used for something as sinister as torture- they even had what looked to be remnants of vintage motivational posters decaying behind the reception desk. Despite how foreboding the building had looked from the outside, inside it both looked and felt normal, which made him wonder again about where his original discomfort upon viewing the building might have derived from.

“This week on the season finale of Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural, we’re investigating Léry’s Memorial Institute in Michaelstown, Illinois as a part of our ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real?”

Hearing Ryan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Unaware that they’d begun the segment, Shane turned to look at the camera Mark was holding and shook his head curtly on cue. The motion was well-practiced and concise, even if he was still squinting because of the lights.

He waited patiently as Ryan spoke of what he knew about Léry’s alleged history, repeating a lot of what he’d already mentioned to Shane earlier for the official intro. He went more in depth as he talked about the history of the building to the camera than he did with Shane, adding on some embellishments about the various conspiracy theories he’d dug up that involved what the staff at Léry’s might’ve been up to, and none of it sounded good.

“Léry’s was condemned and abandoned in 1983, and was even rumored to have been burnt down, but as you can see, since we are currently sitting inside the building, that clearly isn’t the case,” Ryan recited, shooting Shane a look that invited him in to begin a banter.

“Ryan, I swear to God if you’re trying to tell me that the building itself is a ghost, I will resign.” Shane forced his face into a serious expression that matched his disapproving tone of voice as Ryan laughed loudly. “You can get Brent back to be your new ‘ghoulfriend’ and you can just- the two of you can just run around these spooky places like a couple of headless chickens screaming about ghosts together.”

“No, that’s- that’s not what I’m saying,” Ryan said, a humorous inflection tinging his voice as he spoke. “What I’m saying is, is that someone either lied to cover up any potential future investigations into Léry’s alleged operations, or someone got it wrong; either way, Léry’s is still here.”

“And how’d you come to find that out?” Shane asked, honestly interested in Ryan’s answer. His friend had already admitted that researching the place had been hard and often netted him no real answers; if any and all official documentations surrounding Léry’s said it was no longer standing, then he wondered how Ryan was able to discover that it actually was.

“I looked up the coordinates on Google’s satellite image maps.” Shane raised his eyebrows at that, and Ryan shrugged in response. “There was a building here, and when I compared it to old images of the Memorial Institute I’d found dated pre 1980’s, they seemed to match. When I reached out to the current property owners, they agreed to let us look around as long as we didn’t try to ‘solve’ anything.”

“We never do,” Shane said wistfully, dramatically looking away for a moment, and again Ryan laughed, the sound of it echoing around the walls of the room.

“Alright, whatever, big guy; we can do all the ghost hunting we want, they said, but we have to let the sleeping dogs lie on whether or not Léry’s has a ‘tortured’ past or not; they don’t want any trouble with the government.” Ryan looked amused by his own pun, but Shane knew that his ability to find humour in little things like that wouldn’t last the night.

“Well, let’s get started then, shall we?” Shane said, slapping his hands to his thighs and beginning to feel his eagerness returning to him. He started to stand up, and Ryan sighed.

“Yeah, fuck, let’s- let’s get into it.”

“Is there anyone here with us right now?” Ryan spoke loudly and clearly as he addressed the spirit box, glancing around the room they were standing in cautiously as he held the small radio up between them. There was an overturned examination table and some rusted chairs in the room with them that Shane had initially tried to sit in, but found them too unstable to support him. “If there is, we’d really like to talk with you. My name’s Ryan, and my unnecessarily large friend here is Shane; I know he’s a little frightening to look at, but can you say either of our names?”

They waited for a response, Ryan pensively shifting his eyes around as though he might see a ghost hiding behind the old furniture while Shane did his best to not let his boredom show on camera. He waited silently for a moment, letting the spirit box spit out jumbled radio frequencies and broken fragments of words for Ryan to analyze later before deciding to chime in.

“Did you ever stop to think that the spirit box might be triggering these spirits you’re trying to contact?” he asked, voice drawling as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. “If that doctor you mentioned earlier really did exist, then don’t you think it stands to reason that the static from the box might be traumatizing them? Torturing them in their afterlife? Maybe that’s why they don’t want to talk to you.”

“You’re just saying that because it tortures you,” Ryan said, snickering. He opened his mouth to say something else in support of his use of the spirit box, but was hushed when it began to pick up an unusual, garbled sort of noise.

If Shane hadn’t been accustomed to the usual tones of static the spirit box produced as it skipped through radio frequencies, he would have chalked the sound that was coming through the speaker now as typical spirit box sounds, but innately he knew that it wasn’t. Whatever was coming through the radio now was different, in that it had cut through the previous channel of static to effectively broadcast the new sound.

He could tell from the stunned reaction on Ryan’s face that he, too, recognized the sound as something unusual. This wet, static noise that was coming through the receiver had been unheard by either of them before.

Ryan turned his head to look up at Shane, any trace of amusement he’d been displaying before now gone as he struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. Before either of them could properly process what they were listening to, the sound slowly tapered off into silence.

Shane stared at the box in Ryan’s hand, waiting for the usual sounds of static to come back through the speaker so he could explain the phenomenon away as some sort of malfunction. He was preemptively formulating a response to the questions Ryan was sure to start asking when the whispering began.

The voice was low and quiet, possibly male, and managed to speak uninterrupted for more than a few consecutive seconds. Shane felt his skin break out into goosebumps as he listened, leaning forward to try and get a better understanding of what was being said even as Ryan recoiled, almost dropping the spirit box in his fright.

If the voice was whispering in any known language, Shane didn’t recognize it; the words registered as garbled, barely distinguishable nonsense to his ears, but the tone with which it spoke, intent and persistent, had his hair beginning to stand on end. Everyone in the room was hushed, although Ryan was beginning to hyperventilate, his breath coming in fast, wheezing gulps. His hand was visibly trembling, but he resolutely did not drop or set the spirit box down, a small act of bravery Shane admired him for.

They didn’t have long to focus on what the voice was saying before a loud, burst of static tore out of the speaker, ending the strange noises abruptly and causing Ryan to shout in surprise. Shane blinked solemnly at the little box as it returned to flickering through regular radio channels before he met Ryan’s stupefied gaze.

“What the fuck just happened,” Ryan gasped out, quickly turning the box off and setting it aside to deal with his minor anxiety attack.

No one had an immediate answer.

“Did anyone recognize what it was saying?” Devon asked timidly. “Not trying to be an alarmist here, but that… didn’t sound human to me.”

Ryan moaned at the implication and sat down hard on the floor, uncaring of how dirty it was.

“Look, let’s just all calm down and take a minute to think about it logically,” Shane said, attempting to take control of the situation in order to soothe his companion’s panic, but he didn’t feel calm himself. His heart was thudding away rapidly in his chest, though he told himself that it was due in part to being taken off guard by the loud outburst of static that came through at the end of the transmission. “Do you know every earthly language that exists?” he asked Devon, who shook her head reluctantly. He repeated the question to Mark and TJ before directing it to Ryan, and all their answers were the same. “Neither do I; just because it spoke in a language we can’t immediately identify doesn’t mean it wasn’t human. Have we all forgotten we’re in an old, ex-governmental building that was run by the fucking CIA? The box probably just latched onto an old numbers station or something.

“And anyway, I’d expect you to be more excited about this, little guy,” he said gently to Ryan, trying to encourage a positive reaction out of him. “We caught all that on film, buddy.”

From the floor, Ryan had stopped his rapid breathing as he processed Shane’s line of reasoning. He still looked frightened, but his expression also seemed more speculative after listening to Shane deliver his cowboy speech. When Shane reached a hand down to help him up, Ryan took it.

“You’re right. We have evidence,” Ryan said slowly as he rose back to full height, his eyes lighting up as he clasped Shane’s hand tightly to his chest.

Shane winced and tried to pull his hand free, but the clammy grip with which Ryan held to it was strong. “It could be any number of things before it could be ghosts, Ryan, you know that.”

“But if it’s not any of those other things, then it- it’s real! We have actual, recorded evidence! Léry’s Memorial Institute is certified haunted, baby!”

He let go of Shane’s hand at last, his fear momentarily forgotten as he did a quick dance, pumping his fist up and down into the air in a celebratory fashion. Mark trained the camera on him to capture the moment, swapping from Ryan’s joyful expression to Shane’s look of bewildered amusement. Devon looked on with a congratulatory smile until TJ eventually spoke.

“You… do realize you still have to stay the night here, right?” TJ said somberly, knowing that what he had to say would was going to affect Ryan negatively, and already they could all see the impact his words had on him as he stopped dancing. “I’m happy for you and all, but don’t forget we have a whole episode left to shoot.” Fresh horror dawned on Ryan’s face, his excitement over finding proof of the supernatural immediately dying out when he realized it didn’t absolve him from fulfilling the rest of his contractual obligations.

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” he said with a groan, his shoulders slumping at the remembered thought. He brought his hands to his face and dragged his fingers down, pulling at his skin. “Ohh, fuck, you’re right. Shit.”

“Certified haunted, baby,” Shane teased with a weak grin, knowing already that it was going to be a long, sleepless night for the both of them.

They explored the area a little further after the incident with the spirit box, but didn’t manage to capture or illicit any other supernatural responses to their presence, though not for lack of trying. Everywhere they went, Shane demanded that the ghosts repeat the strange audio they’d managed to capture before and called them out on their cowardice when nothing happened. Ryan grew increasingly upset with his behaviour, but Shane was out to prove a point: whatever they’d discovered through the use of the spirit box wasn’t something supernatural, and if the spirits weren’t willing to entertain them, then he wasn’t willing to entertain the notion that it could be ghosts.

The logical part of his brain demanded he debunk it immediately, even if it meant he had to poop all over Ryan’s parade in order to do so, and he planned on taking the mightiest shit he could before they wrapped up filming for the night.

Most of the upper floors of Léry’s were condemned and deemed too unsafe for them to explore, barring their ability to scope out the building in its entirety, but the ground floors were plenty big enough to take up hours’ worth of time to investigate.

With Mark and TJ’s help, they set up three static cams where Ryan thought they’d get the most activity: one in the room where they’d gotten the spirit box to communicate with them (with an EVP device they would leave on all night), one in the reception area pointing down the hall they’d entered through, and the final one in a room Ryan had called the ‘treatment theatre’, where they’d decided to bunk down for the night.

It was a circular room with one single, ominous examination table set up in the middle over a system of rusty, grated flooring. A large set-up of outdated lighting systems hung low and broken over it, hanging like an untended widowmaker’s tree waiting to collapse, and for the first time that night Shane wondered if perhaps Ryan’s torture theory might have some truth behind it. Copper stains could be seen leading from the table to the grated floors, and he resolutely decided not to focus on them.

On the floor above them, reached only by a set of stairs set into the back of the room, was a windowed viewing booth that jutted out from the wall. A sense of unease overcame him as Shane looked at it, wondering what the people of the past had need of to stand up there in a room such as this, but he knew in the back of his mind what the answer to that was.

He tried to tuck his discomfort away as he laid out his sleeping bag next to Ryan’s, and wound up unsettling some dust into the air as he smoothed it out and plopped his pillow into place. He grimaced and tried to suppress a cough, but doing so only made the urge to cough worse. Ryan watched him hack whatever he’d inhaled into the crook of his arm, a wry smile of amusement playing at his lips.

“Need some water?” Devon asked, stepping forward with a water bottle already in hand.

Shane took it gratefully and drank until he felt his throat clear up. “Thanks,” he said as he capped it and set the bottle down beside his pillow.

“Should we see you guys out?” Ryan asked as Mark finished adjusting the camera that was set facing their sleeping bags, the red recording light already blinking with purpose.

Mark shrugged as he stood, taking his big shoulder camera back from TJ, who had had been dutifully holding it for him so he didn’t have to set it on the dirty floor.

“Nah, I think we can find our way out on our own,” TJ said as Mark wiped his knees clean of the grime. “I know you’ll probably just bolt if you get anywhere close to the exit anyway, Bergara.”

It was Shane’s turn to smirk as Ryan scowled, knowing that there was definitely some truth in that statement. Ryan had been unusually on edge throughout the rest of their investigation after their incident with the spirit box, and all Shane’s goading had done was make it worse.

“Have a good night, guys,” Devon said, looking uncertain about leaving them alone. She gave a little wave as Mark and TJ each said their goodbyes in turn. “We’ll see you in the morning; be safe, okay?”

“We’ll be fine; what’s the worst that’ll happen? A rat takes a nibble out of one of our ears?” Shane mustered up a smile he hoped looked assuring, but Devon didn’t seem comforted by it.

“The closest hotel we could book is 20 minutes away, but even still, don’t hesitate to call if you need something,” she said, and TJ nodded in affirmation.

“We’ll come as quick as we can,” he said, and Shane wasn’t sure why, but his words left a heavy weight in his stomach.

“Guys, we’ll be fine, this isn’t our first rodeo,” Shane said exasperatedly, and Ryan backed him up with a nod.

“The ghoul boys know how to behave themselves during a spooky sleepover,” he affirmed, but didn’t have the confidence required to back up what he was saying.

Still, Devon looked a little less doubtful and finally relented. She bid them goodnight once more before the three of them took their leave, carrying all the extra equipment Shane and Ryan wouldn’t need away with them to make packing up a little easier in the morning.

None of them knew it would be the last time they ever saw each other.

Shane sat down on his sleeping bag with a slight grunt and listened to their crew’s footsteps receding out of the room and away from them, echoing down the hall ominously. He waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore before he started getting ready for sleep, peeling away the opening of his sleeping bag to tuck his long legs inside.

“And then there were two,” he said rather cheerfully to Ryan as he got comfortable. He was met with a miserable sigh as his co-host begrudgingly slid into his own sleeping bag. He zipped it up promptly and stared up at the ceiling bitterly.

“You say that every time they leave, give it a rest already.”

“But it’s true every time it warrants being said,” Shane replied, drawing his phone out of his pocket and opening up Twitter. “We’re the only two people left in here; anyone else doesn’t exist, and you seem to need reminding of that fairly often.”

Ryan sighed shakily and turned his flashlight off, casting them both into the gloomy darkness, broken only by the glow of Shane’s phone as he scrolled through his social media feed.

“Shane? Are you awake? I’m kinda freaking out hardcore over here, buddy.”

It took a moment for Shane to register that he was being spoken to as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, rolling over in his bag to face where Ryan was laid out. As his vision adjusted to the dark, he could see that Ryan was wide-awake, still staring up at the ceiling where the viewing booth stuck out like a sore thumb.

“What?” Shane asked, his voice heavy and tired, rumbling out of his throat in a low timbre. “Whatsit?”

“I- I can’t sleep,” Ryan admitted, his voice sounding small.

“Surprising absolutely no one,” Shane muttered before yawning loudly and rubbing the crust out of the corners of his eyes; he’d only been just been able to fall asleep before Ryan woke him up.

“Shut up,” Ryan grumbled. “It- I can’t sleep because it feels like- it feels like we’re being watched. I know it’s just the dark, but sometimes I think I can see people up there, looking down at us.”

Shane turned his gaze up to the viewing booth, but couldn’t see anything that looked like what Ryan was worrying about. His eyes did try to force shapes out of the darkness behind the window, but he intrinsically knew that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, trying to get him to see things that weren’t actually there. “There’s no one here but us, Ryan,” he reminded him, turning his attention back to his friend.

“But the voice on the spirit box-”

“-was just a voice,” Shane cut in. “And look, I’ll be honest with you- it was a little jarring, and I’ll admit to being a little unnerved by it myself, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Wh- no! Why would that make me feel better?” Ryan spluttered, finally tearing his eyes away from the booth above them to fix his wide-eyed stare on Shane. “You’re supposed to be my, my grounding rock, my calming spirit; how can you be scared? You’re not allowed to be afraid, I- I’m the one who fears!”

Shane stared at Ryan for one wordless minute before breaking out into a hearty laugh, his voice carrying around the room and making it sound louder than it was.

“Alright, calm down there cowardly Heisenberg; I didn’t say I was scared, just unnerved,” he clarified. His laugh seemed to ease some of Ryan’s worries, as his face cracked into a tentative grin at his words. “It was weird, yes, but nothing else strange happened while we were walking around, did it?”

“No, I guess not,” Ryan admitted, looking a little sheepish now. He contemplated Shane’s words quietly for a moment before he asked, “Do you really think it was just a numbers channel?”

“I think it’s a possibility, yes,” Shane said, picking his words carefully so as not to exacerbate Ryan’s anxieties. He honestly had no idea what it was or what it could be, but he wasn’t anywhere near ready yet to admit that it could’ve had supernatural origins. “We’re in a weird old government hospital; I think the most likely thing to have happened is that our little boxy pal picked up on a weird frequency we weren’t supposed to have access to and gave us a glimpse into something that wasn’t meant for us.”

“Yeah, but, we’re in Illinois,” Ryan began, picking at the zippered hem of his sleeping bag as he put the thoughts he’d been ruminating on into words.

“So? If you’re about to start shit-talking this wholesome state, so help me God, we’re going to have to start exchanging some serious words here.”

“No, that’s not what- Look, Illinois is in America; what possible radio frequency being broadcast here could we have picked up on that doesn’t speak English, or any other spoken American language, or even human?” Ryan asked, gesticulating around them as he spoke.

Shane sighed and rolled onto his back, adjusting his pillow to better support his neck. “You don’t know that it’s not any known human language, Ryan, we established that. It was probably just some kind of a looping cipher the CIA forgot to turn off when they moved out, not some- some demon speaking to us in tongues.”

Beside him, Ryan groaned loudly and quickly withdrew his arms back into his sleeping bag, as though he were afraid that by naming it, one would suddenly appear.

“Please don’t say demon.”

“You just did,” Shane said, unable to keep himself from speaking rather snidely. Ryan shot him a pointed look of annoyance, but he couldn’t help his uncooperative attitude in that moment. He was sleepy, and could feel all the dust they’d been breathing in coagulating deep in his lungs. He was irritated, and he let it show. “Look, Ry, we can discuss this all we want tomorrow, but I am incredibly tired right now. Just… try and get some sleep, okay? We’ll pick this up later.”

“I think we both know that’s not gonna happen,” Ryan muttered, but he mercifully let the issue drop.

Whether or not their conversation had helped or hindered Ryan, Shane couldn’t say. It had been a strange night for both of them, all things considered, and he wanted nothing more than to just be done with it. As he closed his eyes to try and go back to sleep, the last thing Shane would later recall seeing was the darkness taking shape in the form of a face looming behind the window pane of the viewing booth, looking down upon them intently. A strange metallic taste wouldn’t leave his mouth no matter how much water he drank to try and ride himself of it, and although Ryan had forsaken the notion of sleep for himself entirely, he too eventually drifted off unawares.

And that was all it took; by the morning they were gone, taken without a trace, everything they’d brought with them left behind and undisturbed.

#buzzfeed unsolved #ryan bergara #shane madej #dead by daylight #buzzfeed unsolved: supernatural #rpf #supernatural rpf #AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT #remember when i mentioned id fish-flopped into another fandom? it was unsolved

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aurimeanswind · 6 years

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Back Again—Sunday Chats—7/8/18

Welcome Back!

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these, and I wanted to open up with a bit of a litany of excuses as to why that is! I know when you’re just on the outside looking in its hard to know exactly why I haven’t been posting these or asking questions, or really anything on Sundays. It’s a combination of things.

First of all, the last two Sundays I have not been home to write up Sunday Chats. Three weeks ago I was in Cuba! Well, technically I was at Key West, the day before I’d go to Cuba, on a cruise ship. Most importantly, the only internet access I had was through the data on my cell phone, and so I couldn’t really post Sunday Chats. In theory, I could solicit questions via my phone, I could write it up offline, and then go on and post it when I’d get home the following Wednesday, but I really didn’t want to because it was honestly a genuine vacation for me. I wanted to kind of check out and try and not be online so much. Of course, I failed a little bit in this regard, I was checking Twitter ravenously any time I had an internet connection, because I have a problem. For the most part, when I was off on my cruise with my mom and my brothers three weeks ago, I was without an internet connection, and it was a little nice, but also a little stressful.

The week before that, it was E3! We were living in the Microsoft/Bethesda press conferences! I was going to write something that day but honestly between the post shows and just consuming E3 I honestly did not have time. I’ve done like, reaction write ups in the past, but I was a bit more down to live in the moment this go around.

Then I was in San Francisco! It was the day after Kinda Funny Prom, which was lovely, we’ll get to that in a bit, but that Sunday I was seeing a movie with Barrett Courtney, my sweet boy, and was just exhausted after KFP and everything then. I had stayed up way too late the night before talking games and eating pizza. I had a great time, but I was still pretty checked out.

The Sunday between those two, I was completely exhausted. Honestly? I’m still exhausted. The best thing, I think, to alleviate my normal “post-con depression” type thing I get after a Kinda Funny Live event and seeing all my friends is taking another, separate vacation just beforehand. I had barely enough time to stay at home and just sit on my couch and play video games before suddenly being whisked off to San Francisco. So getting home, I am just so happy to be home, to be sleeping in my pitch-black room on my comfy foam mattress. To lay on my couch and play whatever video game I want (which mostly has been Tales of Vesperia... again) and just... relax. Ya know what I mean? I just want to relax. I’m a solitary person. I’ve talked many a-time before on here, but I just love to be alone a lot. And I just want to be alone sometimes, especially after several back-to-back socially exhausting experiences.

And that’s a big part about why I’ve been so crappy about doing Sunday Chats consistently. Even before this last month of vacations I’ve been very touch and go about SC. Now that I have fully transitioned into being a full time employee, I work a lot more than my body is used to, even if I am four months into my new role at my job. It’s a lot for me. And I’m barely keeping up with my IP work of being an editor there. And that’s, I think, more important, because I am making decisions and a team is relying on me for that.

I essentially circle around two days off a week, Wednesday and Sunday, and so I work Thursday-Friday-Saturday, plus I have the podcast on Friday nights. Without getting too into the details, Saturdays at my job take quite a toll. Like, a lot on me, so just making it to Sunday, I’ve genuinely forgotten completely about Sunday Chats because I am sleeping in and resting and just trying to get my bearings. I know it’s not much of an excuse, but I’m hoping to turn Sundays into equally as productive days as they are relaxing. It’s just about finding that balance.

As per usual, my trip to San Francisco was motivational in some ways, so I feel inspired to continue to work harder and do more now that I’m home, and hopefully that can last me until PAX West in a couple months.

But that’s generally where the status of Sunday Chats is. As a big update, while not going into effect quite yet (maybe not even for months) but Sunday Chats will soon transition to be a full feature on IrrationalPassions.com. I think it’s a natural transition and it makes sense. It’ll still be available and accessible to all, but I want to play around with some format ideas I have, and I think it makes sense to be there since it is, predominantly, about video games, as it always kind of was. I want to have these heartfelt chats there, because I think as the “editor-in-chief” of the site, it helps build a rapport with the audience of that site which seems to grow every month.

Now that’s all done, let’s get to the editorial!

My Feelings and Emotions in San Francisco

I like this title because it’s just all about the feels. As many frequent Sunday Chats readers would know, depression is just slowly becoming one and the same with me. Like two amorphous blobs just close enough to each other that they become one. Like slime enemies from Dungeons & Dragons that just jell together on spiritual and self-hatred-like level.

So I’ve been through a rough like... 2018 to be honest. And so being in a place where I was just genuinely surrounded by affection and good vibes was really, really moving for me. I put out a twitter thread about the feeling which I think encapsulates most of what I’d want to say, and you can read that here.

But a big thing is how being in SF has proven to be a huge opportunity for me in the past: a time to “schmooze” as some people say, and talk to people, make connections, market yourself, or just meet as many people as you can and spread “the brand” as much as possible. And honestly, I just wasn’t here for that this year. I’ve gotten to a very, maybe even regressive place in my life, where I’d rather not get out there and try and be at the center of things and meet as many folks as possible. There were certainly several folks I had never met before that I wanted to meet, but for the most part I spent that time focusing on more intimate interactions with specific people.

A lot of this manifested in folks I’ve admired for a great long while, and that’s the fellows at OK Beast. I got to have a real heart to heart with Ian Preschel, someone I just haven’t been as close to for whatever dozen reasons that usually amount to time, and understand him better as a person. I got to have an emotional moment with Moises, someone I admire so goddamn much and for some reason keeps saying I’m the reason he started writing. I got to spitball ideas with Alex Van Aken, my fellow Alex-in-Arms, and share the wonders of running a business Slack with Blessing. They’re people I just genuinely look up to and inspire me legitimately every day, and I’m excited and hopeful to collaborate with them in the future. I have nothing but love for all of them, including Brandon, wherever he is out there.

I got to spend a ton of time with Barrett and Alyssa, my hosts, and Jacob Bryant who was also rooming with me at their place. They’re just family to me. Enough said.

I got to spend a huge chunk of time with Nicole Humphrey and Cameron Abbott, two very special friends to me, and for reasons I’d rather not put on blast here, it was very important to me that this time was worked into my trip, and I’m so glad it was.

Those dense, meaningful interactions are what I live for. It’s literally why I started the show Get Acquainted (new episodes coming soon I promise!) and they were the highlights of the weekend. I won’t list them all here, but suffice to say on a personal level this trip was very important to me, rather than on a “business level” which it has been for me in the past.

Thank you all for being open to wasting your time with me, I’ll be forever grateful.

ONTO GAMES.

What’s On Tap

Hollow Knight

I HAVEN’T TALKED ABOUT THIS GAME ON SUNDAY CHATS AT ALL YET AND IT’S INCREDIBLE OMG.

I love this game.

Final game time was 42h and 7m, and all of it was excellent. Well... Not all of it, there were a couple very frustrating bosses. But most of it was excellent.

One of the best Metroidvanias ever made. Symphony of the Night, Super Metroid, Ori and the Blind Forest, Hollow Knight, and Metroid Prime are the best of the genre full stop. It sits proudly in that number.

Don’t think. Play it.

Unless you really don’t like hard games, because it’s very difficult, but crazy rewarding!

Ys VIII

I just got this pretty recently and am only about four or so hours in, and so far it’s just a wonderful delight.

Compared to the demo I played a great many months ago on PS4, the Switch version does take quite the graphical hit, especially if you have a hangup about anti-aliasing. There are a LOT of jaggies to be seen here

BUT, I think performance wise it’s still very solid. Some hitches here and there, but during combat it’s generally smooth, and that’s what’s most important.

Very good. Recommended.

Captain Spirit

Honestly, there is too much to say here. Don’t hesitate, go play this. I do not care if you’re like Jurge Cruz (social media editor at IP) and are dead inside and don’t like Captain Spirit. It’s free. Go play it.

Nuff. Said.

More thoughts coming soon.

Questions

Remember you can tweet me your questions by looking for my tweet with #SundayChats in it on Sunday afternoons, and you can be a part of this write up! Much love to everyone who always shows up (I’m looking at you Brandon Gann! <3)!

Goddammit Tyler you keep asking me wrestling shit and you know I hate wrestling...

Uhh...

What if I just showed up and was Noctis?

Originally posted by ffxvcaps

A great many things! Event wise, I’m very excited about PAX West. Assuming I can still make it, which I should be able to, it’ll be a blast.

Plus there are new shows and new things coming from IP soon that I am just hyped for.

But let’s be honest with each other? Okay? Let’s all be real here?

Motherfucking Tales of Vesperia Definitive Edition.

‘Nuff said.

My favorite Romantic Comedy of All Time just so happens to also be my favorite movie of all time, Silver Linings Playbook.

It is, in my humble opinion, a perfect film. It is the only movie I have watched over 10 times.

It’s very important to me, and while it may seem dumb to many of you, it told me that even fucked up bad people like me can find love in both themselves and others. And I really needed to hear that when that movie found its way to me in 2013.

Good LORD am I the WORST to ask about this. Well, first, Jamie. It was a goddamn pleasure meeting you at prom.

I mean, look at us:

I was very drunk and I’m so sorry.

But on a real level, a few things.

First, I did this horrible thing where I wrote everyday for almost three years straight and that was just a self-made torture and I have to keep myself in shape motivationally speaking or else I’ll have to do that again. And that sounds torturous. But as far as building strong habits I think that did help a lot. I mean, Sunday Chats is a direct by product of that, and I think generally people seem to like SC.

Second, I spend a lot of my brain energy trying not to worry about shit I have zero control over. If I misread a text and think someone hates me for whatever reason, which I do pretty much on a daily basis, I’m either going to text them back and ask, or do nothing, and if I’ve decided to do nothing, then I don’t get to be upset about it. If someone is doing some wack shit, I’m either gonna keep talking to them, or nah. Just do it, and everything else, well there is nothing you can do about it. Usually. But my depressed-adled and crazy-ass garbage brain still spends many an hour worrying about things I have no control over. But I’ll say this, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten better at it. Skill comes with time and age.

Third, I think finding someone on relatively equal footing as you but maybe doing something better or more interesting or just simply different than you can really be motivational. It’s easy to get demotivated by someone else’s success, but words I try and hold onto every goddamn day are “someone else’s success does not equate to your failure”.

I hope that helps!

I have not had a lot this year, unfortunately. Avengers was great? I looooved Ant Man and the Wasp! Adored it. Just saw it yesterday (on Sunday, actually!) and it was phenomenal.

But outside of that I don’t have much. It’s crazy to say that in a year where a new JK Rowling Harry Potter movie is coming out, but Johnny Depp is in that movie and he is fucking human trash and for some reason WB is letting him just waltz around like he hasn’t done horrific things.

But anyway, I’d very much like to see Fireworks, from the same folks what made Your Name, but the dub wasn’t playing anytime I could see it this past weekend. :(

Maybe if it goes up on streaming soon (which I’m hopeful it will) I can see it.

Outside of that, I got nothing.

As someone who actively dislikes breakfast and most breakfast food, this is tricky for me to answer. I know your whole breakfast fetish Quin, so I won’t shit on you here, but I guess it’d just be a simple bagel (everything bagel. or poppy seed, depending on my mood) or maybe pancakes/waffles.

My thing is waffles/pancakes aren’t breakfast food, they’re anytime food. Or 1am food.

I have traveled a lot yes, but it’s been to a lot of the same places over and over again unfortunately. Not that that’s necessarily bad, but it’s been a lot of SF, Boston, etc, etc.

Having just gone to Cuba, I finally have a passport! So it’s time.

It’s time Japan. I’m coming to you.

And hopefully Ireland too. But those trips will likely have to wait a bit and be very far from one another.

ISLAND BOY!

Well, that is a nightmare scenario for me, because I’d definitely die very quickly. BUT. If I had to choose.

First up would be Bentley from Sly Cooper, because he is a big needy nerd like me and would want to get the hell out of there ASAP just as much as I do, and he could make like, a series of small helicopters out of coconuts or some shit.

SECONDLY.... Hrmm.... harder choice.

There is a really great joke here about choosing Fi from Skyward Sword because maybe she could just DOUSE our way to a better situation, heaven knows...

But I’m mostly above that.

I’d say Cappy from Mairo Odyssey just because I just looked at my Cappy hat and it’d be fun to just capture turtles and crabs and stuff on the island. Not Bentley, he’d consider that an invasion of privacy.

I don’t know if YOU should get Detroit, but I absolutely love it. I’d say read Logan Wilkinson’s excellent review of the game, available here:

http://irrationalpassions.com/detroit-become-human-review/

He liked one relationship in that game a lot more than I did, but generally we’re on the same page with it. I love the game, and if Heavy Rain did anything for you then I think Detroit is better in just about every way.

I’ll say this: it’s not like 2018 has been BANGERs for me, but after 2017, where two of my new favorite games EVER came out (Breath of the Wild and Persona 5) it’s just so impossible to follow that up. That being said, I’m medium to high excited about MANY games this fall: Spyro, Tomb Raider, Valkyria Chronicles, AC Odyssey, Life is Strange S2, Code Vein, Darksiders 3, and Smash Bros. That’s a whole lot in just three short months to eat up like some yummy yummy candy.

So while I think he first half of 2018 has been pretty great, mostly because of Hollow Knight, but also Ni No Kuni 2, Celeste, Yakuza 6, and Moonlighter, its still been good. It’s been a big one for me to reconnect with my indie darlings. And that’s big for me.

I hope that helps!

Checklist

It’s been a while eh?

Well here are some recs!

“The Short But Chilling ‘Captain Spirit’ Weaponizes Empathy Against You” - Patrick Klepek - Waypoint.

I have barely read this but everything about it jives with me. Another one to check out only after you’ve played Captain Spirit, which I assume all of you are going to do, because it’s free, and because I asked you so nicely to do so.

The Music of Persona 4 Golden - Blessing Adeoye - OKBeast.com

I mean, it’s about arguably the best video game soundtrack of all time, from one of the best music-takers in games, that just so happens to be on my favorite video game of all time. What do you want? Go watch.

OK Beast Podcast Episode 100 - OKBeast.com

I’ve found myself far more into OKBP since they merged OKB and PPR into one show. Here is their 100th episode, where they decided to rank the best 100 video games ever. For some reason.

Like, what if on Ep 400 of IPP we ranked the top 400 video games of all time? Fuck that.

Love those boys.

That’s it. That’s all she wrote. Or rather, that’s all I wrote. Sorry this posted Monday, I hadn’t checked my work schedule for a minute and then I saw at like, 8:30pm I had to open today and that means I have to wake up at 6am and I figured I should be responsible and get a full night’s sleep. Still didn’t fall asleep until about 10:30am, but I wrote some of this last night.

I’m rambling.

I love you all.

Do me a favor though?

Keep it real.

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amanda-teaches · 6 years

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Amanda’s 1 year blogiversary!

Today, January 30th, 2018 is my 1 year BLOGIVERSARY!

As many others have said before me, and will probably continue to say after me, when I started this blog, I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought I would just read some fanfiction and maybe join in a few discussions about my love, Dean Winchester, but that was all. Boyyyyy, was I wrong.

1 year later, I have over 1,000 followers, dozens of fics on my masterlist, and so many, many treasured friends. I never dreamed I would have any of it, but I am eternally grateful that I do. This website has enriched my life in countless ways, and that’s thanks to all of you.

So, to celebrate you and this combined milestone of my blogiversary and hitting 1k, I am doing a 3 PART CELEBRATION that will start today and carry on through February 15th, the one year anniversary of my first fic!

To spread the love I have gotten back to my 1,000 followers, I will be doing BLOG RATES (between now and Februrary 6th).

To reward my readers for following and loving my writing, I will be doing SHIPS (between February 7th and 15th).

And, to spend time with my beloved friends (and hopefully make some new ones!), I will be doing a SKYPE CHAT (tentatively scheduled for Friday February 9th).

Details on each of these events will be rolling out over the next two weeks, so keep an eye out for those posts! Now, in the meantime, I would like to start off this 1 year celebration with a bang: by spreading some love to the friends who’ve helped me along the way.

Sidenote: Y’all should follow pretty much everyone below this cut, because they’re all 15/10 amazing:

@babypieandwhiskey- Cam, Cam, Cam. I don’t even know where to start with this girl. She is a top-notch writer and an even better friend. She gives me so much unconditional love and support, never expecting anything back in return, even though she deserves it all. She’s one of my best friends on here, and I’m so, so grateful for the sexy Dean gifs that brought us together.

@because-imma-lady-assface- Ash is another one of my best friends on here. She is one of the coolest people I have ever met: smart, funny, and crazy supportive. She’s also a fantastic writer, who is probably the best at writing Dean that I know. Oh, and, and I love her to pieces. If you aren’t following her already, you’re crazy.

@castielhasthetardis- Meg’s not very active anymore, but she’s still one of the best Gabriel blogs I know. She’s also one of my closest friends and a great girl to talk to.

@hamartiamacguffin- Mac may not be active on Tumblr anymore, but she’s still my bezzie and one of my biggest support systems, not only on this site but in my life. I love her more than I could ever say and I am so grateful to have her as my bezzie. Y’all should totally follow her and get her back on here!

@hannahindie- Hannah is like, uber talented, but she’s also super sweet and down to earth. She’s a great person to talk to and she’s so incredibly supportive every single day. I love Han.

@idreamofhazel- Hazel is responsible for giving me so many Sam crisises, it’s not even funny, but I love every second of it. She is such a sweet, genuine person who is also so incredibly talented and I love getting a chance to chat with her!

@impala-dreamer- Beka was the very first person I followed on this website and literally the entire reason I created this tumblr was to get tagged in her series, Whitlock Manor. She was also the first person to encourage me to write and she has been amazingingly supportive ever since then, which is just one of the many reasons I’m happy we’re friends.

@impandagrl- One of my fellow Pandas, Amanda is such a sweet, genuine person. She is incredibly supportive and funny and just an all around great person to be around.

@itswitchcraft-not-googlemaps- Steph is one of my absolute best friends. We can spend hours texting and giffing back and forth, and never get tired of each other. I love that we can support each other in both our tumblr and personal lives, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s a pretty awesome beta.

@jpadjackles- B is a sweet, wonderful, strong, amazing person. One of my favorite Sam!girl friends, B is always fun to chat with and she is so supportive of everyone she meets.

@just-another-winchester- Kayla is one of my newer friends, but she’s also one of my best. I love talking to her about anything and everything and she is so, so incredibly supportive of me. She’s a great friend to have.

@katymacsupernatural- Katy is one of the sweetest people I have ever met. Not only is she ridiculously supportive of everyone on this website, but she is an amazing writer. I wish I was as talented as Katy! I’m so happy to have her as a friend.

@lipstickandwhiskey- Lips is another one of my writer idols. Her series, Balconies, is literally one of my favorite things ever. It is fantastic, she is fantastic, and I love when we get to chat!

@mrsdeanfuckingwinchester- Deanna was one of my first true friends on this website, the kind of friend that you can tell anything to. I love that I can talk to her about anything and fangirl over Dean all at the same time. I love this girl.

@pinknerdpanda- My name twin! Manda is so sweet and so talented, I love every time I get to talk to her. She is an absolute gem and everyone should have a friend like her.

@roxy-davenport- Lex is awesome! She is one of the best Crowley girls on this website and literally the Queen of Hell, which is the coolest thing. She’s also such a sweetheart and so supportive of everyone.

@seenashwrite- Nash is not only a witty genius, but she’s also an amazing friend. In fact, her CAH games are actually the reason I met many of the people on this list, so she’s pretty much responsible for my entire social life (that’s only a slight exaggeration). Plus, she’s as hilarious as they get.

@squirrel-moose-winchester- Eileen is literally the sweetest person I have ever met, and that’s coming from a Kindergarten teacher who’s surrounded by sweetness on a daily basis. She is seriously like a Tumblr angel, just going around spreading joy into all of our lives. I’m so glad we’re friends.

@wi-deangirl77- Jess is one of the coolest, most fun people I have ever met! She feeds my Winchester obsession on a daily basis and she is an amazing friend. I love this girl!

Here are some of my other favorites, who I may not get to talk to as much as I would like, but who I still love forever and ever: @niamandthings @withstarryeyes @jalove-wecallhimdean @deanssweetheart23 @ilsawasanacrobat @myfand0msandm0re @lonelyangelstardis @escabell @abbessolute @trexrambling @roxyspearing @ohmychuckitssamanddean @there-must-be-a-lock @ericaprice2008 @babyismyspiritanimal @pheonyxstorm @atwistoffate @masksandtruths @carryonmywaywardcaptain

And, finally, to those of you on my tag list: @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @be-amaziing @mysterious-398 @emoryhemsworth @sweetpeamoose @akshi8278 @sea040561 @its-not-a-tulpa @cemmia @mrswhozeewhatsis @emilymorgan1994 @juanitadiann @samwinlover @imdreamingofhim @growningupgeek @georgialouisea @mariahoedt @dancingalone21 @tinageekandtraveler @smi727 @annoyingpeople-postingthings @mellowlandrunaway Thank you so much for sticking with me, especially those of you who wait so patiently for new parts of Escaping the Island. I know I’m horrible about sticking to any kind of schedule, so the fact that y’all stick with me anyways means the world.

I love you.

#amanda's 1 year blogiversary #love my followers #spreading the love #celebration #milestone celebration

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ficbyfic · 6 years

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Mistletoe Kisses

Summary: After a number of unfortunate weather delays, some cast and crew of a small indie film are stuck in a remote California mountain town for the holidays. Penelope, the films makeup artist, makes sure the people around her are happy despite not being home with family. Dacre Montgomery in one of those people.

A/N : This is my first actual fic I’m posting on this site and I’m terrified as hell. I’m posting this now because if I don't, I won't post it at all. I will go back tomorrow to fix anything. There isn't anything to warn about. This is just fluff. I am so so painfully rusty and I know that. I would really appreciate some feedback and constructive criticism so I can work on getting better.

The two story tudor that was rented out as the crew quarters was decorated to the nines for the holidays. Penelope, the loud but ever loving makeup artist, made a point to make the Christmas spirit strong for the cast and crew who were unable to be with their loved ones for the holiday. The small indie film unexpectedly ran behind schedule due to many weather interferences. Who knew there would be blizzards in the mountains of California in the winter! Christmas lights were strung around the pillars of the porch and a large pine wreath was placed on the front door. There was a big red silk ribbon bow and pine cones decorating the door ornament. The wreath was simple yet beautiful much like the woman who put it there.

As Dacre walked up the sidewalk to the house, he could see through the windows a large tree decorated with white christmas lights, red and gold bulbs and a gold ribbon wrapped around the tree. He was one of 10 cast members who were unable to make it home for christmas and as much as it disappointed him, he was happy to spend the holidays with a great group of people. Dacre couldn't help but smile as he saw Penelope bop around from behind the tree, dancing to whatever christmas tunes she chose for the party. She had a glass of what looked to be eggnog in her hand. She was dressed in a simple long sleeve ruby red dress with a santa hat on her head of brunette curls and he couldn't help but think how adorable she looked.

It was no secret to anyone who was paying attention when the two were together that both Dacre and Penelope had soft spots for each other. They would deny it any time it was brought up but the both of them would blush at any mention of the flirting or the lingering stares. As he gave a courtesy knock and walked through the door, he told himself that tonight would be the night he made his feeling known to Penelope. She was still dancing around in her stocking feet talking with Ellis, the director of the film, about her favorite christmas movie The Santa Clause. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree was playing on the sound system. As Dacre walked into the living room he took note of the mistletoe that hung in the archway between the living room and the kitchen, thinking that that may be useful at some point later on in night. Penelope noticed the new arrival and lit up when she realized it was Dacre.

“Merry Christmas Dacre!” Penelope cheered as she approached him. She was two eggnogs in, (the adult variety), and had a buzz so she blamed it on the alcohol when she greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The hug was normal for the two friends but the kiss was a touch not normal. In penelope’s defense she had kissed Ellis and Mark on the cheek when they made their official appearance at the party but her kiss on Dacre’s cheek lingered a bit longer than the previous two. She pulled away from him noticing a slight tinge of blush on his cheeks that she was sure she mirrored.

“Hi Pen, I brought this for our hostess with the mostest.” He winked at Penelope using her odd, to him, colloquialism that he had learned from her earlier in the day. She had, only slightly joking, told him that her goal in life was to be such a host. She laughed at the reference as she took the gift bag. The bag was tall but thin with something heavy in it. She had a feeling that she knew what it was. After placeing the bag under the tree with the rest of the wrapped presents, she turned to the new arrival.

“I’ll wait to open it when everyone else opens theirs if that's okay.”

“Of course it is.” he smiled to the girl who had stolen his heart. It was a slow fall for the both of them but neither could no longer deny the warm feelings they felt for each other.

The party went on for another hour before everyone who was still in town arrived. Penelope took note of everyone's arrival and went into the kitchen to pour champagne for everyone for a Christmas toast.

“May I assist in any way?” she heard a voice ask as a head popped around the corner.

“Of course, would you pull out six more glasses? We’re out of wine glasses so any will do.” she said , looking up at him smiling. She was so happy to be surrounded by a group of such amazing people, Dacre especialy.

“Would you be a dear and help me carry the other tray into the living room?” she asked Dacre after finishing pouring the champagne into the glasses he grabbed. He smiled at her telling her of course.

“Would everyone grab a glass so we can do a holiday toast?” she requested.

Penelope and Dacre walked around the room making sure everyone got their glass of bubbly.

“Despite the reality of not being home for Christmas, I would like to toast to the amazing family we have been able to build as we set upon this journey of creation. I hope it’s not too much, but you guys are like family to me and I’m so grateful that I’m spending the holidays with all of you.” Penelope raised her glass and everyone repeated her motion before clinking their glasses with those around them.

After everyone had finished their champagne, penelope asked that everyone settle into the living room and around the Christmas tree.

“My favorite part of the holiday season is being surrounded by those I love and I’m sure many of you feel the same. Unfortunately for those of us here, going home just wasn’t in the cards. So, I wanted to give a gift to everyone that will hopefully ease the homesickness that you may or may not be feeling.” Penelope began to hand out all the gifts that were underneath the tree.

“I hope this helps not being in Australia for Christmas.” she said as she handed the last present to Dacre who stood by, amazed at how loving Penelope was. This was a perfect example of why Dacre fell for her. Penelope was such a kind and genuine soul. In the many hours in her chair that he had spent, the two had talked about how much she missed her family and her hometown especially during the holidays. Yet, here she was making sure everyone else was feeling a little better about not being home during Christmas.

“They aren’t much.” she warned as people tore open the package.

As each present was opened it was obvious what Penelope was trying to do. In each wrapped box was something that was a part of the recipient’s specific holiday tradition. Penelope had made a point to find out through clever questioning, what was important to everyone’s Christmas traditions and ordered or bought each thing weeks ago when it was known that some wouldn’t be able to go home for Christmas.

Dacre unwrapped his present to find a package of kinetic sand and a little note ‘Because you celebrate on the beach, I bring the beach to you this christmas. Love Pen.’

Everyone seemed happy and touched at the thought that Penelope had put into every gift. Each one had been so personal to the receiver that it showed the close attention that she paid to each and everyone of them. It showed them all that she cared.

An hour after the presents were unwrapped Ellis and Mark were sitting together at the upright piano playing any Christmas carol that you could think of. Many people were gathered around singing. Penelope was of course standing at the piano joining the singalong. Dacre approached Penelope with an outstretched hand. In his hand was his gift for her.

“Your turn.” he said as he steered her towards the kitchen with a hand on her back. Dacre place the bag on the counter in front of Penelope, watching her excitedly open the gift.

“Dacre!” she exclaimed as she read the label of the bottle of wine. She looked up at him with a brightness in her eyes that sent a warm and happy feeling through him. “Thank you! This is amazing”

The particular wine that Dacre had gifted Penelope was a bottle of her all time favorite. It was from a small but amazing winery in her hometown. Penelope knew how hard it was to find this wine anywhere out of New York State so she could only imagine how hard it was for him to get this. Penelope wrapped her arms around the kind Aussie next to her in a hug of thanks. It might have been the eggnog and champagne but she felt a magnetic pull to him that she had no desire to resist. Neither could Dacre, to say the least.

“Part of me feels like I should be worried about everyone else but most of me knows that they will survive without the host. Would you like to share some of this lovely wine? I can promise you that you’ve tasted nothing like this.” she said as she searched the drawers for a bottle opener.

“I would be honored, Pen.”

So they sat and drank their wine discussing everything and nothing at all. Eventually a few of the camera and sound people came into the kitchen to say their goodbyes saying that they had a ton of fun but the eggnog was beginning to make them sleepy so they were going to head to bed. They thanked Penelope for being such a great host and making their Christmas fantastic. Penelope walked to the living room to see that Dacre and her had been in the kitchen longer than she had realized. She wasn’t surprised by that though because time often went by ridiculously fast when she was with him. She saw that Mark and Ellie, the other member of the makeup/hair department had gone upstairs to their rooms as well as a few others while the few that remained were absorbed in conversations on the couches. Penelope had just pressed play on her folksy Christmas playlist, wich was perfect for the winding down of the party, when she felt a had resting on her arm.

“May I have this dance?” Dacre asked smiling down at Penelope. She smiled and put her hand in his. He pulled her towards the more empty part of the room, looking to get a touch more privacy. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She rested her hands against his solid chest as they swayed back and forth to a slow Christmas song. They danced for a good three songs, lost in each others presence. She lifted her head from it resting place to look up at the man she had grown extremely close to over the past three months.

In that moment, Penelope couldn’t help but hope that he felt the same warm and happy feeling about her that she felt when she was around him. She felt the stereotypical butterflies but she also felt she safe, cared for and unbelievably happy when around Dacre.

“I feel crazy.” Penelope muttered quietly still looking up at Dacre. He couldn't help but chuckle as her eyes went wide in realization. She had not meant to say that out loud.

“What was that?” he asked still quietly laughing.

“It was nothing.” she said, her face turning the color of a tomato. “So, how did you find that bottle of wine? I haven't been able to find anything from Dr. Franks since I moved out of New York.”

“You would be surprised by the amount of hoops I had to jump through.” he said jokingly.

“Oh really? I hope I was worth the hoops.” Penelope teased back.

“You were.” he said looking at her in a way that made Penelope’s heart flutter. “I made some calls to local liquor stores and they connected me with a private wine collector. Did you know that 2010 is the best year of the Dr. Franks Merlot ever?” he said enjoying the feeling of Penelope in his arms.

“Really?” she asked looking up with her eyes bright. The gentle swaying that they were doing came to a stop. “How did you convince him to let you have it?”

“Well, I told him about this amazing woman I know who is extremely kind hearted and who would do anything for the people she cares about. I told him that she was missing home and that this wine was a piece of home for her. I then told him about how I wanted to do something for her since she was constantly the one to be doing things for other people. I wanted to make her feel as special as she makes everyone else around her feel. After telling him about you he gave it to me and told me to make sure you felt as special as you deserved to feel.”

“Dacre…” Penelope trailed off quietly, tearing up. Penelope knew that that was one of the nicest things someone had ever said to her.

“Pen,” he said in a quiet low voice so only she could hear. His thumbs brushed her cheeks preparing to wipe any of the happy tears that were pooling in her eyes. She looked up to him as she noted the tender smile on his lips. It was in this moment where both Dacre and Penelope knew that their feelings for one another were mutual. “I think christmas tradition says that I’m supposed to kiss you now."

“What?” she said confused.

Dacre smiled at her and just pointed to the ceiling above them. Penelope looked up and saw that they had managed to dance under the mistletoe that she hung up for shits and giggles. Penelope blushes and gets on he tiptoes as Dacre lowers his head to meet her half way. Penelope was going to go for a quick peck but as their lips met, they both felt the spark. As she pulled away, Dacre followed her and captured her lips in a second kiss. It was just as sweet as the second one. They pulled away a second time with big smiles on their lips.

“I like you so much Penelope.” it was barely above a whisper but to Penelope it was so loud.

“I like you more Dacre”

“Can I take you out to diner tomorrow?”

Penelope simply nodded, unable to speak in her happiness.

The spell was broken when they heard Mark excitedly shout “Finally!” Those who were left, cheered along. Penelope buried her head into Dacre’s shoulder, embarrassed but happy.

“I think we should do that more often Pen.” he said chuckled into her ears.

“I agree.” she said as he closed in for another kiss.

#Dacre montgomery fic #Dacre montgomery fanfiction #Dacre montgomery imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #fanfiction #actor fanfiction #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #Im so scared #this is cringe I know #oneshot

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agape-l0ve · 3 years

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hello i am back lol

I think the last few times I wrote out a blog was when jj was deployed. tumblr was a really helpful tool for me at that time because it allowed me to be completely vulnerable without having to burden anyone else!

I was looking back at my old posts and it’s so interesting to read where I was back then and to see the progression of how much life changes in such short bursts of time! So here’s just an update for my future self -- warning, it’s not very exciting hahaha

So, since jj returned in dec 2018, it’s honestly been great! We saw 2019 and 2020 as a time to catch up on all the lost time we had in the previous years. No more exercises, training, or trips away, life actually went back to normal - which was weird. I look back and think about how we’ve only been in this lifestyle since 2016, but so much can happen within a span of 4-5 years. I’ve finally graduated from CFCC’s OTA program, which was honestly such a blessing because our class was able to complete our requirements before COVID got really bad. Well, I should say most of our class. As of right now, I think only one more person is finishing up their FW II, which is crazy because these days, I find myself thinking about how I was just finishing up HH and transitioning into peds outpatient in FW II exactly one year ago.

I’ll talk a bit about my FW II experiences.. since they were not the greatest lol.

Home health was really interesting. I was honestly DREADING it because 1, I don’t like spending long amounts of time in the car and 2, I hate being in the car with just one other person - especially someone I don’t feel100% comfortable with. Also, I wasn’t too fond of the idea of going to people’s homes either. I think this placement really stretched me and pushed me out of my comfort zone in every aspect. Looking back now, I genuinely enjoyed the experience for what it was! Would I voluntarily do it again? It depends! (which is a step up from a solid no)

Our area covered the extremely rural areas of our surrounding counties and it definitely served as a huge culture shock. But everyone was so sweet and grateful for any help they could get and I will always remember some of the most awesome patients I got to meet. The negative effects of this rotation mostly came from my supervisor. She was an awful human being, but thankfully, she was at least a good OTR. However, that being said, I saw ZERO treatments! Even when I tried to tell my professor, NO ONE LISTENED OR BELIEVED ME. It was extremely frustrating because I had all of these assignments to do and all of them were about mf interventions. Anyways, my OTR was untimely, rude, unapologetic, and lacked empathy out of her ass. I was so ready to be done with her and thankfully, she didn’t ruin HH as an option for me - just wasted my time with her. If someone could win an award for the amount of countless hours they could talk about themselves, it would be her. 9 hours every day, non-stop, talking about herself and how great she is and her bf. omfg JUST GET ME OUT OF THE CAR

FW II was supposed to be really exciting for me. I was done with HH and moving onto what I cared about the most and what I really felt passionate about. Helping children in clinic! It was honestly my dream. It was a multi-disciplinary site with SLP, PT, and OT. Everyone seemed nice and it just so happens that my OTR at this placement was a former Marine and he and I had a lot in common paper. Boy, was I in for it. He turned out to be an extremely narcissistic man who thought the world of only himself. He shit talked EVERYONE behind their backs, but was extremely fake to their face. Him and the front office administrator would gossip every moment they got, like they were 13 year old bullies. He suffered from several TBIs when he was enlisted, so it’s safe to say that his temperament issues and memory loss were definitely a result of those. But the worst part is, he refused to admit it. He would shit talk the boss, the PR manager, the PTs, the clients, and just about everyone in between. And he brought 100% of his personal life into this, which I get if we’re co-workers, that’s fine. But as your student, I don’t need to know about that kind of crap. On top of that, I was his first FW II student... lol of course I was. So he knew nothing about how to help me, guide me, or teach me. Instead of looking at the informational packed my professor handed to him, he puts that in the closet the entire 9 weeks I’m with him and proceeds to continuously throw me under the bus when it came to doing my assignments and treating patients. Mind you, I didn’t get to treat anyone in HH, so this is now my first real opportunity to start treating patients throughout the entirety of my program. Safe to say, I was nervous. But I pulled through and did my best and I forced myself to become really confident really quickly. I was awesome at it and I was honestly very proud of the practitioner I was striving to be. He did help me from time to time and I’d like to believe there were moments where he was genuine and tried his best to help me. But none of those times outweigh the flustercluck that was that clinic. Anyways, I came out pretty salty about the whole thing, but I didn’t let it ruin my passion for helping children, as that is what I aspire to do in the future. I made strides with kids my OTR wasn’t able to connect with for months. And instead of encouraging me and allowing me to fulfill my duty as a student, he re-books them with another therapist and anyone in healthcare knows how that detrimental that process is to their progression and tells me that he’s just trying to be nice and share his case-load with other people. No, you’re purposefully taking them away from me because you can’t stand the thought of someone being better than you at something. His pride and arrogance will forever taint my experience there and I have no intention of going back - which is a true shame because I absolutely fell in love with the kids and some of the other therapists there. Oh well, good riddance to both my HH OTR and my peds OTR.

Luckily through it all, COVID was just beginning and it only delayed my graduation process a few weeks. I was extremely fortunate to be one of the first few in my class to finish up and start studying for my NNCOT exam!

Studying for my exam was a time and a half. I honestly had -0% confidence in myself to pass this test. I knew it was coming, I knew I had to eventually take it.. but time just snuck up on me so quickly and before I realized, it was my time. I studied for about 3 months, graduating in June and taking my exam in Sept. I took a short break immediately following graduation and then read an entire 3,000 page textbook, took over 300 pages of notes, and took practice tests and listened to podcasts/watched youtube videos. It was a lot of information but it was honestly so rewarding to think about how much knowledge I’ve truly gained from these past few years. Fast forward, Sept 23, 2020 was the day I took my test and it was great! A lot less structured of a process than they make it sound and I was able to complete my exam in about 2 hours and passed a few weeks later! I got my license and everything was great!

For whatever reason, during this time, I felt in my heart that it was time to get another dog. This topic kept coming up un-provoked in EVERY single conversation we had with others and it just felt right. Being home now, I was able to spend every day with Teddy, rather than taking him to daycare. Because of the uncertainties of COVID at the time, I didn’t feel comfortable taking him in, nor did I want to drive if I didn’t have to. Teddy became extremely depressed, always sleeping in the closet or between the toilet and wall, which are places he goes only when he’s hurt or sick. I would try to play with him and take him out, but he had lost all motivation to do anything. It hurt my heart that I couldn’t give him what he wanted or what he needed. So, after a lot of thought and research, Chester came into our lives! Teddy’s breeder had JUST had a litter of puppies (on the same day I took my exam!) and I figured it was a good time to raise another puppy, since I have the time and no outstanding commitments right now. We picked him up in Nov, right before Thanksgiving and jj’s brother was in town to help us. It was a looooong day, 5 hours there and 5 hours back. I think we got home around 2am, but since then, my life has just been on hold while I raise Chester.

Teddy was not happy at first. I could tell he was confused and upset that another dog was here. But over time, they have become much closer and share experiences that has helped him become a better brother. Chester is a lot of work lol but he’s brought so much joy to all of us and I love him so much. He’s currently 5 months, losing all his baby teeth, and getting into everything and Teddy has been enjoying the company (in moderation lol).

In regards to our life, we were really hoping to PCS back home summer of 2020, but it didn’t happen. It was pretty disappointing because we’ve been on the east coast the whole time we’ve been active duty. A lot of our friends moved either back to their hometowns or to the west coast and it felt really unjustified that we were stuck here, but even so, we are making the most of it. We would have had to move through COVID and we wouldn’t have gotten Chester, so those are definitely some benefits of staying put. Since we’re here for a bit, we’ve decided to purchase a house! Our friends down the street are selling theirs and we figured it’d be a good financial idea to start allocating our rent into a cheaper mortgage. It has a double yard and it’s a bit newer than our current rental. So we are hoping to move around June! I’m excited, it’s kind of a fresh new start without having to be too big of a move for now.

Mentally, I’ve been fluctuating. I have a lot of self-inflicted guilt from not working at the moment. And yes, I agreed to get Chester and it’s a full-time job to watch him and not have to crate him all day. I want him to enjoy his puppyhood and I want to be here with him as well, so I do cherish these moments that I can have with both him and Teddy. However, I just feel like it’s the right thing to do or it’s what I’m supposed to do. I graduate and then I work! But being here, it’s just not the path for me. Besides, I keep reminding myself that there are no job openings in my immediate area right now anyways. So for now, I’m just spending my days with the pups and working on keeping the house clean, which does bring me a lot of joy. I need to learn to enjoy life and not worry about what I’m not doing. To help myself, I signed up for transcription services again, so hopefully that’ll bring in some money and take up some time. I think it’s the need to feel productive and I haven’t had that in a while. But with COVID, I’m sure that’s a very popular feeling.

I think that’s about it for now, that’s what’s been going with me the past few years! I can’t wait to read this in 2 years and hopefully, I won’t be in the same place lol

byee

#sarah's ramblings

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jennakarenina · 6 years

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"Ich bin ein Berliner" does not mean "I am a doughnut."

I loved Berlin even more the second time around. On my last trip, I did briefly stop in Berlin to meet up with some friends from school. I was only in Berlin for 16 or-so hours, and, though it was a great time, I didn't feel like I did the city justice. This time around, I feel like I really did it right.

I clicked with my roommates right away, Vanya and Alex, from Russia and Canada, respectively. Vanya is a professional filmmaker and photographer, and he offered to take my portrait as we walked around the city. And being the cocky confident woman that I am, I said sure! It was actually great walking with Vanya, not only because he takes fantastic photographs, but because he was one of the most interesting people I've ever met. He was born in Russia, but has lived in Australia, Germany, Austria, Spain, he just chooses a new country or city and goes there to film and build his portfolio. He and Alex walked across Spain together, and meet up in different cities when they get the chance. What a life, right?

We started at Checkpoint Charlie, which is where the entrance to the American Sector used to be during the days of the Berlin Wall. To be honest, I was a little underwhelmed. It's a small white building, and next to it you see the famous "YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE AMERICAN SECTOR" sign to the left. Right behind that sign is a KFC, across the street is a McDonald's, and visible down the block is a Starbucks. 'Tis the American Sector, indeed. Surrounding the area, however, are some fascinating museums and outdoor exhibits about Cold War Berlin that I could've spent hours in. There are sections from the wall all around the city, and you can see how the wall was fortified specifically to prevent people from escaping. Can you imagine what it was the like the day you woke up to find out your city has been physically divided, and that you were now subject to a government you probably didn't consent to, nor felt any identification with?

From there we kept moving, and Vanya led us towards to the Holocaust memorial. I had seen pictures of the memorial before, but pictures really don't capture how enormous the site is. The blocks start off low and relatively staggered, but as you progress they quickly grow in hight and uniformity until all of a sudden you're totally surrounded by 15, 20 foot tall, dark, grey stones. They form a long grid, and the columns appear endlessly long. The day we went was cloudy and rainy, with a low fog drifting through the narrow corridors. I lost Vanya for a bit, but eventually found him as I came out the other side. As I wandered alone through this stone forest, I had time to think introspectively. How amazing is the universe, and yet how cruel. The only reason I am here today is because of where a family member was not 70 years ago. Something like that, and this trip in general, helps one to be grateful for the life they live now. What's even more amazing, is to go from that memorial to the Brandenburg Gate and see a giant, fully lit menorah proudly standing in front of it. In less than 100 years, understanding and seeing the change from Nazi flags to menorahs, it's a sense of pride and accomplishment I can't quite describe.

That night, I got to try Berlin's famous currywurst, which is a curried sausage (not a sausage in a curry, but with curry spices in the meat). It's fantastic. Dad, you'd love it.

I thought about writing a paragraph about the German political situation regarding refugees, but I don't want to bore and would like to avoid the same moral diatribes I despise on social media. Instead, enjoy this sweet story about a couple I saw on the subway:

A couple is sitting across from me, a man and a woman, and I watch her rest her head on his shoulder and close her eyes. He grins as he looks down at her, and kisses her forehead. There was genuine love and admiration in his eyes and smile as he looked at her. A moment passes, and she opens her eyes, giddy and smiling at him. She gathers her sleeve to reveal a colorful beaded bracelet, and he chuckles as he lifts his sleeve to revel his matching bracelet. They share a quiet laugh, and she returns her head to his shoulder and closes her eyes again. They got off at the next stop.

It was just a simple gesture of love that was so subtly sweet and so genuine, it just made me happy. It's beautiful to see how love translates across languages, culture, and borders. You can see and understand love and joy even if you don't understand the language someone is speaking.

I began writing this in my hostel in Vienna, where one roommate is a Pakistani PhD candidate, and the other is an Italian DJ. I love the different kinds of people you meet in hostels. I finished writing this in a traditional Viennese restaurant as I finished a plate of schnitzel. Tomorrow, I'll hop over from Vienna to Budapest, the city I've most been looking forward to all trip, where hopefully I write from a dimly lit ruin bar (or more like from the train).

That currywurst really helped clear up my sinuses, but the perpetual rain and fog of these cities is definitely testing my immune system's resilience. But hey, it's not a true Jenna trip if I'm not somewhat sick so, this is clearly how it's supposed to go.

Also, fun fact learned in Vienna today: Mozart apparently didn't die dirt poor and squalor, but he did have a serious gambling problem.

Auf Wiedersehen y'all

Jenna

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warriorgays · 7 years

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I’m about to share something really personal about why I’m in this fandom and why I write what I do. I’m going to ask that people not reblog it, just on the off chance it spreads too far, because it has to do with my professional life. Under a cut because it got long.

I’m a history grad student. I don’t do academic history; I focus on how history reaches the average person, through museums, archives, historic sites, new media, and the internet. This summer I had an internship with a fairly prestigious institution in my field, which I won’t name, and had the opportunity to research in their collections and to write a post for their blog. I was delighted to find that in their collection were several items related to gay men, in particular, who served in WWII; a collection of letters written to a civilian, which included at least one love letter and another that was pretty clearly about a friend’s struggle with his queerness, as well as a collection of photos of different men, including one where the subject had used the word “gay” to describe himself, albeit in that kind of vague sense the word still had in the mid-20th century.

I wrote a blog post including these documents, and one other, a picture of a military drag show that didn’t single anyone out. The first time I sent the post out for review, the social media team told me I had to cut the first two documents because we couldn’t risk the men’s families identifying them and being insulted that we had stated/implied they were gay. At this point I was ready to give up, because I couldn’t do the post without those documents; however, two queer full-time employees basically took me under their wing and told me they would help get it passed. They gave me the language I needed to argue my case, and had other high-ranking employees weigh in.

My post went through four more rounds of edits. All told, I believe nine or ten people weighed in. I added several clauses clarifying my language to make it less strong, basically saying “but that doesn’t make these guys GAY” in a dozen different places, until the post was more than twice as long as they originally told us to shoot for. I made almost all of the edits that were recommended, except two - I refused to change “gay neighborhood” to “gay-friendly neighborhood,” which was accepted, and I refused to cut a quote from the letter, although I added in a few more no-homos surrounding it. (I’ll also say that all of the documents in my post are currently publicly available via the institution’s website, although they require a little bit of digging to find.)

All of this happened over two weeks; the longest it ever took for me to get a reply was four days. Friday July 28th was my last day at my internship; I had submitted my final final draft (hopefully) the day before and received no response. I emailed the social media team the following Tuesday and was assured things were moving along and I would get an email ASAP with any updates. I emailed again today to see what was going on, and got a response from the director of the department I worked in, telling me that my blog post wouldn’t go up, because the institution is altering their policy about personally identifiable information and making it more strict, so my post has been rejected. The decision has nothing to do with my writing or my research.

I don’t know what this means. I don’t know if it means the photos and the letters will be taken off the public sites, or if researchers will have to sign a release to view them - or if it just means that they’ll keep LGBT content in the collection, but we’re not allowed to talk about it.

The first time I thought the blog post wasn’t going to happen, I messaged a friend on here about how upset I was. I full-on sobbed for almost half an hour, and it caught me off guard. It was never just about the work I had put into the post, although that’s not insignificant. This was going to be my first real public project, and one that meant so much to me. When I realized I was gay at the age of 15, I freaked out. What saved me was finding a list of LGBTQ people throughout history, realizing that I had a history and a community and that I wasn’t alone. I had never learned that any of the people on that list were queer in my classes, although I had studied several of them, and I had never seen anything about LGBTQ people in museums or history books I had access to.

But I was caught off guard by how attached I was to these men, and how responsible I felt for them. One of the men in the collection died in 1964; it’s very possible he was never out to anyone beyond his lovers and his friends. Another died in 1997, but he was old, poor, black (although he apparently was able to pass in public), and lonely, and his few friends couldn’t afford a funeral; he was buried in a potter’s field. The other two were never identified beyond their first names.

And maybe they would have disliked their letters and their photos being paraded around in public, that’s fair. But I felt... I felt good, taking their happiness, their love and friendship for each other, and making that a part of history, knowing that it had to be kept secret at the time. And I feel kind of sick knowing that these documents aren’t being suppressed because they’re damaging - they don’t contain SSNs, they aren’t evidence of a crime, they don’t contain any lurid details - but because their families might be ashamed or affronted at them being perceived as gay. It feels like they’re being shoved in the closet all over again, because being called gay is still that much of an insult. In 2017, a public history institution can’t insinuate that someone is gay without undeniable proof. Which means, to some extent, that 90% of pre-Stonewall LGBTQ is off-limits.

Sometimes, I admit, I feel silly about writing fanfiction. I feel like I’m pouring too much history into something that, in the end, is just a harmless diversion. I feel awkward at putting so much detail into the lives of “real people” instead of finding the stories of real LGBTQ people and writing those instead. Maybe that would be a better use of my time. Maybe, in the end, it would do more good.

But... it’s so hard. I don’t want to write academic texts for only academics to pass around. I want to do history for the people, because that’s what matters to me, and that means I can’t load myself down with queer theory that people don’t understand, and that I have to couch every word so it’s not Too Much, and already, already, I am tired and angry. Because this is what happened when I had allies, and when even my “opponents” were nice allies who aren’t homophobic, who genuinely think my writing is good but just think we have to be careful. This is what happened even having LGBTQ mentors who have been putting up with this shit for years!

It broke my heart going through these documents. There’s a line in a letter where one man, writing to his friend, talks about how he’s going to get married to a woman because he prayed hard enough that he’s not interested in men anymore - and how he went out with his boyfriend (though he doesn’t use the term) one last time, and how the boyfriend promised to wait for him in case he changed his mind. Another time I was talking to one of the gay employees about how I wished we had the other side of the exchange, especially the one involving the man who died in the 60s, and he said “It’s a shame, but you can bet his family burned the letters as soon as they saw them.” Even with no evidence, there’s one man in the photos who’s just... his sense of humor leapt out at me from the page, and on the back of one he had written “26 and loving it! Gay as hell still”, and I want so badly to know his story, to the point where not knowing, never being able to find him, feels like an unhappy ending itself.

I found out barely an hour ago that the post isn’t happening, so undoubtedly I’ll feel less dramatic in a day or a week or whenever. But at the moment... I’m grateful that I have fanfiction. I’m grateful I have characters I relate to and identify with, and whom I can turn into the people I need them to be, and I’m grateful that I can give them happy endings. I’m even grateful that they’re based on real people (even though I don’t write them as the real people) because that makes them real enough that they can stand in for the people I’m not allowed to talk about.

I’m sure people are going to ask to read my blog post and/or see the documents themselves, because I mentioned they were on a public site. I’m sorry that I don’t have an answer just yet. I very strongly do not want this to result in any attention from the institution and I don’t want my full name to be attached in any way, so I’m still mulling over how best to deal with the situation. I think the most likely result is that I will end up sharing the links to the documents, with certain conditions. I’ll think it over and let you all know by the end of the day tomorrow. If you got this far, thank you.

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antons-yelchin · 7 years

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Letters to Anton 2017

Here is a copy of my letter to Anton for this year’s Letters to Anton event. Hopefully we can make this a yearly thing. It was four pages long on regular notebook paper, so be prepared to read, a lot! If you want to participate in this this weekend, please use the tag Letters to Anton 2017 on all social media sites so all of us fans can see your letter. Yes, the word has spread to Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. So feel free to post there as well. Thank you all for having such a positive reaction to this and for those of you who participated. I know Anton would be proud to see a community coming together and uniting for such a sweet cause. And heck, maybe this tag might even reach his parents and they can find some peace and a bit of closure through us. So here goes nothing:

Dearest Anton,

I know it is strange writing you now, but I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday. I know you are not with us anymore and I'm so truly sorry for that. You were taken from us at such a young age, at the cusp of your career-changing move to director. You were so very talented, be it acting, music or your photography, and it hurts that such a bright star was put out much too soon. As a parent myself, it rips my heart out knowing your parents are still hurting. I am sure they have healed some, but with this being the first birthday you won't be celebrating, it's just re-opening the wound. And for the accident to have happened on Father's Day, I know your dad feels some kind of guilt even though he had absolutely nothing to do with the accident.

Honestly, I have a weird fascination with death for years now. So I did go over your 'Death Certificate.' It puts me at ease somewhat knowing the whole incident was very quick and that you did not really suffer. I can not even imagine the final thoughts that ran through your mind. I do not want to think about you being in pain or scared because that makes me cry just thinking about it. I remember a month or so before Star Trek Beyond was released to theaters, a promoted Facebook post was a clip of the movie where the escape pods were setting off away from The Enterprise and it showed a quick clip of you as the adorable Chekov with an expression of such distress. I remember making the comment that "This clip is making me anxious because if anything happened to Anton, I don't know what I'd do," and then tragedy struck. To say I was devastated is a severe understatement.

The day you were taken from us, I remember thinking it was some kind of spyware program, kinda like those weird quizes that use your Facebook profile to give you results, but it would use your recent search results instead, to create some kind of fake article. Then I just thought it was a hoax because it was so early in the morning and at the time only TMZ was reporting it and I couldn't find any more information about it. But within an hour or so, more legit news outlets began reporting on your death. And of course, TMZ was the first to post pictures of the scene of the tragedy. Seeing the crinkled fencing and the villain of this whole ordeal, your Jeep....that's when I broke down. I was crying and just repeating over and over "Anton's Gone!" and "Why?" I cried so much and so hard that I ended up vomiting and my lips started swelling up to where I looked like a Kardashian. I don't know why my lips do that when I cry a lot, but they do. I had only been home from the hospital for my heart condition for a little over a month. My chest hurt SO bad and it was hard to breathe at times, even when I stopped crying for a moment or two. I knew why this was happening so I did not go to the hospital for the pain. I just let it pass. Plus, they would probably lock me up in the mental part of the hospital for getting so manic over someone I did not even know. Even my psychologist now looks at me strangely when I mention it.

But that's the thing...I felt like I did know you. Through interviews, articles, etc, you were just so genuine, humble and down to earth. I felt like we all got to know you. It felt like you were so open with us, your fans. Know that we really, really appreciate that openness. I'm sure other fans will agree with me. Some would say myself and some other fans are obsessed or strange, but someone on Twitter put it into words perfectly: Thinking about how we mourn artists we've never met. We don't cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.

Now for the tougher part of this letter. (WARNING: SUICIDE TRIGGERS) A few years ago, I tried to kill myself via overdose. As you can tell, I was unsuccessful. I don't see how between all the different medications I took and the large quantities that I took. But it was you who became my anchor and helped me through my recovery. I did not go to the hospital because there's always a stigma surrounding those type of hospital visits in my family. Two of my older siblings we both admitted to the mental facility at the hospital and they still haven't gotten rid of that stigma, even a decade later. So it took my body about a week to recover and during that time, I watched the first Star Trek movie and saw you as Pavel Chekov and I was hooked (On you and Star Trek). Then I grabbed Odd Thomas from a Redbox, not realizing you were in it, it just had paranormal stuff in it and that's my kind of thing. I fell in love and started going through your filmography and also retreated into the Odd Thomas book series. The only person who knows about this ordeal in my real life is my husband. But whenever I watched you, I would instantly feel better and you would keep the 'bad thoughts,' as I call them, away.

Skip to February 2016 and I'm admitted to three different hospitals over a month's time. I was diagnosed with Primary Pulmonary Hypertension and Right Side Heart Failure at the young age of 31. Pulmonary Hypertension is a terminal illness with no cure, just medicines that help improve your quality of life. I was the youngest case the doctors at all three hospitals had seen in their careers. Usually it hits around the ages of 50-60. It was so depressing being in the hospitals for so long. The first two weren't so bad because they were only 45 minutes away from my home and I knew my way around the areas they were in. But the third one was over two hours away and I did not know anything about the city and was definitely out of my 'safe zone' so my anxiety was peaking during that stay. And that hospital was the one I stay at the longest. I stayed in the NICU of Duke University Hospital in the same wing that heart and lung transplant patients are recovering and they have to stay there at least six months. I couldn't do that. The nurses told me they weren't used to a patient that was so self sufficient. But back to you. Luckily, I had several of your movies on my computer to keep me company and I found the movie Rudderless and between the awkwardly adorable Quinton and the music, it has become my favorite film of yours, followed by Star Trek, Odd Thomas, Hearts in Atlantis and Fright Night. I even purchased Cymbeline because Ethan Hawke was in it and he and Keanu Reeves are two more of my favorite actors after you, and finding out you were in it as well was a definite bonus. And it definitely made me blush with that one scene. The same thing happened with "Only Lovers Left Alive" and I had honestly rented it just to see Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston and then you pop up in it and I literally squealed with excitement. Man was I lucky. The movie with you co-starring with Robin Williams I have yet to watch because I took his death very hard as well. I had just barely recovered from that to where I could finally watch his movie again without tearing up.

I hope wherever you are, you are safe and happy. It may be a bit morbid, but at least you are in good company. 2016 was not a good year for celebrities. I hope you are having a blast with David Bowie, Prince and Alan Rickman, just to name a few artists in your company. Hopefully, you've reunited with Robin Williams and he's making you smile with his comic relief.

That is what I am really going to miss is that we will never see a new smile or laugh from you. But thankfully, we have a large archive to look back on. You had such a variety of films to choose from, and I'm so grateful for that. So many things to make me smile. I even have a life-size and mini cardboard cutout of you to keep me company when things really get bad. I've been trying to find someone or something else to get engrossed in, to be my anchor, but I'm not having any luck.

Some days are better than others. Some days I smile and laugh when I talk of you and some days I can't even think of you without breaking down. I know you would want us fans to be strong and to celebrate your life instead of being sorrowful over your death and I am trying to be strong. Truly I am. I have made several friends through my Anton Yelchin blog, one who has gotten very close with me, and I think you would be proud that we have come together on your birthday to celebrate your life, from all different ethnicities and backgrounds and social media sites. This day is your day, and always will be.

I don't know what to expect from the afterlife, but I think some how, a piece of you is watching over me, kind of like a guardian angel. And when times get really bad, to where I start thinking about suicide again, I turn to you to help me get away from those thoughts, because if I did do that, I might not ever get the chance to meet you. My lifespan has already been shortened as it is. And that doesn't bother me. Everyone dies, some sooner than others. But you shouldn't have died so soon. I found a stone that was on someone's grave online and it read: If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever. And I truly believe that. Between myself and all these other fans I've met, we would have made you immortal.

Thank you so much for being there for me when no one else was, even though you did not know it. I will forever be grateful for that. Thinking back to the final lines from Odd Thomas: This life is a boot camp and we must persevere to earn our way into the next life. If I live an average lifespan, I'll have another 60 years before I see you again. That will be a long wait, but I am a patient woman.

So until next time, rest well my dear Anton.

#Letters to Anton 2017 #Anton Yelchin #Odd Thomas

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rueur · 4 years

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Morning Pages No. 55

Tuesday 18th August - 8:40 am

So I’m scrambling to get this finished before 9am because I have an online uni tute I need to attend. It’s going to be an hour and a half long and then right after that I’ll need to finish an article on investing in real estate in Melbourne, which has immediately coincided with Evan and I finding a house that we might like in Epping...shit’s crazy. We had a genuine conversation about buying a home together yesterday because we realised that what we’re paying in rent could quite easily go towards a home without us breaking a sweat, or having to work that much more. If we find something for around $500k, we’d actually be able to buy a house like quite soon? It’s weird! I’ve always been talking about this like it’s a bit of a pipedream and I mean, we’re 23. We have plenty of time to save up some more, but this house that we’ve found is actually quite perfect. I mean it’s very us, it’s in a superb area, and I can see myself being happy living there for decades. Epping is suiting me well, and I wasn’t expecting this, but I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful for Lonzo, and for our big sunny yard, and I’m grateful for the amount of parks and ovals that are available to us. I’m grateful for the dog park and the community that surrounds that space. We’re just so lucky to have found a rental property here. If we can find a genuine home, that would just be unspeakably perfect. What’s better is that I’ve told Sandy about it and she’s totally supportive of it! She doesn’t think we’re jumping the gun, which I was kind of worried about, because she’s been thinking of buying a house for ages now. I feel like I do a lot of things before her in life, and I’ve always been a little bit proud of that. But Sandy’s establishing herself so sensibly as she always has been. She’s only really impulsive when it comes to buying material stuff, not making big ass life decisions. I don’t know. I feel like the older I get, the more I realise how similar we are, but in our own ways. It’s nice having an older sister who’s so different to you in essence, but shares your same values. You get to share sides of the world with each other that the other wouldn’t be privy to, but is still able to appreciate.

Speaking of, I’m frantic because it’s 8:48am, I’ve got to be on zoom at 9am, and then stay there till 10:30am. Once that’s over, I need to finish my article and THEN once that’s over...Ev and I are taking LSD. I mean...yeah. At home, of course. We just haven’t done it in a while and we haven’t really structured this one at all, it’s just supposed to be a kind of ‘we’re in lockdown’ thing and I don’t have too much work to do this week, aside from organising the meeting with Steve, talking to Dan, talking to Sam, and then the fact that I have three more articles due on Friday, but I don’t have access to the Excel spreadsheet just now and it’s Tuesday, so I’ll most definitely have time to do them I guess when we’re sober on Wednesday or even at work on Thursday. OR Friday morning. It should be fine. I honestly deserve a bit of a break. Not a day goes by that I don’t have at least some kind of work to do. I mean yesterday I spent all morning writing articles, then we got distracted by the house and went for a walk to go and look at the house. It’s not very far away, but the court it’s in is so cute and lovely that it feels like you’re in the country. I’m getting distracted by this beautiful house again! We took Lonzo to the oval after that and had a bit of a ball throw and run around. I did a small lap of the second oval, the one that was all done up. I think I’m going to use that oval to measure my laps from now on, because it’s just so much easier running on concrete. Evan says otherwise because it’s bad for your knees or something and yes, I understand that. But the ground is level so it’s just a lot easier to get into zen mode and just run mindfully. Sarah’s Day 2 challenge is to do one activity mindfully. I think mine should be running mindfully to see if I can get slightly meditative about the practice. If not, I can go for a bike ride. I’ve been meaning to do that too and it’ll only take me a half hour or so. I should just bite the bullet and do it, eh?

It’s 8:54am and I think I might need to stop these pages halfway through in order to get to my class on time, but I don’t want to! I really don't. I want to just finish this, write the three pages all the way through without disruption, and then have a linear schedule for the rest of the day. I’m worried I’ve been operating on fumes and it’s not good for me. I need to take a break! Hence the acid. I’m not entirely convinced it’s a good idea, but I’ve never really been convinced before every trip. So at this point, I’m really just looking forward to it. It’ll be broad daylight when we drop, which should be quite nice, and the weather’s getting so much nicer now. It’d be a shame to stay inside and work all day, so we might as well have a little trip. Actually, now I’m thinking it might also be worth putting a mask and some sunnies on and taking a little walk with our faces hidden so nobody can tell we’re flying high. Maybe not right away. Maybe we’ll wait until we’re feeling where we’re at, because the stuff we have in the freezer is quite strong, like around the same strength of the tabs we had at Eso.

It’s 8:57, and I’m just looking back at what I was able to write in the span of three minutes. I don’t like writing these under a strict time limit because it just means that the whole entry turns into anxiety about the time, so I reckon I’m just going to stop here and get ready for my class that starts in two minutes now. It’ll be easier than just trying to rush about 1000 more words in two minutes. And I owe myself more than that. For the record, I couldn’t get up early enough to do this because my classes (that I teach) finished at 7:30-ish last night, then we made and had dinner, and then I needed to watch my lecture and do my readings and I was just so done from the amount of work that I had to do yesterday that it took me ages to be able to motivate myself to do my uni work, and I ended up going to bed at around 1am.

It’s 10:34am now and my class just finished. I don’t know what to think about it, but I’m feeling quite hot and weird in my own skin right now. All I really want to do right now is just have a shower, and I think I will do that and just get really really into it. That can be my Day 2 done: a really mindful shower where I just wash every inch of my body and use my little scrubby thing and just get the soap into a nice, thick lather. I might have a bit of weed too just to kickstart the acid, we’ll see.

It’s a beautiful day outside, it really really is. Melbourne being in lockdown during winter is no big deal, but being in lockdown now as spring is finally starting to arrive, is getting me quite down. I can’t believe the world isn’t open to us right now, and that there’s a one hour time limit on outdoor activities. It’s crazy how limited I feel right now, and even though I can fully register that my mind is working infinitely harder than my body, I can’t really do anything about it. And yet, I feel like that is just an excuse as well. I push myself hard, I always have. Because I want to be somebody who’s accomplished for my age, always. I like feeling like I’ve done so much for a 23 year-old. Maybe that’s another reason why I’m allowing myself to get so attached to this house we’ve found on the internet. We actually found it a few weeks back, and there was an online auction scheduled for two Saturdays back, I think. But the house didn’t sell then, which kind of feels like fate. Honestly, it’s also pretty interesting that this is all happening during COVID-19, when the Melbourne real estate market is experiencing a bit of a decline. This is kind of the perfect time to buy. Maybe I should talk to thathi about this. If akki thinks this is a good idea, I should honestly genuinely consider buying this place with Evan. But that’s the one iffy thing about it. I’m worried that thathi’s going to think that Evan and I aren’t established enough in our relationship to be able to think about buying a house together. But we spoke about this yesterday too: we’re not going to break up. The longer we’ve been together, the less we feel like we’re ever going to break up. We’re just comfortable with each other. Life is easy and good. And I honestly think life will just continue to be easy and good for us, and I don’t believe I’m naive for thinking that. I was talking to Evan last night about reading through the first few morning pages I published on this site, more specifically all the summaries of all the depressing phone calls I had with Ikaros nearing the end of our relationship. I can’t believe I ever allowed myself to feel guilty or personally responsible about how that relationship ended. I gave him every opportunity to be a better partner and he just wasn’t willing. I was patient, I was communicative, and I gave him so damn much of myself. Surely he can’t blame me for moving on. Surely he can’t still be harbouring ill feelings towards me. But then why hasn’t he spoken to me in three years? Why am I still blocked on his socials? Because he can’t confront the full reality of the situation, he can’t allow himself nor myself to attain closure because that would mean admitting that he’s largely responsible for the crumbling of our relationship. I feel like I’m just pointing the finger now, but honestly I also feel like I need to. That’s why I brought it up with Evan last night. I’ve been trying over the last three years to just let this go without closure and feel content with whatever sense of closure I can just provide to myself, and honestly reviewing the morning pages did kind of help with that. I just believe that I’m in the process of putting all of this to bed, and seeing how ridiculous past me was when it came to my leniency with him...it helps. I feel like I’m finally starting to get on my own side.

I do worry about him too, more than I want to. It’s kind of like Wren. Wren and I did chat a fair bit yesterday, though. Just on messenger. I was glad for that, because I at least know they’re doing okay enough to be able to hear about me and respond to me conversationally. I told them to listen to Jacob Collier’s new album, saying that I’d listened to it twice and each time I thought to myself ‘Wren would really love this’. Wren likes it when people think of them, I know that. One time I asked Wren if they could pick up soap on the way to our house because we didn’t have any soap and they felt really included in our lives, like it was an intimate thing to ask a friend. I want to do as much of that for Wren as possible. I want to provide them with a sense of family and community here. But I also need to take care of myself, and that’s something that Wren has been struggling with accepting this year. I understand why though, and I’m not mad. I acknowledge I’m in a far better personal situation during this lockdown than they are in every way except financially.

#stream of consciousness #morning pages #55 #artistsway

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