#told him I had to move because of no money and mom got a transplant and is still sick all the time

[floral-hex]

“guess you didn’t have a forwarding address after all ☹️” shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut up shut up shut up

[five-rivers]

Home

The building that housed Fentonworks had never been normal, no matter what neighbors and real estate agents might profess.

Things had happened there. Deaths. Wild twists of fate and shocking coincidences. People who lived there heard noises, saw things, felt things. Experienced sicknesses with no cause. Were cured of sicknesses without cause. Survived things that should have killed them.

It was a thin spot between worlds. Reality was a rippling membrane, frayed enough for things to shine through.

The construction of the neighborhood itself had been… strange. It happened much faster than it should have, as if there was a whole extra shift of workers on the project.

The townhouse that would one day become Fentonworks had stood out even in that mystery. Extra rooms, a basement deep enough to cause a nasty fight with regulators, features not approved by the architect.

It was a wonder they hadn’t hit any of the water lines or the sewage systems. A wonder- and an impossibility. So, the matter was ignored and dropped.

Then the next owners expanded that impossible basement, building another, secret basement and putting things in the walls- They were criminals, of course. It was expected for them to do illegal things. (Although exactly what they had done was… oddly uncertain.)

(Drugs, perhaps.)

Then, the lunatics. Then, the tiny cult that collapsed in on itself. Then the empty years, dozens of transient ghosts trying and failing to pass through, and the ghost hunters. So many ghost hunters, none of them particularly successful.

Then, the Fentons.

Then, little Jazz.

Then, little Danny.

Danny with wide eyes that saw too much.

And all the horrors that the Fentons could dream up, from living hotdogs to weapons that burned like stars and doors to places that should not be visited.

And this was Danny Fenton’s home.

.

The Manson estate was an odd case, even for Amity Park. Save for the basement, the entire building they lived in had been transplanted, brick and beam, from Germany.

Rich people were bizarre.

Even the Mansons couldn’t explain it. The man who had done it hadn’t been a Manson. The Mansons, who were relatively new money, all things considered, had purchased it from one of the man’s children. Anything to boost their prestige.

It was fancy, and it was old, a gothic and statuesque mansion worthy of its name. Still, it wasn’t quite fancy or old enough to merit the kind of expenditure moving it had to take.

Hence the rumors, squelched by the Mansons, that the place was haunted.

It wasn’t.

The rumors, however, were enough to get one Samantha Manson interested in the occult. Especially given how hard she saw her parents working to hide the rumors from her.

No. The mansion wasn’t haunted. For all it’s oddities and quirks – which only multiplied as the Mansons added more and more features to it – the building itself was mundane.

(The land it was built on might have been another story.)

And this was Sam Manson’s home.

.

The Foleys didn’t want to know what Tucker got up to in the attic, but liked to think that, with that one exception, their home was a nice one. It was on a nice street, in a nice neighborhood, just far enough away from Fentonworks to keep both sightings of the Ghost Assault Vehicle and resultant property damage and property taxes to a minimum. Within walking distance of the high school, a supermarket, and a park.

They kept the fridge and pantry stocked. Their food might not have always been healthy – red meat was an element of almost every meal – but it was always available and filling. They made an effort for the dietary restrictions of Tucker’s friends of course.

All the rooms were kept clean and neat. Even Tucker’s, by way of bribes. Everything was organized, everything had its place. Except, perhaps, for the stray shoe or piece of schoolwork.

But that attic.

It really hadn’t been anything, before Tucker asked if he could move his computer stuff up there. Just a storage space, one too difficult for either Angela or Maurice to climb up there often. They didn’t consider themselves old, but they couldn’t call themselves young either. Not with a son Tucker’s age.

Once Tucker had realized the attic was there, he had been fascinated. And, well, once he was old enough for them to not worry about him falling off the ladder, they let him go up.

Some days, it seemed, he didn’t come down.

Better than his faintly disturbing Ancient Egypt phase, where he kept bringing pictures of mummified corpses to the table. Or, worse, the werewolf phase.

And this was Tucker Foley’s home.

.

Amity Park had claimed the distinction of ‘most haunted town in America’ long before the Fentons opened their portal. In fact, that was the reason the Fentons had set up shop there, in the first place.

No haunted town was complete without at least one haunted house. Amity Park had several. Not to mention a haunted hospital, a selection of haunted schools, a haunted museum, a haunted pool, a haunted crosswalk, a haunted mall, a haunted football field… The list went on, essentially ad nauseum.

Of course, that list mostly consisted of places that became haunted after the Fentons built their portal. But even before then, some places offered their dubious charms to tourists.

Mostly gullible ones. More than half of the claims of hauntings before the portal opened were fraudulent in their entirety. These places quickly went broke and got abandoned when real ghosts started showing up.

One of these was the ominously named Raven House, which stood in the hills on the west edge of town.

The story the tourists of years gone by had been told was that a widower had lived out here, all by himself and that one day, he stopped coming to town, or paying his bills, or even getting his mail. When the mailbox at the end of the long driveway was full, the mailman decided to go check on the widower. What he found was a flock of ravens and a skeleton, entirely picked clean of flesh.

No such death had occurred there, nor in any part of Amity. No such person had ever lived in the house, either. The last owners, before the company that decided to market the house as haunted, were a couple with two children.

It wasn’t until months after the portal started up that it became haunted in truth.

.

“This place isn’t haunted,” said Danny, panning his flashlight over cobwebbed corners on the ceiling. “I don’t think it ever was.”

“That’s what, strike five?” asked Sam.

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Four, actually,” said Tucker. “We counted the hospital as inconclusive, since we don’t know if anyone was there before Spectra.”

Danny nodded. “It’s weird, though, isn’t it? That no one lives here, I mean. It looks like a perfectly nice house.”

“Décor’s a bit… eh. Trying to hard to be haunted,” said Tucker, poking a raven decal on the wallpaper.

“I like it,” said Sam. “Needs cleaning, though.”

“Hey,” said Tucker, “you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you? Because I’m pretty sure that’d be illegal.”

“It isn’t as if anyone else is using the place,” argued Sam. “It could be a great backup hideout, if we ever had to… you know.” She glanced at Danny. “Plus, we’d be doing them a favor, really, keeping things clean and lived in.”

“I think it’s an okay idea,” said Danny.

“Yeah, but you think lots of dumb things are good ideas. Like showing up at a party hosted by people who publicly humiliate you on a regular basis.”

Danny grumbled something about trauma responses that sounded like a direct quote from Jazz and something else about that incident being ages (aka weeks) ago. Then, he brightened.

“We could get one of the little ectoplasm generators to power everything,” he said. “Remember all that stuff we lifted from Skulker and Technus? We could actually use it. Study and test things without worrying about whether our parents will walk in. I mean, your attic is great, but still.”

“Plus, we can have actual lab safety protocols. No offense, Danny.”

“I am the one that half-died in a lab accident, so… None taken.”

Tucker rubbed his chin. “Alright. I suppose I can see the appeal… But if we have stuff that can trace back to us, we could get in serious trouble."

“We’ll be careful, then,” said Sam.

“Anything I take from Mom and Dad has plausible deniability. They’ll assume ghosts stole it.”

“We also need to clean if we’re being serious about this. And get a fridge. And figure out the pluming situation.”

“Fridge is on the list. We have to be careful about the outside, too. If this place is suddenly well maintained, people will notice.”

“Sure, but that isn’t something they’d call the cops over,” said Danny. “They’ll just assume new people are moving in. If anyone sees it at all. We’re pretty far away from anything. But pluming won’t be too hard. We just need to bring our own water. Like, toilets flush using physics. If you dump more water in, they’ll go, no electricity required.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can’t even tell you how many time Mom and Dad blew out all our breakers with stuff in the lab,” said Danny. “You pick up a few things.”

“Well,” said Tucker, swinging his flashlight over to examine a discolored spot on the ceiling. “Then… Home sweet home, I suppose.”

.

There was a house in the hills in the west hills of Amity Park.

And this was the home of two and a half humans and half a ghost.

[p-artsypants]

Arcadia or Bust (17)

Heartstone Hall

Previously on Arcadia or Bust:

James Lake Sr. came back to Arcadia while Jim and friends were out retrieving the new Heartstone. The deadbeat not only ran away with a girl, but he’d been dealing cocaine in LA. Now he’s come back to lay low, since he owes a lot of money to some really dangerous men. He got a kilo of cocaine to try to make his profit back, only to not pick it up from the drop zone before Jim found it. Thinking it was trash, Jim ate the brick and went into an 8 hour rage, busting up the town. The US army of Area 49-B got a whiff of the destruction and came to collect Jim from the hospital. With a campaign from the town and an old friend of Walter’s, Jim is turned loose. However, he’s not out of the woods yet, as his amulet was ripped out of his chest and now he has a crater. 

—

*points in a random direction* Hey look! What’s that over there?! *Drops update* *runs*

Ao3 | FF.net

—

“It’s okay Jim, you’re going to be okay,” said Claire, as she hovered just over his face, and pressed little kisses to his cheek. “We’re going home.” 

“…For the…glory…” he muttered, before wincing and falling silent. 

“Are you taking us to the hospital?” Barbara asked as the van sped on, faster than any speed limit. 

“Nope,” said Samuel. “I think this is a Heartstone issue.” 

She nodded, knowing that would be the best. “He needs a tissue transplant, but his skin is so tough…I don’t even know what we could do for him. Get human skin and have Merlin transform it into half-troll? I hate that I don’t know what to do! I’m not a surgeon, damnit! And I’m certainly no magic expert!” 

“Stop at the McDonald’s near the edge of town,” said Toby. 

“Really? You want a Big Mac at a time like this?” 

“No! Merlin is probably there, and I bet he could fix Jim up.” 

“Wait, Merlin-Merlin? Like ‘Amulet of Merlin, Sword of Excalibur’ Merlin?” Asked Samuel.

“That’s the one!” 

Once they got into town, Samuel pulled in at the McDonalds as requested, and Toby was out the door before he stopped the car. 

“Merlin! Merlin help!” He cried, as he ran inside the restaurant. 

The employees behind the counter all looked at him, and then pointed at Merlin, who had set up shop in the corner of the store. He was surrounded by books, and other magical artifacts. 

How had management allowed this? Well actually, Merlin wouldn’t have listened to any authority, so they probably didn’t allow it. 

Toby ran to the wizard. “We got Jim back! He’s in the van, and he’s hurt really bad! We need you to heal him!” 

“What kind of injury?” Asked Merlin, calmly packing up his books. 

“They took his amulet, and there’s a huge hole in his chest! I could see his lungs!” 

Merlin screwed up his lips in thought. “Where are they taking him? To the Heartstone?”

“That’s what Samuel said!” 

Merlin didn’t ask who Samuel was, so he probably didn’t care. “I will be there shortly. I must gather the appropriate supplies. Keep him reclined and relaxed. And try not to prod the wound.” 

Toby nodded once and then ran back outside to the van. 

One of the McDonald employees calmly came over and refilled Merlin’s coffee, as he had asked to be done every hour. 

“Good lad. I’m leaving now. Here, for your trouble.” And he dropped a sizable emerald in the kid’s hand. 

The kid looked at it and shrugged. “Whatever.” It beat minimum wage at least.

—

At the canal, Claire opened up the portal to Trollmarket while Walter and Samuel started to get Jim out of the van. She ran in and called out, “Blinky! ARRRGH! Jim’s back! He’s hurt!” 

ARRRGH came running, while Blinky gathered all sorts of supplies and carried them down to the Heartstone. 

It was a mad dash then. Jim was quickly, but carefully, brought down into Heartstone Hall, and rested on his mattress on the floor. 

“…cold…” he whispered as he grasped and pulled at the blankets. 

Barbara pulled the comforter up to his stomach, and draped a smaller one over his right side. “I know you're cold, but you have a wound, and we can’t cover it yet.” 

“…water…” 

“I’m on it!” Cried Toby, running upstairs.

Jim groaned out in pain, and the Heartstone responded with a pulse of light. 

“Is that good?” Asked Claire. 

“The Heartstone is picking up on Jim’s pain, and is releasing magic to aid in his healing!” Said Blinky, with a smile. 

“Is that going to deplete the magic we put back into it?” 

“No no! Well, maybe…it shouldn’t!” 

Jim moaned out again, tensing his whole body, and craning his neck in an effort to find relief. 

“Just a little bit longer, sweetie,” said Barbara. “Merlin will be here soon.” She gnawed on her lip. “I could probably get an IV for him from the hospital. I have my phone, so call me if there’s any change!” 

“I’ll drive you, Dr. Lake,” said Samuel. 

“That’s alright, I’ll take the tunnel to my house and grab my car. That way, you don’t need to be held up here any longer. You’ve been a great help.” 

The general smiled. “It was worth it more than I thought. The Trollhunter owes me a favor now, you see. I probably won’t need to collect, but it’s always fun to have that in your back pocket. And besides, I got to see Trollmarket and the Heartstone with my own eyes.” He glanced at the orange stone. “That’s a privilege everyone in the Janus Order longed for.” Before he got too wistful, he turned to Walt. “You’ll let me know how this all turns out, right? Because I’m invested in Mr. Lake’s fate now.”

“I’ll text you updates.” 

“Fantastic.” He gave Jim a pat on the shoulder. “Hang in there, Trollhunter.”

“I’ll show you out,” said Barbara as they left together. 

Then it was just Blinky, ARRRGH, Claire, and Walt. Time ticked on in silence, as no one knew what to do or say. Only occasional groans from Jim broke the quiet atmosphere.

“What’s taking Merlin so long?” Said Claire, with irritation. 

“He’s coming?” Asked Blinky.

“We told him about what happened before we came down here. Said he had to collect ‘appropriate materials’.” 

“So he’s collecting materials,” said Walter. “It might take some time.” 

“Yeah, but he’s probably doing it at a leisurely pace. The man has no concept of time anymore. We need to get him a phone. Or at least a walkie-talkie.” 

Just then, a gallon bucket of ice and water bottles descended on a rope from the center column of the room. 

“Heads up! It’s kinda heavy!” Toby called before it hit the ground harshly. Then he nearly tumbled down the stairs himself. 

“I got a bunch because I know Jim doesn’t have running water down here yet, and I didn’t want us to run out!” He took a bottle from the bucket and put a silly straw in it so Jim could drink without having to sit up. “Sorry Jim, this is the only straw I have…it says ‘big boy’.” Toby tilted the end of the straw so it touched Jim’s lips. 

In his half conscious state, Jim felt it, took it in his mouth, and sucked, emptying half the bottle in one go. He released the straw and licked his lips. 

“Better, Jimbo?” 

“Uh huh…” Jim managed a little nod. 

“Okay. I’ll be on water duty. You just say the word, okay?” 

“…For…the glory of Merlin…” Jim tried again, before wincing hard. “Hurts to breathe…” 

Claire sat cross legged on the bed next to him, scratching his scalp lightly with her nails. “Just hang on for a little bit longer. Your mom is bringing some medicine from the hospital, and Merlin is going to fix you up.” 

His eyes flickered open ever so slightly. “Where am I?” 

“You’re in Heartstone Hall, in your bed.” 

His eyes closed again. “My amulet…gone.” 

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it right now. Just relax.” 

“Hurts…” 

“I know, babe, I know.” 

Walt stood, looking at his phone. “Barbara’s back. I’ll go help her.” And he left. 

Blinky snapped his fingers. “I think Vendal had a recipe for a burn salve up there. I can work on that. Come ARRRGH! It’s the least we can do!” 

“Yell if Jim need help,” ARRRGH added, as he followed Blinky up the stairs. 

“More water, Jimbo?” 

“Huh Uh…” 

After he drank, he winced, and a tear rolled from his eye. “I want my mom.” 

“She’s coming, Jim. She’s bringing some medicine for you.” 

“Where…am I?” 

Claire then realized that Jim was barely conscious, and wasn’t listening to much anyways. She’d end up repeating herself a lot. 

She pushed his bangs out of his face and kissed his forehead. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re nice and safe, babe.” 

Toby and Claire sat in silence as Jim continued to struggle to breathe. 

Thankfully, Barbara and Walt appeared not a minute later, with all sorts of goodies. 

“Alright kiddo, let’s get you all cleaned up. Claire, would you put on these gloves? I’d like you to clean the skin around his wound with these alcohol swabs while I set up the IV.” 

“On it Barb!” Claire got to work quickly, thankful to be able to do something to help. 

Walt set up the IV stand while Barbara prepared the needle and inserted it in Jim’s arm. 

“I hate that I have to use a thicker gauge needle, but your skin is so tough, kid.” 

Jim didn’t seem to even register what she was doing. 

Once the IV was in and taped in place, Barbara took out a thick gauze and started taping it in place on Jim’s chest. “The wound isn’t bleeding nearly as much as it should,” she stated, with a frown.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Asked Claire. 

“I’m thinking it’s because of the burns on him. They weren’t this bad at the hospital. He had been out in sunlight that day, but it was overcast and he had on long sleeves.” She taped down the gauze with medical masking tape. “No, this looks like...well, third degree on a human. Direct heat like flames or burning metal. I guess that would be a UV light for Jim.” 

“I’m going to hammer that lady into the ground,” Toby muttered.

“There, this should be good for now. I’ll bandage him again once Merlin cleans him up.” She rested a weak hand to her head. “Lord help me, I’m depending on Merlin.” 

Thankfully, news came by Claire’s phone, with an unknown number. 

“Hello?” 

“Claire? This is Douxie.” 

“Douxie! Please tell me you’re with Merlin!” 

“I am! Not that I can get his butt moving any faster. He briefed me on the situation, and I’ve been trying to rush him…but, you know how he is…” 

She could hear the old man shouting somewhere in the near distance. “Three days? Well he’ll be dead by then! No need for it by that time! You don’t have anything in stock?” 

Claire winced. “Where are you guys?” 

“At the hardware store, ummm you’re better off not knowing why for now. We’ll be at Trollmarket soon, I promise!” 

“Thank you. And thank you for calling. We were getting worried.” 

“How is he?” 

“Barely conscious. He’s on an IV with pain meds now…so he’ll be feeling a little better. He keeps trying to summon his amulet, but he doesn’t have the strength.” 

“Uh oh, he doesn’t have the amulet with him?” 

“No, the army wouldn’t give it back.” 

Douxie exhaled in a huff. “We’ll figure something out. Oh, Looks like Merlin found an alternative. We’ll be on our way soon!” 

“Great! See you!” And she ended the call. “Merlin should be coming soon!” 

“Thank goodness!” Barbara sighed. “Though it looks like Jim finally fell asleep. His pain is mostly managed…all we can do now is wait.” 

It felt like they were waiting hours. But there was not much else to do. 

Jim slept fitfully, occasionally opening his eyes to look around. It was clear he was exhausted, so he’d just close them again a moment later, and they heard his slow breathing. 

“This is torture,” said Claire. “But I can’t imagine what he’s been through.” 

“I hope that along with her discharge, that Kubritz lady does hard time in prison,” said Toby. 

“And I hope they do everything to her that she did to him,” Claire added, with venom. “If they don’t, I will.”

“I’ll back you up.” 

It was hard to share small talk, but just listening to Jim’s labored breathing and waiting felt like a terrible option. 

Finally, finally, Merlin’s horrible grating voice echoed through the Heartstone husk. “Hello? Is this where the injured Jim is?” 

“Yes!” Claire cried out. She was never so happy to hear that man’s voice. 

No really, most of the time, his appearance filled her with dread. 

Merlin and Douxie descended the stairs, arms full of plastic shopping bags. 

And it finally seemed like Merlin was done wasting time, as he spared no greetings and got busy examining Jim. He removed the blanket that covered his shoulder, and the temporary bandages Barbara applied. 

He cringed at the sight of the crater. “Yikes. That is quite the wound.” 

“Can you heal him?” Claire asked, afraid that he wasn’t up to the task. 

“Sure. No problem. Douxie, prepare the plaster.” 

“Plaster?” Barbara asked, with horror.

“Ugh, I know,” said the wizard. “Three days for expedited shipping for clay! Ridiculous! I thought the modern era was a time of immediate gratification! But no, the one time I need something quick, it’s a three day wait! Do they not know where the nearest clay deposits are?!” 

“Okay, but the plaster? What’s the deal with the plaster?!” 

“What else do you expect me to use to fill a wound in a troll?” 

“You’re going to pour plaster in his open wound?!” 

“Yes! And more!” He glanced over to the bucket Douxie was mixing in. “How’s it coming?” 

“Do you want it more watery, or thick?” 

“Thick without being too dry.” Then he turned back and leaned in close to Jim. “None of you are going to like what I’m about to do.” He pressed two fingers to Jim’s chest, and spoke, “imperium.” 

Jim’s eyes flashed open, wide, pupils expanded so the iris was just a hint of blue.

“Jim Lake Jr., summon your amulet,” Merlin commanded. 

Jim raised his hand up in the air slowly and spoke clearly, “for the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command.” 

Then Merlin let go, and Jim fell back into slumber, Claire having to catch his hand before it smacked him in the face. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

“I thought it was fairly obvious. A mind control spell. Very weak, only works on unconscious individuals within range.” 

“You know Mind Control?” Asked Toby, with some horror. 

“To a degree. As I said. It’s more like the power of suggestion. Morgana has learned how to fully possess someone’s mind, but I always preferred to use my natural charisma to persuade people.” 

Someone snorted. 

“The plaster is ready,” said Douxie. “Did you want to start with the strips?” 

“Yes,” he collected the tray Douxie had prepared. Mesh cloth strips sprayed with plaster, which created a base. Carefully, Merlin began to lay the strips in the hole in Jim’s chest, applying just enough pressure to adhere them and blend the edges. Once he had completely coated the inside, without filling the hole, he stopped.  

“There, now we’ll treat his burns. You said you had electricity down here?” 

“Uh, yeah. There’s an outlet on the wall next to you,” said Claire. 

“Perfect.” From his various bags, he took out a palm sander with a coarse paper on it. He plugged it in. “Now how do I work this thing?” 

“Why don’t you let me handle that while you use the file…” Douxie took the power tool away from him. “Claire, can you sit him up and lean against his back as a counter weight?”

“The file? I don’t want to use the file! I got this so you would use the file!”

“Merlin!” Barbara scolded. 

“Fine, I’ll use the file…better for fine detailing anyways.”

It was agonizing moments as Douxie buffed away the dried, burnt skin that came off like dust, while Merlin shucked off the chunks that were too thick for the sander. 

Jim, for the most part, only twitched and cried out on occasion, only when they got too close to fresh skin. 

Once he was rubbed raw and bright blue, a little bloody in some places, they stopped. 

“It’s like an extreme pumice stone,” Douxie tried to soothe, feeling guilty as Claire wiped her tears. “The skin affected by the sun, or UV lights or whatever, was solid stone and had to come  off.” 

“I know,” said Claire. “It was just…jarring.” 

“Alright, we’re almost done,” said Merlin, scrounging up some compassion. “You can recline him again, Fair Claire.” 

Gently, Claire laid him back down on the pillows. 

Merlin took the loose plaster and slopped a bit in the wound, trying to make up for the missing space. 

Then, from the stairs came a ‘plink, plunk, plink, plunk’ as the amulet rolled its way down and stopped at Merlin’s feet. “Got here faster than I anticipated. I’d love to see the damage it did on it’s way.” 

“I thought if someone stole the amulet, it wouldn’t come back?” Asked Toby. 

“Not unless it’s properly summoned. If it only chooses one Trollhunter, you think it would want to be anywhere else?” Merlin cleaned the amulet with a rag to a near mirror shine, before placing it back in its spot on Jim’s chest. 

“Can’t you just keep it out of him? What if something like this happens again?” 

“Then we’ll just have to buy more plaster,” shrugged Merlin. “Anyway, it’s better this way.” He smeared more plaster in the cracks and smoothed it with his hands, until the seam was perfectly even. 

“Now what?”

“The plaster should start to dry soon, and a chemical reaction will take place, putting off heat. Then I will start the incantation.”

“Why then?”

“Must everything I do be questioned?”

“Yes.” Said everyone, unanimously.

“Because I said so. That’s why.” He touched the plaster, careful not to jostle it, and waited for the heat to set in. “Alright, I suggest everyone stand back. You too, Claire, get behind me.” 

Claire scooted off the bed and stood back with Toby and Barbara, then they waited anxiously. 

“It’s going to look and sound painful, but a little bit of pain, and he’ll be all better.” Merlin’s hands glowed blue, interacting with the pulsing, ticking amulet. Instead of a one word spell, like he had been doing, Merlin muttered a fast string of words that sounded like nothing and everything at the same time. Lightning bolts skittered from his fingertips, and drew patterns on Jim’s flesh. 

Jim screamed and writhed as every bolt connected. They danced across the plaster, turning it to his hardened flesh as they moved. The hands on the amulet spun rapidly as the stone pulsed a violent blue. The wound from Morgana, lower on his chest, flickered orange like embers. The Heartstone glowed as well. 

Claire felt her hair stand on end and goosebumps rise to her skin. The magic in the room was deafening, blinding, and amazing.

Finally, Merlin halted, and only smoke remained. 

Jim breathed deep, quick breaths, like you would after a run. But it wasn’t labored or halted, like before. 

“Cl-Claire?” He asked, his voice stronger than it had been. 

She nearly tackled him. “Jim! Jim you’re alright!” 

He winced slightly as she collided with his raw skin, but hugged her anyway. “Where am I?” 

“You’re home!” 

“Home?” 

“It’s a long story. How do you feel?” 

“Tired, hungry…a little sore. I remember being in a lot of pain…” he looked down at his chest, touching the amulet in confusion. 

“Merlin just healed you,” she explained. “They hurt you pretty bad, huh?” 

He rolled his neck and stretched his shoulders. “No kidding.” 

“Well,” said Merlin, “my work here is done. I think I’m ready for a nap of my own.” 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Barbara said sincerely. “Thank you for saving my boy.” 

“Of course! You didn’t think I was going to leave my greatest warrior to die, did you? Oh, before I forget, I should probably give this back.” He handed a black wallet over to her. 

“Wait, whose is this?” 

“James’. I needed to pay for the sander somehow.” 

Barbara laughed. “Well, he’s not going to be happy about it, but glad to know he contributed to this too.” Then she muttered, “considering it’s all his fault in the first place.” 

By the end of the day, Jim was up. Not fully recovered, but enough to shuffle around. He was able to go to his mother’s house and take a shower, while Barbara changed the blood-stained, plaster dusted sheets. When he was all clean, he sat in the living room in his sweatpants, exhausted, and aching. 

“Blinky made you a salve, if you want me to put it on you,” Claire offered, holding up a little jar. 

“I’d love that.” 

She delicately rubbed it into his skin, like Aloe on a severe sunburn. Careful not to scratch him, but also wanting to make sure he was covered.

James walked past the room and halted. “Jim! You’re—you’re back!” 

Jim just glanced at the man. “And?”

“I just…um, look, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“I didn’t know…that you ate trash. I would have made the drop for the cocaine somewhere else. I didn’t think—that’s not something people usually have to worry about, you know?”

“Yeah. Usually.” Jim said, stone cold. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Why do you care?”

“B-because you’re my son?” 

Jim couldn’t stifle the eye roll. “So NOW you think I’m your son? Where was that mentality when you pointed a shotgun at me?”

“I was in a severe crack withdrawal when I did that.” 

“And you’re just magically better now?”

James sat in an armchair opposite him. “I’m not going to say yes, but I’m better. I’m trying to get out of your and Babs’ lives, because I brought so much hurt in the first place. But…seeing what I’m missing out on—“ 

“No!” Jim snarled, standing up. “You don’t get to be sentimental now. You don’t get to change your mind. You suck! That’s all you’ve done! Mom’s moved on, I have men that are more fatherly than you could ever be if you tried! So just—finish your business and get lost!” He tried to step towards the basement, but he crumbled, still far too physically weak to walk on his own. 

“I got you,” Claire whispered, wrapping an arm around his waist. “James,” she turned to look at him briefly. “I don’t know if you realized how crappy that thing you just said was. Don’t try to get Jim’s hopes up. He’s hurt, he’s upset, he’s vulnerable. So just stay away. If you truly want to be back in Jim’s life, don’t mention that you’re considering it. Back it up with action, or else you’ll just be disappointing us all when you go back. And as far as I know…your word is worthless.” She helped Jim walk slowly back to the basement, to the tunnel back to Trollmarket. 

“Trouble? I heard yelling,” said Draal.  

“No, no trouble. Thanks Draal,” Jim gave him a weak, affectionate punch. 

—

Many many miles away, a group of men watched the news, an old broadcast that one of them had snagged. 

“—The campaign worked perfectly! Now, hero to Arcadia, James Lake Jr. has been released from his wrongful imprisonment for his bizarre appearance, and returned home. Lake is hailed a local hero, as his acts of kindness and selflessness during a horrendous tornado in the area have become well known in the community as well as on social media. A parade in Lake’s honor is set for this weekend, as Lake has made a good progression in his recovery from captivity.”

“Okay, a kid was arrested because he looks weird. Not sure what the correlation is.” 

The leader of the pack smiled. “Oh, it’s such a subtle thing. We don’t care about the kid, or his deeds, or even the city of Arcadia really.” 

“Then…what?”

“Did you catch the boy’s name?”

“I…Lake? Like…”

“Jim Lake Jr. is what they said. Maybe a common name. But if there’s a Junior…perhaps there’s a Senior nearby.”

—

I have not seen Rise of the Titans (though I expect to watch it this weekend) but I heard it was…not good, story wise. So in this fic, I won’t be applying any of it. Probably. Unless something juicy catches my eye.

[lexerah]

I’m really trying to hold on. It’s really hard man.. I guess from the outside looking in it seems like my whole world got turned upside down because of a girl but she really was the major thing keeping me going cause I felt like she was the only person who understood me/wasn’t really judgemental of who I really am. My whole life I felt like I never fitted in so I turned to music, poetry, skateboarding, & basketball and that was my escape. Up until around age 12/13 I was pretty much mute. I didn’t talk much. And when I came home there was either no one home or if my parents were home I’d be verbally abused for being so “quiet/secluded in my room” or my mom and I would argue back and forth and it would end with her saying “I wish you got hit by a bus” or “I wish you would die”.. Hearing that often just killed my spirit most of the times. I would then stay in my room longer or even turn to cutting by using a metal hanger. All during that time I was battling my sexuality and the fear from my parents when they would say things like “gays should burn” or other homophobic slurs/speeches. I didn’t know what to do. I hated myself for being gay. I hated that “it had to happen to me”. There were several years where I wish I wasn’t born like this.. fast forward and more trauma just started piling on :( my dad didn’t make it to most of my basketball games because he worked 2 jobs and that hurt a lot because it was something I was really good at and I felt like my parents would be proud/I would be “good enough”.. my dad was then diagnosed with kidney failure during my senior year of hs.. it was scary for us all.. I didn’t want to lose my dad.. for most of my senior year my dad was in and out of the hospital for long periods and I remember one time breaking down in tears because he was in the icu and I thought he was going to die that week.. he wasn’t able to go to my hs graduation because he was in the hospital still so that was another blow. a few months after highschool my mom attempted suicide when I took my little sister on a walk.. we both came home and found her unresponsive on the floor with a suicide note. I had to calm my little sister down while making sure my mom was still alive and while calling 911.. then my dad walked in a few mins later and he started blaming me for what happened and yelling “what did I do!” fast forward to while my mom was in the hospital recovering and both my sisters and I didn’t feel like ourselves.. we didn’t want to do anything and we just kept crying and my dad starts yelling at us/verbally abusing us saying that we shouldn’t be crying and that we need to stop crying. It really sucked.. that feeling on top of everything was painful.. so again fast forward to about 1.5-2 years after hs and my mom decides to separate from my dad and wanted to live in another city and she asked me if I wanted to live with her or stay with my dad. All during this time we never had a good relationship and I thought it was a really good opportunity to build on the relationship with my mom.. then a month or two before we moved to the new city my mom lashed out all of her fears, anger & resentment towards my dad at me saying it’s all my fault and that’s when the panic attacks started. (I’m sorry for the choppy writing.. it’s really hard writing this but I know I need to get it out) I remember a week or so before we moved and all of our stuff was pretty much packed for the move and my mom wanted to see her old best friend one last time at the theatres and have burgers after and that’s when I had my first major panic attack. I was sitting in the theatre and I thought I was dying. It literally felt like a black hole cause I didn’t know what it was at the time. I thought I was having a heart attack so I just waited in the lobby until the movie was over cause I went back in 1 time for a few minutes and another one came. I ended up having 3 or 4 a week for a few months and then went to IOP for 2 months around 2014 and it helped a lot with talking out stuff/processing my thoughts.

But most importantly it helped me see that there were other people out there going through similar things and it made me not feel alone.. fast forward to a year later my dog passed away when we came to visit my dad since it was his turn to watch the dogs and it was also best for him because he was living alone back in our old city :( it was really hard taking my dog to the vet when he passed🥺 a few months after that I started to lose my hearing in one ear from an ear infection and that really brought me down cause I’m a music producer and I rely on my hearing to fine tune stuff.. all during this time while I was losing my hearing I was dating this girl who had cheated on me with several guys/past boyfriends and thats when I really started feeling like I was being kicked while I was down.. literally during the time I was crying about her but mostly why someone would do something like that and take me on a trip just to tell me they still have feelings for their ex/cry about them, my mom had punched feeling in my face for crying about her and told me to stop crying or pack my bags. That was probably one of the most traumatic things because I really felt like I had no one to talk to and I felt really alone. All while my bestfriend back in my old city promised to visit but never did :/ I had no one but my little sis who was my best friend and I’m super grateful she was born cause without her honestly I wouldn’t be here. I literally raised her for 2-3 years and took her everywhere to just escape everything at home. It was a blessing that I had money from music to do all those mini trips/food runs.. it was a huge blessing man. So fast forward to a year later around 2016/2017 my grandfather started having major strokes and was in and out of a hospice and later passed away towards the end of 2017. It was too much all while my mom and little sister had moved to a different state and my dad had a kidney transplant.. I was his caretaker and my older sister didn’t help :/ I literally was breaking down everyday because I was asking why is this all coming down on me :/

I’m literally crying right now because right around that time I met someone really incredible and it just hit me rn. She was the light at the end of the tunnel in a sense. Now that I look back at things, her coming into my life at that time saved me. And maybe writing this was the answer I was looking for as to why I saw her picture 10-15 years before I even met her during the time when all the pain started in my life. Meeting her/her come into my life might be the message that everything’s going to be okay. Man.. idek what to think rn. She really is an angel in a sense cause she saved me from myself and helped me see that I have the ability to heal.. and of course I wish things ended differently cause I still love her but that’s out of my control. I have to heal and move on but also forgive myself and forgive my past and most importantly allow myself to heal. I have to fall in love with myself and love me unconditionally. I want to be one of the greatest music producers ever and have an amazing wife, kids, and beautiful house but that can’t happen if I don’t heal and forgive.

If anyone read this up to this point you’re beyond special to me and I don’t know how to thank you but it means the world to me that you read my story. I don’t like sharing because it’s really painful and makes me feels extremely vulnerable so thank you so much🥺🤧 thank you🤧🙏 I love you🤟💕

[the-sober-story-so-far]

A pre-snippet to the past 10 years

 Hi there, i’ve got quite a few posts to catch up on since i’m on day 3 of sobriety but I feel like any story should start with where I was these past 10 years. I became a mother at 19, happily. My son was planned, I had met the love of my life a bassist in a metal band and fell in love with the lifestyle that came with it.

 When I had first met Matthew I had never partied before, I was in a very abusive relationship before where I wasn’t allowed to experience what most teens did. Parties, drugs,drinking, hell even my proms. So when I met Matt (before i was pregnant keep in mind) I went wild. We would party almost every night, we fell in love fast too. One of those loves that just hit you right in your face like a bullet. We were inseparable and we were both wild as could be. Once we had decided to slow down and stop going out as much we decided we wanted to get married and start a family together no matter how young we knew that regardless it was meant to be. So we were engaged, we were actually trashed when we got engaged it was pretty punk rock if I say so myself. In the middle of an alley in baltimore, he didn’t have a ring and it didn’t matter. We were just jamming to some Coheed and Cambria in my car drinking a 30 pack parked in this alley when he suddenly told me to get out of the car and follow him. At that point he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I thought he was just drunk or joking at first and I remember I kept asking him the next day if he was serious well, obviously it turns out he was. 

 So fast forward a bit, we were engaged and started trying to get pregnant and it took a few months but with luck we ended up pregnant. We decided to get married at the courthouse since we were already on the way to getting married that year anyways. Then we had our beautiful son, I was sober my entire pregnancy. I remember the first week after I had him I got trashed though just to celebrate 9months of pain and hell but at this point i was still a social drinker. The toddler years were happy years, we would only drink on the weekends or here and there when friends would come over. It wasn’t to the point where I had a problem yet. 

 Then he turned 4, and life got really hard. Problems with my family arose, financial problems as well. My mental health declined and i was diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2, as well as OCD, Severe Depressive, Severe Anxiety and Borderline personality Mercurial type. As well as having PTSD from my childhood with my parents. My mom almost passed when I was younger from liver failure. She ended up having a transplant and living. I had an emotionally abusive father, my mother’s mental health was never stable I actually use to remember her waking me up at 4 am and screaming at me as a child for things I had done the day before. I witnessed so many fights and insane moments a child shouldn’t. I then ended up in an abusive relationship from 14-18 with a boy who would hit me, verbally abuse me, gaslight me, manipulate me and then one day eventually sexually assault me in my sleep. The thing about trauma is it always catches up to you.

 And that’s where I think it all started going wrong, it began catching up. I moved out in my first apartment with my husband and my son and finally had freedom. We had lots of parties, I met lots of “friends” who only cared about where the next party was or who had the drugs. I began partying more and more, and made decisions I was not proud of. Including hurting my husband more than I ever could have even fathomed, I don’t like to speak of it. I have faced my guilt about it daily but in short I was unfaithful. Even if it was one time, it was inexcusable. My cousin had moved in with me, and though I love her back in that time she wasn’t the best influence either. She always wanted to party or smoke weed as well. We became partners in crime, we always wanted to get into some chaos and have fun. Then we were forced to move back to my parents all 4 of us this time due to a shooting in my apartment complex where we were no longer safe. It was unbearable living there during that time, before my mom began fixing herself and facing her own demons and dealing with my father and his emotionally abusive ways.

 So we ended up moving to my grandparents, where we were later kicked out of for having people over partying almost every night. At that point I had also assumed I wanted to be polyamorous, which indeed I am not. I am bisexual yes, but the polyamory was just an excuse in my own mind not to work on my own marriage and fix the damage I had unleashed upon it. When we lived at my grandparents was when the peak in my drinking began. I began drinking daily with my cousin starting early in the morning drinking bottles of rum and vodka all day to the point of blacking out, mixing clonopin with it. Smoking spice, smoking weed, just drugs and booze constantly. One night I overdosed and slit my wrists so bad that the scars are still there to this day I am lucky to be alive and you’d have thought that would have been enough to stop me from my path of destruction but it did not.

 I did end up quitting spice, once we were kicked out of my grandparents I saved money at my job and we rented a place with my cousin and a “friend”, the drinking only got worse there. More parties, more drugs. I started dabbling with Molly and Adderall while i was there and almost ecstasy. My mental health declined so bad due to being worried about a relationship with a girl I thought I loved and spending my money on substance that we lost our house after I lost my job.

 I moved back home again with my parents, just my husband, my son and myself and the drinking continued then for a few months it was daily drinking until one day I did finally get sober and quit drinking, months later I started to become incredibly sick and was still sober but thought I had cancer from how violently ill I was but I was too afraid to go to a doctor for it, instead in my fucked up mind I decided to attempt suicide twice. I lost many friends along this journey from the choices I made, and from who I was. I felt that being sick was my penance for being such a piece of shit for so long.

 Months passed after this, I was sick for at least 9 more months vomiting at least 9 times daily sometimes more. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t shit and I knew something was wrong but I had doctors who didn’t care to find out, who brushed it off as IBS because I was “young and healthy”. 9 months they let it go, it turned out to be my appendix and a dead bowel. The day my appendix ruptured sepsis poured into my abdomen and i was dying, I was actually dying like I had wished for all those years and then it was in that moment that I knew I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live, I wanted to fight. I had my surgery and had 3 months of severe complications including seizures, fluid ruptures and a massive hole left in my abdomen from those fluid ruptures. September of that same year my intestine popped up below the surface of my skin and I had to have my first hernia surgery, it was successful until November of last year when it tore open and I had my final one. During the process I was foolish enough to keep the same doctors, to be dismissed over and over until the first hernia surgery when I had finally had enough and found doctors who actually cared. However, now I have severe PTSD with practitioners not to mention a nurse  who physically and sexually assaulted me and a doctor who possibly did while I was under anesthesia. This is getting back to the trauma creeping up on you, it all has a purpose.

 So, I went through severe anxiety, and experienced what real PTSD was. I was still sober until one night my husband and his friends and myself were all hanging out in the garage and they said have a beer you’ll be fine and that was when it all started again.

I used to look forward to every Friday and Saturday just wanting to get drunk to feel something, all the while i was still using marijuana daily as well. Well, maybe not to feel something i’d say more to feel nothing. And then it went from 6 drinks to 12 drinks, from Saturdays and Sundays to every day of the week. From 6 packs daily to 12 packs daily. From 12 packs daily to 15 drinks daily, from 15 to 18 and so on. This was a year ago i relapsed and this is my first 3 days sober since it all happened.

 This is to document my journey, this is to look back and feel pride in how far i’ve come and this is so that I know I can do anything and how much I refuse to go backwards. If you’re reading this, i hope if you are in a place where I was it gives you strength, I hope you never feel alone. 

 Welcome to my sobriety diaries.

[forestcump]

Gentrification and The Last Black Man In San Francisco

Heres a blog I wrote lol

Joe Talbot’s The Last Black Man in San Francisco is a tale told of the heartbreaking wave of culture-annihilating gentrification that has hit one of America’s iconic metropoles. It’s sloping streets, angular row houses, and quirky residents have made it a place of myth emboldened further by its key role in radical social movements such as the Anti-War Movement, The Black Panther Party, etc. But, the story Talbot tells doesn't reflect on the history known by most (white) Americans. Instead, he tells the story of the black man in San Francisco and all of the culture that gentrification is, successfully, trying to wipe away. 

The film’s protagonist, Jimmie Failes IV, and his best friend, Montgomery Allen, take it upon themselves to maintain the house that Jimmie grew up in. The rub of the whole thing though is that neither Mont or Jimmie live there, in fact, this older Yuppie (stands for: Young, Urban Professional) couple are the owners of the property. In one of the first scenes, Jimmie is repainting the window sill in the front of the house and the woman who owns the house threatens to call the police, which is quickly met by her apologetic husband. This struck me as funny because it perfectly represents both sides of the well-meaning, affluent, white person that have become the principal population group in the city. On one side, these new folks are tired of locals giving them shit and not caring about them or their cool publishing jobs; and on the other they won’t call the cops to avoid the risk of being “like” other White people. Although humorous, this scene is a haunting reminder to viewers who are themselves victims of gentrification that this is what the final stages of the process look like. Neighborhoods once teeming with ethnic influence, devoid of the blandness of White America, have now been transformed into pricey and bland versions of the suburbs where these damn people come from. 

The role of race is also very present in this film as it does a great job establishing the symbolic gravity that happens whenever Jimmie or Mont are on the screen. This becomes especially clear when the film returns to where Jimmie and Mont actually live, which is the far-off borough of Bayview-Hunters Point. This area plays just as key a role as the decadent Victorian house that Jimmie longs for, as it establishes the result of when a cities inhabitants are priced out of not just their homes but their impact on the cities culture. In this part of the map, there are a group of local men who spend their days busting the balls of any and everybody that come their way. This group acts as Greek Chorus which provides commentary and atmosphere to scenes where Jimmie and Mont seem to be singularly focused on the old Victorian. Another character that stood out to me was a Preacher who stands on a milk crate and preaches to these men, and anybody walking past, about the insane levels of inequality that have pushed Black people so far from the city. In one scene, the Preacher is railing against this mysterious cohort of men wearing hazmat suits cleaning some sort of chemical spill in the Bay right behind where the Preacher is standing. “Why are they wearing suits and we’re not? What are they not telling us?” he roars atop his milk crate to the attention of, uh, nobody that’s listening. 

The imagery of this movie, which includes the Chorus and The Preacher, speak to the San Francisco that is fading away fast. Another image that stands out is a scene where Jimmie is waiting at a bus stop next to a nudist and they are both accosted by a party bus full of inebriated Yuppies. They roar and cackle at the sight of the nudist and proclaim him “the fuckin’ man!”, but fail to realize they’re role in the extermination of people like the nudist. Jimmie and this nude man sit silently in shared exhaustion of this wave of people storming they’re city, despite their best efforts to “be cool”, the city is dying with each yoga studio and salad bar that opens. 

Although my experience as a straight, white man has no comparison to the struggles of POC and LGBTQIA+ communities in this country, I do share the same feeling of being exiled from your own home. I grew up in Hoboken, New Jersey which has now turned into a hot bed for gentrifiers who desire to work in New York. This is yet another iconic American metropole that has had it’s soul stamped out by the wave of suburbanites who feel it is their right to claim the city as their own. This is seen, mostly, in the cost of housing and cost of living which has skyrocketed as a result of the wave of private equity money that flooded the city and whose tentacles have reached nearly every industry you could imagine. Hoboken was once a working class town that had its fair share of racial tension, as any town in this country, but it always remained genuinely Hoboken, until the real estate developers came. Wharfs and warehouses that once played a key role in the American economy were demolished and turned into apartment complexes. This obviously brought more money into the community, but soon the locals that made Hoboken were being pushed out further and further. For instance, my mother and I lived in one apartment for my entire childhood until the end of middle school but the rent got raised and we were forced to move to Jersey City. In high school, I spent most of my free time in Hoboken because that’s where my friends were but everytime the party was over and my friends walked back to their childhood homes, I had to walk across the city to the train station to get back to my new home. I felt displaced and lonely for most of my high school days as I grappled with the harsh realities of gentrification and the brutality of capitalism. It also did not help that my mother was laid off from her job in 2009 and was essentially job-less for five years. 

My childhood home was sold to a young couple from somewhere that they turned into some trendy little spot for them to live for the time being. No care was given to the memories I made there or the progress that my mother made as a single mom raising a child in this area, just a cold “Sorry, thanks for cleaning it before you left”. The coldness of gentrification is the most galling result of this phenomenon. The young people move in and immediately lust for making their mark; whether it be calling the police or 311 on locals loitering on the streets, or building breweries in old school buildings, etc. Business' that I grew up walking by every day became boarded up and replaced with hair salons and boutiques that were going to close in six months anyway. But, despite the spirit that lives in places like Hoboken, San Francisco, New York, or Boston; money always seems to win.

Watching “The Last Black Man in San Francisco” gave me a strange sense of hope because it showed me how to defend your home, even when the odds are terribly stacked against you. There was a scene at the end of the movie where Jimmie Failes is sitting on the bus and overhears these two Yuppie women shitting on San Francisco and talking about much they “hate it here”. Jimmie turns to them and tells them “you don't get to hate it unless you love it”, which doesn’t make an impact on the women, but it made an impact on me and many others who have seen the movie. Hearing transplants bitch and moan about how shitty the New York subway is or complaining about the cat that lives in the bodega makes me laugh when it used to make me sad, because I know that the city has won. What I mean by that, is that when you hear Yuppies complain about the community they’ve gentrified it's clear that they’ve failed to make “the city their own” and have succumbed to the community that was already there. Cities are magical places that are the center for so many things, but what truly makes them magical are the people that built them, whether it be physically or spiritually. So, I hope to embody the spirit of Jimmie and Mont as fierce defenders of their homes even when it doesnt even seem worth it to fight for it anymore. 

[singledarkshade]

Entwined Hearts

Summary: Rip Hunter's perfect life is suddenly shattered when his wife is killed in a car accident leaving him to raise his son. Gideon has been sick for several years in need of a heart transplant, she's given a few hours left to live when a heart suddenly becomes available. Just over a year later, Rip is trying to start his life once more when he meets Gideon. They grow closer but their pasts are more entwined than either knows. Author’s Note: This is sort of based on the basic premise of the movie Return To Me. I have zero medical knowledge so please ignore all errors in that area. It is finished so will be up quickly. Enjoy.                                 ********************************************* Part One

Laughter echoed out the door when Rip opened it, making him smile to be home.

“Daddy!!!”

The joyful cry from his three-year-old son made Rip grin even wider and he reached out to scoop the little boy up into his arms.

“Hi, little man,” Rip kissed the boy’s cheek, “Have you had a good day?”

Jonas gave an affirmative nod, “Missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Rip told him.

“Only him?” came the amused question as his beautiful wife walked towards him.

Leaning over Rip kissed her, “Of course not.”

Miranda plucked their son out of his arms, “Well, dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Come on, Jonas. We’ll let your daddy put his things away while we set the table.”

Giving him a cheeky grin Miranda disappeared back into the dining room, Rip shook his head still unable to believe how lucky he was to have the most amazing woman in the world in his life and a son they both adored.

Hanging his jacket up, Rip took his bag into the office and put it away neatly next to one of the few boxes left to unpack. They’d moved in a few months ago to their dream home, after Rip got the job at Star City University as a lecturer. It allowed Miranda to quit her job at the restaurant, that meant they barely saw each other, and take a part-time job at the art gallery she loved. It also allowed her to go back to painting in the small attic studio Rip had set up as a surprise.

“Are you joining us tonight, Hunter?” Miranda’s amused voice came from the dining room, “Because your son is about to eat his plate.”

Smiling to himself Rip called back, “I’m coming.”

  Jonas was finally asleep. He had demanded just one more story several times of his parents who were sitting on either side of his bed. They tried not to but there were times they indulged their little boy’s wishes. Besides it was Friday night, so they didn’t have to get up for work tomorrow morning that letting him stay up a little later didn’t matter too much.

Rip closed the door to Jonas’ room quietly and sighed in relief when there was no sign the little boy had woken up. Rip loved his son, but Jonas could run rings around the two of them.

“So,” Miranda wrapped her arms around his neck, “Are you ready to try to make another little angel?”

Sliding his arms around her waist, Rip laughed, “Little angel? You referred to him as the demon spawn yesterday.”

“But you saw him sleeping there,” Miranda replied, her voice filled with adoration, “We could do that again. Maybe a little girl this time. A little princess for you to spoil.”

At her smile Rip kissed her, “Sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” Miranda murmured, touching a few kisses to his neck.

Moaning softly at her continuing gentle touches, Rip moaned, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am,” Miranda dragged him into their bedroom.

  Rip was woken by the sound of the bedroom door banging open, he opened his eyes to see his little boy wander in. Jonas was clad in his favourite pyjamas, blue with space ships covering them, dragging his bear along by its ear.

Gary Bear had been Miranda’s when she was a child and was passed to Jonas who went nowhere without him. There had been a major temper tantrum during the house move when Gary Bear was lost for the longest five minutes of their lives. Reaching out Rip caught his son and pulled him up, planting a kiss on his pudgy cheek before resting him on the bed between his parents. Jonas squirmed until he was settled under the covers leaning against the pillow with Gary in his arms. Rip lay with his arm across the two people who mattered most in the world to him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have them.

He remembered meeting Miranda for the first time, they were fifteen and had been made lab partners. Rip had been sure that she wouldn’t even look in his direction outside the class, never mind go out with him. But she did. In fact she asked him and Rip couldn’t imagine his life without her or Jonas in it.

They’d started trying for a second baby a few weeks before, now that they were in the position to have another child. Jonas had been a bit of an accident. Rip was hoping for a girl who looked like her mother because he couldn’t think of anything better.

Miranda opened her eyes and smiled at him as Jonas lay between them talking to his bear. Rip slid his hand into hers, enjoying the perfect morning with his family.

                                  *********************************************

  “What are you doing?”

The annoyed voice made Gideon look over to the door where her best friend stood, arms folded across her chest with a frown on her face.

“I’m working,” Gideon noted, “What does it look like, Lily?”

“The doctor’s said you’re meant to be resting?” Lily moved to the side of Gideon’s bed, “Not stressing yourself out.”

Gideon rolled her eyes, “I’m writing a computer game for kids, it’s not like I’m trying to climb a mountain. Hey,” she cried as Lily shut the laptop lid.

“You’re meant to be resting,” Lily stated again disapprovingly, “Caitlin was very specific when they released you this morning.”

Gideon sighed, “I have been in hospital all week and I am still in a bed, Lily. I am so bored, I just want to pretend to be normal for a while.”

“I know,” Lily took her hand, “And I hate this too but…” she took a breath, “You will get a new heart. I know this, don’t give up hope.”

Sadly Gideon nodded, “I won’t. Since you refuse to let me work, I’m going to get some sleep.”

Squeezing her hand, Lily leaned over and kissed Gideon’s forehead, “I’ll let Mom know. Night.”

Gideon slid to lie down, annoyed when her arm and hand was caught on her IV line. It had been a cold, a stupid cold virus that Gideon thought she’d shake off in a few days. Then she fainted at work, woke up in the emergency room and the next thing she knew the doctors were telling her that her heart was damaged beyond repair. Gideon was now on the transplant list and spent her time either in hospital or in the room her best friend’s parents had set up for her.

The life she intended to have on hold as she hoped for a miracle.

  “Good morning,” Clarissa Stein smiled when she opened the door the next morning and brought in a tray with Gideon’s breakfast on it, “How are you today?”

Letting out a long sigh Gideon shrugged, “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Clarissa set the tray down, “I made you an omelette, with some orange juice. There’s water for your medicine as well.”

“Thank you, Clarissa,” Gideon said because as bored as she was, Gideon was grateful that she had been taken in by the Steins.

Gideon and Lily had met at university becoming the best of friends, they’d rented an apartment together for the last few years of their course. Gideon had been on her own since her parents had died not long after her sixteenth birthday so when she met her new friend’s parents, she was surprised but happy that they basically adopted her as their own within minutes. A few years after they finished University Gideon moved to Central City to take a job with Palmer Tech, to Lily’s excitement. When she’d fallen ill Clarissa and Martin insisted that she stay with them until she was better. Gideon wasn’t sure that would ever happen, but she appreciated their kindness. However, all the equipment needed was bought by her. She had the money. Inherited from her parents and Gideon made a lot of smart investments.

While she waited for a heart, Gideon had been relieved when her doctor’s boyfriend’s friend needed a programmer for his small start-up company. It wasn’t hard work or paid more than buttons, but Gideon cared about neither. It gave her something to focus on when the exhaustion and despair filled her.

“Oh,” Clarissa said, “Your friend Cisco dropped off a flash drive for you. He wants you to look over it when you get a chance.”

“Thank you, Clarissa,” Gideon smiled slightly.

Giving her another smile Clarissa started out the room, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Forcing a smile onto her face Gideon nodded.

Maybe one day she would be able to go back to living her life.

                                  *********************************************

  “Jonas, come here,” Rip chased his laughing son around the living room, “It’s time to go.”

The little boy giggled enjoying his game.

“If you don’t come then you won’t get to see all our friends at the party,” Rip reminded him.

Jonas stalled before he turned and ran to his father who lifted the boy into his arms.

“Why do we have to go to this?” Miranda asked with a pout on her face.

“Because Quentin is our friend,” Rip noted as he put Jonas’ jacket in him.

Miranda rolled her eyes, “You almost get arrested once and you can’t get rid of the cop.”

Rip chuckled, “He didn’t arrest you.”

“How would you know?” she tossed over her shoulder as she checked the small bag for Jonas, “You weren’t there.”

“Quentin told me the story,” Rip reminded her adding before she could say anything, “And I believe him rather than you in this.”

Miranda rolled her eyes and took Jonas into her arms, “Make sure you remember the wine.”

Watching her head out to the car to strap Jonas in, Rip smiled amused. It had been only a month after they’d moved to Star City, Miranda was out with a few of her new work mates when a man had tried to grope one of the women. Miranda stopped him, so he tried to hit her and discovered a few seconds later that the small brunette was a black belt.

Quentin Lance, Detective in the Star City PD was at the bar meeting a friend and had intervened. The guy didn’t want to press charges, not wanting to let anyone know he’d been knocked down by a woman almost a foot smaller than he was. Since the owner wanted her out, Quentin offered Miranda a lift home, discovering that they lived on the same block. Now, several years later, they were still good friends with him and his wife Dinah.

The party was for Quentin’s birthday, so he had decided to have a barbecue. The back garden of the house was already full of people when they arrived, Rip could feel Jonas squirming to get down so he could start running around.

“Hey, there’s my favourite boy,” the blonde appeared.

“Say,” Jonas cried, clapping his hands, “Say.”

Sara Lance reached out, Rip let the little boy jump into her arms and Sara hugged him close.

“Let’s go and say hello to everyone,” Sara kissed the boy before she gave Rip and Miranda a smile, disappearing into the crowd with their son.

Miranda hugged Rip’s arm, “I do love seeing our friends.”

“And I thought you didn’t want to come,” Rip reminded her amused.

Giving a soft chuckle, Miranda murmured to him, “We could always find an empty room and have another go at making a baby.”

Rolling his eyes Rip laughed, “We’re at our friends’ birthday party.”

“Wimp,” she shot at him, before smiling as Dinah Lance came over to greet them.

  Jonas was chasing the Lance’s next-door neighbour’s puppy had just got, while they sat around the garden finishing their drinks and the food. Rip kept his arm around his wife keeping half an eye on their son while he ran around.

“So, summer vacation,” Quentin noted as he handed them another drink, “What are you doing now your classes have ended?”

Rip smiled, “We’re heading home next week and staying with my mother for a month. Jonas will be spoiled rotten.”

“That’s what grandmothers are for,” Dinah noted, smiling at her daughters who nodded in agreement.

Miranda laughed, “Although Mary makes sure she tells us how hard it is that she doesn’t get to see her grandson because we moved so far away from her.”

“But that is your fault,” Rip reminded her amused, “Since you persuaded me to move here.”

Miranda chuckled again, “I gave her a grandson. That saved me.”

“Is Jonas going to get a brother or sister one of these days?” Dinah asked, grinning when they glanced at one another quickly, “And?”

Shaking her head, Miranda replied, “We’re thinking about it. Rip is getting more responsibility next year at work and the gallery is giving me more hours after the summer. Adding a baby right now…”

“It’s a lot,” Rip finished for her, “But we’d like another one.”

“You could just get a dog,” Sara suggested motioning to where Jonas was playing, “He wouldn’t know the difference.”

Laurel laughed, “Well, that’s not true exactly. A dog would be less annoying than a younger sibling.”

Sara threw a roll at her sister as the rest of the group laughed.

  Jonas giggled as Sara tickled him while helping him put his jacket on.

“Say bye to Sara,” Rip said to his son.

Jonas gave her a sweet smile, “Bye, bye Say.”

Sara took the little face in her hands and pressed several kisses to his cheeks, “Bye, my boy. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” Rip pulled his son away from her, “We’ll see you on Monday morning.”

“I’ll be there by nine,” she promised.

Rip smiled, “Thanks for agreeing to watch him while we pack.”

“It’s not a problem. You know I’m happy to watch Jonas whenever you need,” Sara said, opening the car door for him, Rip efficiently got Jonas into his car seat and strapped in before the little boy could try to escape. Turning he saw Miranda hugging Dinah.

“We’ll see you when you get back,” Dinah told them, “Enjoy your trip and say hello to Mary from us.”

Miranda nodded before she climbed into the driver’s seat while Rip slid into the seat beside Jonas, “We will.”

With a bright smile she started the car, the radio springing to life and a song filling the car. As they pulled away, Jonas waved to everyone. The couple sang along with the music as Miranda drove while Rip made Gary Bear dance for their son who laughed and clapped.

The sound of screeching brakes filled the car before there was a loud bang, a tinkling of glass, the car was suddenly on its’ side and Rip fell into blackness.

[1921designs]

It will look like a sunset

I WAS TWENTY-SIX, having spent most of my twenties delaying adulthood, and he was twenty-four and enjoyed a reputation as a partier. The pregnancy was a surprise, and we married four months later.

As my belly stretched outward with the tightness of the baby, my limbs grew heavy. I napped constantly on a long hand-me-down couch, the summer heat giving me nightmares. I dreamt of a woman floating in the corner staring at me, and I woke with my heart racing. One afternoon a hummingbird flew through the open door of the apartment to the window in the corner and beat at the glass. It was panicked, trying to turn glass into sky. I wrapped my hands around it, the hummingbird heart pulsing against my palms, then released it on the stoop.

They say that a bird in the house is an omen. It can mean pregnancy. Or death. Or both.

Eight years later, the police came to our door. When the younger one asked about my foot, I said that it didn’t hurt. I told him it was no big deal, but when he asked for my driver’s license, I stood up and found that I couldn’t walk, that my foot was the size of a football, and it was bleeding. The bowl Caleb had shattered on it wasn’t a little bowl like I had described. It was a heavy ceramic serving bowl, and I would need to wear a soft boot for a month and get a tetanus shot, and there would always be a scar shot through the top of my foot like a red star.

In the beginning of our relationship, I slept in his cabin in the woods with no indoor plumbing. I had to pee, so I let myself out. The ground was snow-covered and cold and I didn’t feel like walking to the outhouse, so I went around to the side and squatted in the moonlight. The moon turned the snow into a million stars while my gentle lover slumbered in the warmth—such happiness.

We didn’t want a church wedding, but our families insisted. Faith was what made marriage sacred. Faith was what kept people together.

I had doubts about marrying him so soon. Sometimes he would disappear for a straight week and return apologetic, smelling of alcohol. His friends gave each other looks that said they knew something I did not. One friend said jokingly, “How on earth did Caleb get you to go out with him?” Coming from a friend, the question seemed odd, but I thought it was just the way they ribbed each other.

When I met him, he charmed me. My best friend said, “You’ll love Caleb. He lives in a cabin in the woods that he built by himself.” A former wilderness ranger, I was attracted to ruggedness and solitude. Caleb was a writer, and he was funny. One day he joked in bed about what our rapper names would be. I said mine would be “Awesome Possum.” He improvised a rap song titled “Get in My Pouch!” I couldn’t stop giggling. I had never met a man who could make me laugh like he could.

My love for him was real, and I didn’t want to be a single mother.

The young policeman told Caleb, “Go to your parents. Get away for a couple of days. Just let things calm down.”

The young policeman told me, “It’s all right. My wife and I fight. Things get crazy. Sometimes you just need time apart.” I nodded my head in agreement, but I wanted to ask, “Do you beat your wife, too?”

Before our son turned two, we moved to Caleb’s home state of West Virginia. He wanted to be closer to his family. There would be more opportunity for work there. His parents owned a rental house that they would sell to us. There were many compelling reasons for the move, but once there, he was the only friend I had. The loneliness was inescapable. This was common, I told myself. My parents had been married for over thirty years, and I don’t remember my father ever having a close friend. I told myself that he was enough for me.

When the older policeman saw the swelling, the black-and-blue, and the toes like little sausage links, his expression turned to dismay. “That’s bad. That looks broken,” he said. “Ma’am, does your husband have a phone number we can reach him at? We need him to come back.”

They waited outside, and I called Caleb. “I’m sorry,” I said. “They are going to arrest you.”

He said he already knew.

He left his phone on while they arrested him so I could listen. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Did she hit you?” one of the officers asked.

“Because we can arrest her, too.” Caleb answered honestly. He said no.

We were together for almost two years before he was violent with me. First he We were together for almost two years before he was violent with me. First he pushed me against a wall. It was two more years before he hit me, and another year after that before he hit me again. It happened so slowly, then so fast.

While the older policeman arrested Caleb, the younger one waited with me for the paramedics to arrive. “Is he going to lose his job?” I asked.

“No, probably not,” he said.

“Is he going to leave me?” I asked.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

I wanted him to hug me so I could hide my face in the folds of his black uniform. I crumpled into the rocking chair instead. “He’s going to leave me,” I said.

When our elderly neighbor developed dementia and one night thought a boy was hiding under her bed, Caleb stayed with her. When the child of an administrative assistant in Caleb’s department needed a heart transplant, Caleb went to the assistant’s house and helped him put down wood floors in his basement to create a playroom for the little boy. When my dad needed help installing new windows in the house, or mowing the lawn, or chopping wood, Caleb was always ready to help. I was so grateful to be married to someone so generous with his time, so loving.

The young policeman called for an ambulance. The EMTs looked at my foot. They didn’t ask about what happened. They just told me it looked bad, that it could be broken. They asked me if I wanted to go to the emergency room, but I declined, so they instructed me to see a doctor and made me sign a waiver saying they weren’t responsible if I didn’t get follow-up care. And then I was alone in our home.

Two years after we moved, I started graduate school and finally made some friends, but it was hard to spend time with them. I had to lie: I shut my arm in the door. I tripped on a rug and hit my face on the table. I don’t know where that bruise came from. I think I did it in my sleep. I think I’m anemic. I just bruise so easily.

Once Caleb said to me, “You probably wish that someone would figure out where those bruises are coming from. You probably wish someone knew, so that things could change.” He said it with such sadness.

After the arrest, I hobbled around in denial for a few days until a concerned

After the arrest, I hobbled around in denial for a few days until a concerned friend pushed me into getting the foot examined.

I was embarrassed at the urgent-care center. I told the nurse, “It’s okay. He’s already been arrested. I don’t need anything. I’m safe,” but he didn’t seem to believe me. The nurse put me in a wheelchair even though I insisted I could walk, and the doctor touched and turned my foot with such care that, out of some sort of misguided impulse, I almost blurted out, “Mom!” But I was thirty-four years old, and the distance between my mother and me was punctuated by so many mountains that she couldn’t have saved me.

Caleb wanted to change. He got therapy. He went to anger management. He did everything right. We were allies. Together we were going to fix this problem.

He started taking medication shortly after our sixth anniversary. Every time he was violent with me, he would go to a psychiatrist who increased his dosage. I thought the psychiatrist could fix him.

He wasn’t supposed to drink on the medication, but he did. One night he was in a stupor and staring at something. “What are you looking at?” I asked.

“Myself,” he said. “That’s me sitting in that chair.” He pointed at an empty chair across the room. “That me is laughing at me.” His eyes were confused, sad.

“Are you manipulating me?” I asked, worried.

“I’m not the one who manipulates you,” he said. He gestured toward the chair again, his voice quickening, earnest almost. “He’s the one who manipulates you.

It’s not me.”

I was so tired. I didn’t know what to say. “You should go to bed.”

His eyes turned from sadness to rage. He stood up and went to the stairs, then turned back to me and said, “I hope you get chlamydia and die.”

Shortly before I left him, I told a counselor that my husband was hitting me and showed her the bruises. She held me while I wept in her arms. I then told a close friend that he yelled at me and called me names, but I didn’t yet tell her he was beating me.

My counselor said, “You are taking everything he says and playing it on repeat over and over again. You have to stop the tape.” But I couldn’t stop the tape. I heard over and over:

You are a fucking cunt. You are a fucking cunt. You are a fucking cunt. You are a fucking cunt. You are a fucking cunt. You are a fucking cunt. You are a fucking cunt.

And then his voice became my voice:

I am a fucking cunt.

“You can’t hold the things I say when I’m mad against me,” he said. “That isn’t fair. Those aren’t the things I mean.”

At the urgent care, the doctor said, “This will take a long time to heal. It will change color over time. It will look like a sunset.” As I drove home, I heard the words over and over:

It will look like a sunset. It will look like a sunset. It will look like a sunset. It will look like a sunset. It will look like a sunset. It will look like a sunset. It will look like a sunset.

I could never bring myself to leave. Instead I was a regular at the Travelodge. I always returned home before morning, keeping the hotel key card just in case, then climbing into bed and wrapping my arms around Caleb’s back. All of the usual suspects drew me back—concerns about our six-year-old, money, where we would live, and love. I still loved him. I told myself he would get better.

In sickness and in health.Those were my vows in that little church in Idaho where we held hands while sunlight filtered through stained glass and spring lilacs bloomed outside. Caleb was sick.

He only hit me in the face once. A red bruise bloomed across my cheek, and my eye was split and oozing. Afterward we both sat on the bathroom floor, exhausted. “You made me hit you in the face,” he said mournfully. “Now everyone is going to know.”

A month or so before his arrest, I thought I was losing my hair from stress. In the shower, red strands swam in the water by my feet. Chunks were stuck to my fingers. It didn’t matter. I hadn’t felt pretty in years.

When I rubbed the shampoo into my scalp, the skin was tender, and I realized I wasn’t losing my hair. He had ripped it out, and I hadn’t even felt it.

I went into a cave when he hit me. I curled into my body like a slug, then traveled into a deep darkness where I felt nothing. I heard his voice, his fists, the blasts in my ears from the blows to the side of my head. I heard my own screaming.

Deep in that cave, it wasn’t real, even as it was happening.

What was real was when we lay in bed, our son between us—my head on my husband’s shoulder, his head resting on mine—and our son said, “The whole family is cuddled up.”

“I’m not the type of person to hit a woman,” he said. “So it must be you. You are the one who brings this out in me. I would not be like this if I was with a different woman.”

The same night that Caleb pulled out my hair, he punched me in the spine with such force that my body arched back as though it had been shocked with electricity. I was jolted out of my cave. He did it again. “No,” I screamed. I could not protect myself.

My only protection was the darkness—the dissociation. I hadn’t felt him ripping out hair, but when he hit me in the spine, the pain was too intense. That part of my body was too vulnerable. I couldn’t curl up. I couldn’t wrap my arms around it.

I was present for what was happening. I stopped breathing for a moment. He paused.

It was as though he, too, felt that I was present, and he stopped. I couldn’t have been human to him in those moments.

He never raped me, so there’s that.

I left him two days after he was arrested, but I wasn’t ready. I still wasn’t ready.

We were one of those couples that others liked to be around. We laughed a lot, respected each other, and supported each other’s work. We loved the same things: cooking Thai food, impromptu dance parties in the living room, Friday Night Lights marathons. We always found time for date nights. We vacationed in Greece, New York City, and Glacier National Park. We emailed each other silly videos during the day when we were at work. He phoned me from the car, five minutes after leaving the house, just to talk.

The day that I left him, I called Rebecca, a kind and accepting friend whom I knew would help. It wasn’t an easy call to make.

She lived with her partner, and they let my son and me stay with them for a month until we had our own place. She and I had only known each other for a little over a year. I told her about the beatings, how Caleb broke my phone when I tried to call for help, how he pulled me out from underneath the bed by my ankles, how I hid shaking in the closet while he raged, how he always found me, how there was no safe place for me.

When I saw the fear in her eyes, I understood the magnitude of what was happening.

happening.

Of everyone I had dated, he was the gentlest. I loved his soft hands, his embraces, his kind heart.

He wrote me love letters, rubbed my feet, took me out to lunch, got up first in the mornings with our son so that I could sleep in. He took care of me. He was more often kind to me than unkind.

Sometimes, when I’m cooking dinner by myself, I can feel the way he would lay his head on my shoulder while I stirred a pot, the way he would turn me around and kiss me, tell me how much he loved my cooking, how beautiful I was, how lucky he was.

On Thanksgiving Day, Caleb took our son to his family’s annual Thanksgiving dinner. While they ate turkey and dressing around the oak table I had eaten at so many times before, I returned to my home with Rebecca and threw as many things as I could fit into laundry baskets, then stuffed them into the back seat of my car. I packed my son’s Legos, enough blankets for us to sleep on the floor, and my work clothes, but I left behind anything sentimental. Our wedding photo was on a table, the glass broken. I had thrown it on the ground.

After packing, Rebecca and I ate at a Chinese buffet attached to a casino because it was the only place open in three counties. The future loomed before me like a buffet full of hungry, lonely people.

My favorite photo of Caleb and me is a self-portrait taken on a beach at Ecola State Park on the Oregon coast. We had hiked down a steep trail, stopping to lunch on smoked salmon and bagels, and ended up on a beach. The tide was low, and sand dollars dotted the shore. We scooped them up like prizes. We ran into the surf. We hugged. In the photo we are both smiling, our heads pressed together.

When I look at that photo now, I wonder, Where are those people? Where did they go?

Just to the right of us was a cave. I had wanted to go in it, but the tide was coming in, and I was afraid of getting trapped and drowning.

Six months after I left Caleb, I went home to Idaho for the summer. After that I was moving to another state. It was over. The counselor at the domestic violence shelter was proud of me. So many women never get out. I didn’t feel proud. I didn’t want to get out. I wanted to keep dancing with Caleb, keep sending funny didn’t want to get out. I wanted to keep dancing with Caleb, keep sending funny emails to each other, keep cuddling with our son between us.

There are days when I still wish that he would beg me to take him back, promise to change, actually change. This will never happen. Even if he never hit me again, my body will always remember that fist on my back.

In Idaho, the state where Caleb and I met, where we had our son, I drove the sun-baked streets. There was the apartment where Caleb sat next to me on the couch, nervously wiped his hand across his forehead, and said in a halting voice,

“Kelly, I want to marry you.”

There was the house where our baby slept in a basket by the bed. When he cried, I nursed him while Caleb draped his arm around my waist, nuzzling his head into my hair.

There was the riverside trail where we pushed the stroller and fantasized over which fancy house we would buy if we ever had any money, where our toddler threw sticks into the river, where Caleb scooped him up and held him upside down while we all giggled.

There was the river where, in winter, our dog slid out onto the ice and into the cold water. Caleb stretched out on the ice and reached his hands out to our dog while I watched, terrified. “I can’t lose you both,” I screamed.

I wondered if it would have happened if we had stayed in Idaho.

But then there was the house where he first pushed me up against a wall, where he backed me into the corner, where he threw our baby’s bouncer. The neighbor watched, worried, from her stoop while he put the broken pieces in the trash can on the curb and I cried in the window.

The same house where my mother took me into the backyard and said, “Listen to me. I have friends who have left their husbands. I have seen it on the other side. It is not better on the other side. Try hard. Try hard before you give up.” I tried so hard.

[starkiiller]

For Anon-chan,

SO I’m not sure how far back to go because things have been kind of weird for a while, but I guess I’ll start like a month or two ago because that’s when shit kind of really hit the fan.

My grandfather (paternal) was in a car crash. He hit a guard rail in his pickup truck. We’re still not sure why, but I’ve been told that the doctors thought he may have temporarily lost consciousness. The truck flipped and they had to pry him out of it. He was in the ICU for a while. My dad went down to see him (because he lived in the southern end of the state) and was there for a few days before coming back up to work.

Shortly after, because his workplace denied him FMLA to care for his father, my dad quit his job. And then three days after that, he was taken to the hospital. He was jaundiced, barely eating and couldn’t move around very well.

He was there for a little over a week. Early on, they found that he had pretty bad liver cirrhosis for reasons they couldn’t yet determine. But there are only so many causes for that, so eventually they found out that he has autoimmune hepatitis. Which mean his liver will continue to fail unless the medicine they gave him works (my mom doesn’t think it is) or he gets a liver transplant (which may not happen in time). It’s a condition that can be managed, but will eventually kill him - and it might be genetic, apparently.

The 21st of this month, my grandfather finally passed after being in hospice care. His funeral was the day before yesterday. My dad, my sister, and I are taking it really hard. Not sure how my aunt is doing, but she cried a lot when we were there.

My mom keeps talking about how they might lose the house because my dad is still out of work and they have to pay his medical bills in addition to all of the other bills that they have - and she’s getting knee surgery pretty soon and won’t be able to work, either. She talks about how she might just let the bank have the house and she’ll get a condo or something smaller. She’s really attached to the house, though. Bought it from her mom after my sister was born.

This sounds really melodramatic. I’m sorry.

But uuhhhh yeah. Other things:

One of my cats needs a radioactive injection which is expensive.

Gf fractured her ankle and tore something in her shoulder.

My brother got a speeding ticket bringing us back from the funeral.

Gf and I have been trying to find a place in WA but I’m getting kind of frustrated with it. I’m also not a hundred percent sure we’ll have the money for it.

I want to get my name legally changed, but it’s... so expensive.

I’ve already been struggling with depression and anxiety. It’s been getting worse.

I don’t sleep enough.

Hate my job. Like. I despise it. I’ve been in retail 6 years and I want to Die.

I drink too much.

I’m constantly afraid my friends are gonna ditch me even though we’ve been friends for years and I’m always worried I’m gonna fuck it up and I’m a drain on them emotionally and I suck at being a friend. I love them. I don’t know how to articulate that to the full extent that is true. Even the ones I haven’t talked to since just after high school. I miss you.

I’m unable to talk about my problems out loud because they’re dumb. Honestly, that’s probably why I’m doing this. It’s easier to talk about it here, even though more people are gonna see it. I can turn off my computer. Can’t exactly stay isolated from people that live or work with me.

I don’t want to ask for help for those reasons.

TL,DR:

My life is fucked up right now but not as fucked up as it could be? I’m wallowing in a sea of self-pity. I wanna die. This is shorter than it would’ve been had I included everything going on in my head.

[jinxiaroo]

6/13/2019 11:06pm

man i haven't written something in a while.

The other day i was driving to my sisters house because she got locked out. I was driving back home and i thought i was being sleepy.  but i had  double take, i saw his mom, i guess she finished her stroll at the park and she was heading back home. 

I had all these questions and i really wanted to speak to her but something in my gut told me to just drive off. something that always catches me in the back of my mind cause im just wondering how did turn out to be like that. how two people or just connections that were so close, how can it be like two strangers who arent willing to know each other. I was wondering all these questions about james. I wanna know what he was doing at that time, what about the time since we last spoke. The last time i saw him. did he pursue further advancement in the navy, did he move back home and go back to school. Did he get a new girlfriend. did he find someone who treats him right? Some part of me want me to bump into him with a girl with him. So i can be settled in the back of my mind that i was never the right person and that he has moved on. I hope he did because he deserve so much more. I have all this guilt inside of me still. I have no idea when it is all going to end. It sucks. all just because i was curious. 

i finally got off hinge, it’s a dating app. I think it has been taking a mental toll on me. I find myself comparing myself to people who i normally dont give a shit about. I find myself comparing myself to my previous self and always trying to be a prettier versions of myself when in reality i should be doing the opposite. i told myself this year is the year where im going to learn to be who i am. I need to learn that i am the shit, i am a good person, someone is lucky to have me. someone is blessed to have my in their life because i know how to treat people right. im a great girlfriend. lately ive just been sitting around thinking where am i going in life. what have i done that has improved my mental state. am i treating the people i love right. Am i spending the right amount of time with the people that i love. instead im wasting time on people who honestly i dont think i wanna see ever again. this dating got me thinking some dumb shit i think. 

i think its also cause im tired of dating. it’s so tiresome, same conversations, different people. im tired of worrying do i look nice, smell nice, sound cute, am i socialable. do they like me ? im sitting here wasting my time away. 

update:

i got my dream job! i got the sicu job that i always wanted. but be careful for what you wish for. the grass is always greener on the other side. i dont know, it’s alright so far. i really miss my transplant family tho. i miss coming to work and being happy there. being excited to see the people for work. But it could just be because im new. I should start introducing myself to people so people know who i am. man, i just wanna be happy. 

it’s honestly a everyday struggle. i dont know how to get myself out of this rut right now. i beat myself everyday for feeling like i should be more thrilling for accomplish all these tthings that i always wanted. i got the dream job, i make good money. i have people that i love and care abbout. but i sit here and mope about some dumb shit. i feel like im not appreciating life the way i should. life is good but why does it feel something is missing. whatever tomorrow is gonna be another day and im gonna make the best out of it. goodnight world. 

[doctor-paprika]

Heroin sucks.

I have no followers, so I guess I am using this as a diary entry that no one will see but can help me vent a bit.

I am learning how to tumblr so have been randomly searching any interests that come to mind. Of course, one of the first I could think of was heroin/addiction recovery, but very few results came up. After that, I stupidly just searched the word “heroin” and the results really brought me down (lower than I already was, which was surprising.)

A few accounts were splattered with pictures of Kurt Cobain, which didn’t surprise me. Soon I saw several accounts with videos of people shooting up, people talking about how much they love heroin and other drugs, and of course, people talking of how they may be addicts, but they aren’t dirty junkies!

When I was 14 I began eating pills. Benzos were fun, but opiates were my favourite. I took them from medicine cabinets and kept myself in steady supply that way. Years passed, I graduated high school, fell in and out of a few relationships, and eventually began seeing someone who had been using heroin for a while. They would leave the room to shoot up, but one night I told them to stay, and I asked them to share.

I was 19, had a good job, a reliable car, over $4k in the bank I had earned every penny of on my own, a good relationship with my parents, and a few people I called friends.

I don’t want to sit here and put down my partner at the time because it is counterproductive. All I will say is that they were 26, had never had a job, a driver’s license, a high school diploma, but got lots of money given to them without question by their mother.

I say this just to give you (the person who is not reading this) an idea of my situation at the time.

I loved my first shot. There was no mark left on my arm, which shocked me. Before this, I had needed four nurses to hold me down to get a tetanus shot, but suddenly the fear was gone. I didn’t want to bring up doing it again, so was very excited when my partner asked a few days later if I would like to join them in shooting up again. The second time was even better than the first.

The lies came quickly. Calls to my job, claiming my car was broken down. Calls to my parents coming up with various reasons as to why I wouldn’t be home that night. The few friends I had became unimportant, I had new “friends” that I met through my partner, and they either sold, used, or both.

A few months after I turned 20 I quit my job, officially moved in with my partner, and had begun to spend almost every moment of every day coming up with ways to get heroin. I felt like a cool adult, able to make my own decisions and get high whenever I wanted! What fun!

Without having to pay for food, rent, or anything but heroin, I ran out of my $4k in less than a year. I had been saving all of my money from age 15-19 and it was gone in just a few months. I also got my car taken from me by my parents. My partners mom knew that we used, she sobbed about it, yelled about it, and acted like it was the worst thing that could have ever happened to her… but would still give us $100-300 a day so we wouldn’t get sick, and provided a nice, new car for us.

I was lucky to live in the Bay Area, because all it took was a fifteen minute drive to Oakland and I had access to dozens of dealers. There were also many needle exchanges around the city in which each person could get 400 free, new clean needles and all the ties, cooks, cottons, and anything else a heroin addict could need, including a limited supply of Narcan - which I always kept on me after having OD’d myself once and watching another friend OD, and having us both be saved by the opioid antagonist.

Oh, and I began smoking crack. Lots of crack. Crack was great! And heroin was a perfect comedown! I was awake most hours of every day, and spent almost every second of those hours worrying about how the next hour would go.

By the time my parents found out about my use, I was 22. They had been my best friends and now we were completely out of contact. My mom would occasionally stop by the apartment my partner and I shared with their mom, but by then I had begun living in the car we had, because being in Oakland all the time was easier than having to drive there every day.

My partners mom would occasionally go through periods where she decided to cut us off. She was married to an alcoholic whose health was declining so had to tend to his addiction more than ours at that point. I had never imagined myself having to fly a sign for money, but now I was doing it all day, every day, and most of the time was stuck standing out there sick. Lots of homeless people live on the streets of Oakland, so to get a good spot to stand you needed to get out early, and find some confidence to fight others who wanted your spot. I had shit thrown at me, usually open drink containers, I got yelled at to get a job, to get the fuck off the median, to kill myself. I didn’t understand what I was doing to offend these people so bad. My least favorite part was the men who would hold out a dollar, just to pull it in once I got close and show me their dick before laughing and driving off - and the worst of that was one who actually came on my hand, he could have at least gave me the dollar after!

Once my partners mom was at the hospital daily with her rapidly declining husband, waiting for him to get a liver transplant that eventually came too late, we began staying at the apartment more. Every wall became covered in blood spatter, shot from rigs that had become blocked with coagulated blood. You could not see one inch of the floor, as it was covered in used rigs and bloody rags. Surprisingly, we didn’t get the security deposit back! I will always feel terrible that I let my cat live in that fucked up place.

I joined a methadone clinic a few times to try to avoid going through withdrawal, but I would always stop going because the drive there took away time I could have spent flying my sign, smoking crack, or shooting dope.

I was 23, my job was flying a sign, my car was in three accidents that left it barely functioning, had no money for longer than a few minutes (more usually a few hours because dealers were generally slow movers), was out of contact with my parents for thirteen months, and I didn’t have one friend. I had also gotten below 90lbs, which didn’t go well with my 5'8" body - inside or out. You know you’re at rock bottom when you have old crack dealers with no teeth telling you how unhealthy you look.

You know what my most commonly used phrases during those years were? • “I’m not a junkie, I’m a functioning addict!” • “I’m not a dirty crackhead, I take showers, brush my teeth, and wash my face (in the bathroom at Safeway.)” • “My parents/friends are so stupid, they don’t get that I’m totally fine. I’m better than fine, this stuff makes me feel great! If they tried it, they’d know!” • “I know *drug dealers name* takes a long time to meet up, but we’re friends! Not like how it is for them with all the junkies out here!” • “I’ve never had to whore myself out, I’ve never been to jail, I’m not like these nasty junkies out here..”

You know what kind of things I did that I thought were totally normal and definitely didn’t make me a mentally ill drug abuser? • searched the floor of my car for lost crack rocks for hours, tearing apart any parts of it I could - one time even thinking I had found a big chunk of crack and immediately smoked it, but it was a popcorn kernel! Worst thing I’ve ever smelled or tasted. • gone through every inch of my partners mom’s room to find any loose change or gold jewelery I could sell. • sold every book, videogame, DVD, CD, and any item I owned that I could get even a dollar for, including things I had had since my childhood that had incredible sentimental value. • sold every Safeway giftcard my partners mother would give us for 75% of its value, knowing it meant my partner and I would have no food for the foreseeable future. ¹ • then spent the money we got for the giftcard on crack, knowing that without food in our system we would throw up bile after each hit. • had to shit so badly after taking a hit of crack that I went on a curb where others could see, in the middle of the day, and then taken another hit right when I was done. • taken suboxone sooner than I knew I should have, and proceeded to vomit non-stop while driving, followed my shitting my pants three times, selling a PS4 that belonged to my partners friend, and driving to meet a dealer while still vomiting and wearing my shit filled pants.

Too much information? Gross? It’s weird for me to talk about it, because I have incredibly bad anxiety and don’t like to be open about more than I have to be, but drug addiction is gross and people need to realize that. There are people out there buying clothes and accessories with “Xanax” and “Percoset” labeled on them! Alcohol is glamourized in the media all the time! And the worst part is, I get it. I get that feeling that of independence, that feeling of being cooler than others, that feeling of finally having found something to calm down my brain even a little bit and falling head over heels for it, that feeling of doing something illegal and scary and the adrenaline rush from it.

When I was in middle school there was an assembly where a man talked about his drug use. It ended with him saying quitting cigarettes was harder than quitting heroin. Once I got addicted to heroin, I knew that was complete bullshit. I wish there was a way to tell kids, adults, anyone who might be considering using that they should do anything else, that their lives can so easily be ruined for who knows how long, but unfortunately most will only learn from experience.

Addicts are demonized, we are looked at as scum, as monsters, as those you should stay far from. Addicts are people. Many addicts are brilliant minds that suffer from mental illnesses, some known and some not. I knew I was mentally ill, but the therapy groups gave me anxiety and the meds didn’t work quick enough so I took the route I felt would be easier, which proved to be the opposite. Addiction is a disease, whether people choose to believe it or not. The biggest argument I have heard against this is that addicts choose what has happened to them. Do you put down a diabetic, even if they are only dealing with that disease because they ate tons of pies and cakes every day? Do you put down a person with cancer, even if they are only dealing with that disease because they tanned themselves in the sun or under tanning booths every day? I chose to use heroin, I chose to use crack, I chose to eat pills, I chose to drink, but I did not choose to be an addict. Long before I did any of those drugs I was addicted to picking at my skin, addicted to cleaning, addicted to exercising and watching my diet very closely, but no on has ever put me down for having dermatillomania, for having OCD, or for having anorexia.

Those with mental illness are looked at as lesser beings, as being incompetent, as needing to be pushed aside and stepped on. But we are strong, we are bright, and we deserve love and acceptance.

I have been off of heroin since early 2014, but I will be celebrating my one year date of being completely clean and sober in eleven days. I never think about drugs anymore, until I see videos of others shooting up, text or images promoting the addict lifestyle, and unfortunately for me those are all too common and too easily found.

If you are an addict, ask for help. If you suffer from, or even think you may suffer from, any mental illness, ask for help. Even if it is hard to find at first, it is out there. Therapy, medications, rehabilitation and the like are out there.

But, you’re not reading this are you? Like I said, this is just a way for a rambling, ex-junkie to vent.

[rhina988]

Indecent Proposal - Chapter 3

Read from the beginning

Read Chapter 2

I must’ve been driving for at least an hour when I finally stopped at one of the viewpoints. It seemed as the perfect place to think and gather my thoughts. I got out of the car and leaned against the hood to look over the city. I couldn’t believe what Jared just asked me. Did he actually expect me to just take his damn money and pretend to be his happy little wife? How dare he insult me like that? God I was so furious I could kill him on the spot. I wasn’t much of a fan of his before, but now, now I wasn’t going to talk to him for the rest of my life. In the middle of my interior monologue, I heard my phone buzzing.

“Hello, “ I answered to an unknown number.

“Hey, Melody, it’s Jack” Jamie’s father “Jamie’s condition just got worse, do you think you could come to the hospital? He wants you by his side” tears had immediately overflown my face.

“Oh my God, no…” I cried out “Yes, I’m on my way” I hung up and ran to my car. 

I felt like the drive took forever, even though I was in the hospital within 20 minutes. Every second felt like a lifetime. Why did this have to happen to the best person in the world? Jamie was the most selfless, kind, warm, loving, and amazing person I’ve ever known. He didn’t deserve to have this kind of life.

I was finally in the hospital garage, parked my car, and stormed inside the building, to be by Jamie’s side. I was in front of Jamie’s room when I heard a crowd of doctors and nurses rambling. Jamie’s mom Karen and his father Jack were staying by the bed, hugging and crying. It seemed as if Jamie was struggling after today’s dialysis.

I walked inside and instantly started to cry. Jack and Karen saw me and came closer to give me a hug. They cared about me as if I was their daughter.

“What happened?” I asked in tears.

“His other kidney is almost completely out of function. They need to perform a surgery as soon as possible. He literally has a couple of ….” Jack could barely finish the sentence while Karen couldn’t stop sobbing “… a couple of days to live” Jack was crushed “Damn money… why… God…” he just hugged Karen and fight to contain his tears and anger.

My heart was crushed. I felt like my entire world was falling apart. A part of me was dying along with Jamie, and I couldn’t have let that happen. I would give my life for him, and I knew he’d do the same for me. If I had to sacrifice everything for him, I would. He was the brother I never had and he deserved my help more than anyone else in the world.

“Don’t worry,” I wiped the tears of my face, pulled myself together and hugged Karen and Jack, “Jamie’s gonna be just fine. I promise.”

I went to talk to the doctor, and he had told me that Jamie needs to go in surgery first thing in the morning, or he might not make it until the day after. I said I’ll have the money by the end of the day, so they should prepare him for a transplant. Jack was a match, so he could be a donor, and, luckily, that was not an issue. The money, or the lack of one to be exact, however, was. It was the only thing in the way of Jamie’s healthy life. I guess some lives, unfortunately, have an exact price.

I ran to my car and headed back to Jared’s house. There was only one thing I could’ve done, and now I knew I didn’t have any other choice. I entered the empty house, so I started to shout and call for Jared. I looked everywhere and finally found him alone at the studio. I stormed inside the room and saw him sitting, playing the guitar. I can’t imagine the look on my face, but it must’ve been terrifying, because Jared instantly jumped off the chair and put the guitar down when he saw me.

“Hi, what are you doing here?” he was surprised to see me, that’s for sure.

“I came to tell you that I’d accept your offer…”

“Would you, now?” he interrupted me and raised his eyebrows, so I lifted my hand at him signalizing him to stop talking.

“… but I have two conditions” I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head expecting a reaction.

“OK…” he said and nodded in surprise.

“The first one is that you pay me $500 000…”

“Excuse…” he interrupted me again.

“I’m not finished!” I shouted “You need my help, right? So, either it’s my way or no way at all” I acted all defensive and confident. I could barely recognize myself right now. Usually, I wouldn’t have known how to stand up for myself, but now when Jamie’s life was at stake, I guess I was ready for anything.

“Fine. What’s the other condition?” Jared asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’ll pay me $250 000 right now, and the rest when we get married” I said and waited for Jared’s response.

He put his hands in his pockets, smiled, waved his head, and came close to me. He looked me in the eyes, touched my cheek with the back of his hand,  “I thought you said I couldn’t put a price on you” he said with the sleaziest grin on his face.

I slammed his hand off my face “You can’t! But unfortunately money is sometimes the only way for someone to stay alive” I said and pulled away from him.

“What is that supposed…” he tried to ask, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Look, are you gonna do it or not?” I was determined to get an acceptance from him now. Jamie didn’t have much time and Jared was wasting precious minutes on this conversation.

“That’s a lot of money” he said cynically, while his eyes sparkled. It almost looked like he liked that I was so feisty. 

“Yes, and you have it” I said furiously.

“True… but I wasn’t planning on spending so much, on my fake wife,” he said emphasizing fake which only made me hate him even more, “So if I’m to give you all that money, I’m gonna have some conditions of my own,” he licked his lips and checked me out from head to toe. This only made him that much repulsive that I could vomit.

I took a deep breath, tried to control myself instead of telling what son of a bitch he’s being right now, “Fine. What do you want from me?” I asked pretending to be all right.

“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out … when the time comes,” he said and offered me a hand to shake, “Deal?”

The mere thought of touching his hand was more grows than shaking the hand of the devil himself, but a girl’s gotta do what girl’s gotta do, “Deal” I said and shook his hand.

Jared put that ridiculous smile on his face and nodded saying, “Good girl”. Those two words echoed in my mind like crazy. Somehow, it made me feel like he thought of me as his property. Did I just sign a Faustian deal and was on a highway straight to hell?

I did sell myself to him, but it was for a good cause, right? Oh God I needed Jamie’s advice on this ,so bad,  right now; but the fact that I wasn’t able to count on him now, only showed me I had made the right choice. I need him back in my life to support me and encourage me, so he can’t leave me now. Or any time soon.

“Come with me” Jared said and walked out of the studio. I followed him to his office, so he could write me a check. He put $250 000 on it and gave it to me right away “Here you go”.

“Thank you,” I said, folded the check and put it into my bag, “So, what happens next?” I asked nervously and started pacing through the room.

“Dum, dum, da dum” he started to sing the rhythm of a wedding march, never taking that smile off his face.

“Ugh.. Obviously the wedding. But when, how, I need the details,” I rolled my eyes and looked at him with repulse. He was so irritating.

“What do you say we talk about that over lunch? You’re free for today anyway, I spoke to Emma after you left this morning,” he suggested and leaned against his desk waiting for an answer.

“Well, I guess we should be seen in public a couple of times if we’re gonna announce the wedding, right?” I looked at him, he just nodded and bit his lower lip “OK, but I have to do one thing first. I’ll meet you at that restaurant you like to go to, around 1 o'clock?”

“Great, I’ll see you then, wifey” ugh, that word stabbed me like the knife straight to the heart, which made me flinch. 

This is not the way my life was supposed to be. But if Jamie’s gonna get better because of it, then I have to take it. I left Jared’s house and went straight to the bank to put the cash from the check on my account, so that it can be transferred from that one to the hospital’s. I got back to the hospital afterwards, to see Jamie. The doctor was again in his room checking up on him.

“How is my strong man?” I asked and forced a smile, to make sure Jamie’s not discouraged by my sad face.

“Not… so strong” he managed to whisper a little.

“Well, you’ll be all better tomorrow” I approached his bed and patted him on the forehead.

Jack and Karen looked at each other, then at me. They were confused by my answer. 

“Don’t you worry a thing” I said, kissed him on the forehead and waved my hand at Jack and Karen, so we’d get out of the room.

“What did you mean by that?” Jack asked me, since Karen was too miserable to even speak.

“I got the money for Jamie’s surgery,” I said and took Karen by her hand, which instantly brought back the biggest smile on her face. 

Jack hugged her and smiled, then asked me “But how? Where did you..?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I rubbed his arm and smiled, “All that matters is that you’re gonna go to surgery and help your boy be healthy again.”

They couldn’t speak from all the joy. Karen just gave be a hug, almost suffocating me. Then she started to cry, but this time those were the tears of joy.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Melody… I’m speechless,” Jack said and shed a tear. Then he wiped it off with his finger, and took a deep breath “I want you to know that I’ve always appreciated you, but now… now I consider you to be my other child, ” his words literally touched my soul. I couldn’t believe what he just said.

“Thank you, Jack,” I said and touched my chest as I was so moved by his statement, “I’ve always looked up to Jamie, and he was like a brother I never had, so I couldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“We’ll be forever in debt to you,” Karen said and sniffled a little.

“No, the only thing that matters is that Jamie gets better. You don’t owe me anything. Just keep him safe and healthy after the surgery. That’s all,” I said and hugged them both, “I have to go now, but I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

I left the hospital and went home to take a shower and change for my lunch with Jared. My worst nightmare was about to begin. I had no idea what Jared had planned for the two of us, but I knew I had to put on a brave face and play the game by his rules. No matter what they were. 

Read Chapter 4 

Feel free to comment and leave feedback.

Let me know if you’d like me to tag you in the next chapters.

Hope you enjoyed it.

@legolasothranduilion @chris-evans-whaaat @woohooargentina-blog @nikkitasevoli @wolfgirl1074 @snewsome756  @leto-madness @iamthejaredleto

For some reason I still can’t tag @nuu-nuu , so if anyone can do it for me please do so. I don’t get this blog in suggestions when I start typing in the username. And I’ve checked if I spelled it correctly and I did, so I don’t know why I can’t tag it.

[365daysofj2]

Surrender (Library Boys, NC-17, 16/?)

“I’m so glad you live here now, because if you’d gotten snowed in at your old apartment, I would’ve cried. For real.” Jensen cards his fingers through Jared’s tangled bed hair. Jared rolls over and looks through the half-open blinds to see a thick blanket of snow covering their driveway, the little bit of yard they have, their sidewalk, and the empty parking spaces across the street. The actual street itself has been plowed enough to get one car through, but that snow is piled up in front of all their driveways. Thank God their homeowner’s association payment goes to the crew that shovels the driveways, because they’re gonna earn their fucking money today. “Yeah, I’m really glad I’m here with you. We’re not going anywhere for a while.” “I can’t believe Jeff waited until 8 o’clock last night to close the system, and didn’t even put in on social media until 11:00! Eleven o’clock at night, it finally goes up on Twitter. What the fuck.” Jared groans. “It’s too damn early to talk about work.” He turns back over to face Jensen. “I can think of better things to do with that mouth.” “Oh really?” Jensen brushes his lips against Jared’s jaw. “What did you have in mind?” Jared meets Jensen’s lips with his own. He lightly traces the tip of his tongue along the seam of Jensen’s mouth, until Jensen parts his lips and lets Jared inside to sweep the last traces of the evening’s mulled wine from inside Jensen’s mouth. “Mmm, spicy,” murmurs Jared. “And sweet.” “This is the best Tuesday morning I’ve ever had,” replies Jensen. “And it’s only 7:30.” “Yeah, no work, no shoveling…” Jared’s voice drops down an octave. “No reason to leave this bed.” “I was just thinking that,” purrs Jensen, sliding a hand down Jared’s belly to his cock, which is sporting a fairly impressive case of morning wood. “And you’re just rarin’ to go, aren’t you, baby?” “Your mouth. My dick. Now,” growls Jared. “I promise to return the favor posthaste.” “Ooh, busting out the big words this morning.” Jensen peppers Jared’s neck and sternum with fluttery little kisses. “Once a librarian, always a librarian.” “You are the worst dirty talker in the known universe.” “Maybe I should read The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica, get some pointers.” “We sent that out in delivery and it never came back, as far as I know,” replies Jared, grinning. “Maybe you should put a hold on it. With your staff account.” Jensen throws his head back and laughs. “Do you have any idea what Osric or Briana would do if that hold came up on my staff account? I’d never hear the end of it!” “Are you kidding? Osric would probably put it on hold for himself.” “We’re talking about work again,” Jensen points out. “We are the fail at being horny gay men.” “But we’re fucking awesome librarians,” replies Jared with a smirk. “We should try and convince Jeff to sign the new outreach van up for the Pride Parade.” Jensen honest-to-God cackles. “Oh my God, I would pay to see that! I might have to try, just to see what Jeff and Kim would say.” Jensen drops his head onto Jared’s chest, still chuckling, and vibrating Jared’s nipples in a surprisingly pleasurable way. “We are unforgivably nerdy.” “Librarians through and through,” agrees Jared. He reaches down and wraps his long fingers around Jensen’s half-hard dick, giving it a couple of sensuous strokes and bringing it up to speed with Jared’s own massive hard-on. “But you’re gonna blow me now, and then we’re gonna get in the shower.” “When did you get so bossy?” complains Jensen, but he pushes himself up and starts licking a trail from Jared’s navel down to the shaft of his dick. He laves a thick stripe down the top of Jared’s shaft to the tip and licks off a bead of precome. “Since I moved in,” replies Jared, tangling his fingers in Jensen’s hair and holding his head in place over Jared’s painfully hard cock. Jensen slides the tip of his tongue around the underside of the head and then teases the slit some more. Jared drops his head back against the pillow and moans. “Yeah, babe, tha’ss it.” Jensen closes his lips around the head and hums. Jared almost loses it right then and there, but forces himself to stay in control by reciting Dewey Decimal numbers in his head. 0-.01, Computer Science. .01-.02, Biography, .02-.03, Library Science, .03-.04, Encyclo— Jensen flutters his tongue over Jared’s slit and Jared sees white sparks at the edge of his vision. Jensen turns his attention to the underside of the shaft, fluttering his tongue all the way down to the base and then behind Jared’s balls, and that’s it. Jared shoots his load all over the sheets and lets out a stuttering moan. Jensen’s head pops up and he grins wolfishly. “Okay, now I’ma strip the bed and meet you in the shower.” “Gimme a minute, I don’t think my legs work yet.” Jared takes a few deep breaths and tries to slow his heart, which is currently jackhammering against his ribcage. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, you know that?” “My tongue is legendary,” replies Jensen with a wicked smirk. “Admit it: you are in awe of my blowjob skills.” “I’m in awe of your ego, that’s for sure,” replies Jared. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and pushes himself up on his elbows. “You do that laundry thing you mentioned, and I’ll warm up the shower.” Jensen tosses off a mock salute. “Yes, sir.” He shoves Jared toward the end of the bed. “Can’t take sheets off while you’re on ‘em.” Jared gets to his feet with some difficulty and staggers toward the bathroom. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” Jensen cackles at that, too. “You’re too old? I’m a fucking decade older than you.” “No, you’re not,” retorts Jared. “You’re six years older than me. That’s only half a decade.” “It feels like a fucking generation,” mutters Jensen. “You put holds on every single graphic novel we process. I read David Foster Wallace and Elena Ferrante for fun. You and I could not be more different.” “And that’s why the sex is so fucking awesome!” replies Jared. “We’re opposites in pretty much every way except sexual orientation. We’re never gonna get bored.” “Just get in the damn shower so I can wash the sheets?” Jared leans against the wall outside Jensen’s—well, actually, their—bedroom. “Comme tu veux.” “Oh, you remember that.” Jensen strips the sheets off the bed with practiced ease. “I checked the Berlitz French course out from AFL,” says Jared. “Je t’aime, mon petit chou.” “Embrasse-moi, ma puce.” Jensen kisses Jared on the lips as he reaches for the closet door behind him. “Je voudrais faire un câlin. Mais, après la douche.” “You want to do…something…after we shower?” Jensen smiles. “Not bad. Faire un câlin is cuddle. But we can totally fuck first.” “You’re so generous.” Jared slaps Jensen’s ass as he passes by with the dirty sheets. “Just turn on the fucking hot water already!” calls Jensen as he starts down the stairs. Jared goes into the bathroom and starts the shower. He’s got the water nice and hot by the time Jensen comes back up to join him. Jensen steps under the spray and moans out loud. “Tu es le meilleur.” “I am the best?” Jared presses a kiss to the junction of Jensen’s neck and shoulder. “Merci beaucoup.” “De rien.” Jensen wets his hair and then steps aside so Jared can do the same. They end up sharing the shampoo, but it takes Jared so much longer to rinse out his hair that Jensen gets impatient, seizing Jared’s free hand and guiding it to his dick. “Ooh la la,” murmurs Jared, fisting Jensen’s hard length in his hand. “Someone’s impatient this morning.” “T’as bien raison,” growls Jensen, grazing his teeth over Jared’s pulse point and thrusting further into Jared’s grip. “What does that mean?” “Damn right.” Jensen starts to suck a claiming mark onto Jared’s shoulder, and Jared responds by jacking Jensen roughly from shaft to head. Jensen groans and leans into the touch. “Ça c’est bien. Très, tres bien.” That doesn’t take any translation at all on Jared’s part: very, very good. He continues to jack Jensen’s hot, heavy cock until he can sense that Jensen’s getting close. Then he shoves Jensen up against the wall and wraps an arm across his chest, letting the hot water sluice down his back and into his ass crack. He pumps Jensen’s cock until Jensen shoots his load all over the shower wall and eases him through the aftershocks. Then he draws back and lets Jensen clean himself off under the spray. Jared’s feeling a little endorphin-high himself, and he grabs a washcloth from the bar and soaps them both up with Jensen’s Old Spice body wash. They both rinse off under the water until Jensen shuts off the spray. He hands Jared a clean blue towel and takes another one for himself. They both dry off and hang the wet towels back on the towel bar. Then they brush their teeth, sharing the small vanity sink by pressing their hips and thighs together to fit in the space. Jensen dries his hair with a smaller towel and then offers it to Jared, who ends up soaking it through with all the excess water from his chestnut mane. Jensen shakes his head and hangs it over the shower curtain rod. “Breakfast?” asks Jensen. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” “What’s on the menu?” “I’ve got eggs, ham, cheese, and bread. Omelets and toast okay?” “Sounds great,” says Jared, following Jensen into the bedroom to throw on a robe and slippers. “I’m gonna check my email and then I’ll be down.” His email is pretty much empty except for a class assignment from Samantha, so Jared accepts it and then heads down to the kitchen, which smells so much like Jared’s childhood home that he’s momentarily transplanted back to his kitchen in San Antonio, banging on pots and waiting for his mom to finish grilling his hot ham ‘n cheese sandwich and tomato soup. It’s not a terribly sexy image, but it’s comforting. Jensen turns around when he hears Jared’s plodding footsteps. “Yours is almost ready. Go hit the button on the toaster oven?” Jared does as he’s told and the toaster oven timer starts ticking. Jensen plates a beautiful-looking omelet just as the timer starts beeping so Shirley Jared mistakes it for the smoke detector. “Holy shit, that’s the toaster oven?” “Yeah, it’s kind of obnoxious,” replies Jensen, handing Jared the omelet and opening the toaster oven door. He grabs the sourdough toast with tongs and throws it on a paper plate, which he carries to the table himself. He sets the plate down next to a butter dish and silverware, and Jared places his omelet plate on the placemat. “Thanks for this,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to Jensen’s jaw. Jensen grins. “De rien, mon coeur.” He kisses Jared’s cheek and heads back to the stove to start his own omelet. Jared takes his time with his toast so he can wait for Jensen to join him at the table. Jensen brings his own omelet and plate of toast over and steals the butter from Jared’s side. “You could’ve asked,” says Jared. “Less fun.” Jensen grins and slathers his toast in butter. “I don’t know how you manage to fit in your pants if this is the way you eat at home.” “Only today,” replies Jensen, smirking, “because I know I’m gonna work it off later.” “Oh, do you now?” Jared takes a bite of his omelet. It’s really damn good, and Jared is even more convinced that moving in with Jensen is the best thing he could’ve done. “Again, you could at least ask.” “You plannin’ to hold out on me?” Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “I should,” says Jared, spearing a piece of ham, “but I won’t.” “That’s my boy.” Jensen takes a bite of his own omelet. “I should’ve gotten some fresh cheddar at the store. This is a little bit stale.” “Really? I couldn’t tell.” Jared takes an experimental bite. It tastes utterly fantastic to him. “Maybe you just have ridiculously high standards.” “Well, I date you, so how high can they be?” Jared throws his napkin at Jensen. “You’re in quite a mood this morning.” “I don’t have to deal with patrons this morning,” counters Jensen. “I’m over the fucking moon about that. No Carletta, no Chang…I’ve earned a fucking break.” “Yeah, you have been pretty stressed lately.” Jared finishes his omelet and starts on his last piece of toast. “I hereby declare this house a library-free zone. No more talking about work until the day we go back.” Jared glances out the back door at the thick wall of white. “And it’s looking like that might be even further in the future, if this doesn’t slow down soon. There’s gotta be a foot on the ground already.” “They said one to two inches an hour, and it started snowing around eight last night,” says Jensen. “That’s almost twelve hours, so twelve inches sounds about right.” “I’m just glad we don’t have to shovel it.” “A-fucking-men,” says Jensen with a smile. “That’s what I pay the big bucks to the homeowner’s association for. I don’t know when they’ll come by, but it’ll be before the end of the day.” Jared smiles back. “I love your house.” “I love having you in my house.” Jensen reaches over and places a hand on Jared’s knee. “Now, finish up so we can spend the rest of our well-deserved day off in bed.” Conversation is put on hold while they both finish eating. Jensen collects the dishes and puts them in the dishwasher, then puts a few beers in the fridge to chill. After that, he extends a hand to Jared. “Allons-y, mon coeur.” “Oui, mon cheri.” Jared follows Jensen up the stairs to the bedroom and helps him put clean sheets on the bed. Then he reaches into the nightstand drawer for the condoms and lube he knows Jensen keeps there, plus a little surprise he stashed there yesterday. Jensen stretches out on the clean cornflower blue sheets that do wondrous things for his green eyes and freckle-dusted alabaster skin. Jared takes advantage of his drowsy, sated state to clasp one cuff around his left wrist, wind the chain through the headboard slats, and fasten the other cuff around his right wrist. Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his eyes widen enough to see that, despite his obvious confusion, his pupils are blown wide with lust and excitement. “What the fuck?” “Relax,” murmurs Jared, tracing a fingertip down the inside of Jensen’s arm to his elbow and then to his chest. “Just go with the flow.” He takes one of Jensen’s nipples between his lips and flicks his tongue over the sensitive bud until it stiffens under his ministrations. He lightly runs his tongue around the base and then flutters the tip of his tongue over the hard little bud, making Jensen growl deep in his throat. Jensen pulls at the cuffs, but they’re lined with fleece; they won’t leave bruises or friction burns. Jensen’s perfectly safe. He just doesn’t think so…yet. Jared turns his attention to Jensen’s other nipple, coaxing it into hardness with strategic flicks of his tongue and light grazes with his teeth. Jensen’s moaning with abandon now, still straining against the bonds. “Jen, seriously, you gotta relax. It won’t be any fun if you don’t.” He brushes his lips feather-lightly over Jensen’s. “You’ve gotta give a little to gain a lot.” “Now who’s the one not askin’?” hisses Jensen. “Don’t you trust me?” replies Jared, breathing hot and heavy over Jensen’s cheek. “You know I do,” answers Jensen quietly. “Then just trust that I have your best interests at heart, and surrender.” Jared murmurs the last word right into Jensen’s ear, and the hot breath on sensitive skin raises goosebumps on Jensen’s arms and chest. Jared nips at the shell of Jensen’s ear and then sucks Jensen’s earlobe between his teeth. Jensen shivers, and Jared presses his chest to Jensen’s to warm him up. Jensen’s skin is cool and slightly clammy; Jared’s is flushed and heated from within. Jared slides a hand down Jensen’s side to his hip, and then rolls off to give himself better access to Jensen’s cock. “You want me to fuck you, babe? Split you open and lay you bare, till all you can do is scream my name? You wanna submit to my every desire?” Jensen nods, eyes still dark with lust. “God, yes,” he hisses. “Fuck me, Jay. Fuck me so hard I forget my fuckin’ name.” Jared smirks. “I can do that.” He squeezes lube onto his fingers and inserts one into Jensen’s hole. Jensen’s a little tight, but he relaxes quickly and lets Jared work his magic. Jared coats the ring of muscle with slippery lube in a slightly sloppier fashion than he’s used to, but he can sense that Jensen’s getting impatient. He adds a second finger, then a third in quick succession, and starts to scissor. Jensen’s panting and groaning, desperate for some relief from the tension. Jared covers Jensen’s protesting mouth with his own and kisses Jensen until he stops fussing and is forced to concentrate on just sucking in enough air to keep from suffocating. Jared opens the condom, but Jensen jerks his head up and knocks it out of his fingers with his chin. “You’re clean, I’m clean, we’re exclusive. Fuck it.” Jared nods. “Comme tu veux, bébé,” He tosses the condom aside and coats his dick with lube instead. Then he positions his dick at Jensen’s entrance and eases in. Jensen gasps, but quickly adjusts to let Jared in. Jared pushes in as far as he dares and then pulls back. He starts to thrust, pressing his hands to Jensen’s shoulders for balance, and Jensen bucks his hips, forcing Jared in even deeper. “Hey, hey, calm down,” he whispers, his breath hot on Jensen’s cheek. “I’m in charge here. No fair muscling me out.” “Nothing about this is fair,” barks Jensen, pulling at the bonds. He bucks his hips again and Jared’s cock slides past the ring of muscle to hit home. Jensen cries out with pleasure, finally giving up the little bit of control he’s fought for and letting Jared take the reins. Jared hits home again, but then draws back, wanting to stretch this experience out as long as Jensen will let him. It’s a lesson he feels Jensen needs to learn—he’s not the almighty Branch Librarian in the bedroom. In the sheets, he’s just Jensen, and he’s at Jared’s mercy. Jared’s the almighty in the here and now, and he intends to teach Jensen a very important lesson about submission. Jensen’s panting breaths start to include a noticeable wheeze, and Jared decreases the intensity of his thrusts. “You okay, babe?” “Never better,” gasps Jensen. “Keep going. I still know my name.” Jared picks up the slack, slamming his engorged cock into Jensen’s slick, sturdy hole. He hits the sweet spot once, twice, and then a third time, and that’s it for Jensen. He comes like a fucking shotgun all over Jared’s abs. Jared speeds up his thrusts until his own orgasm crashes into him like a tsunami. He shoots his load into Jensen’s ass and pulls out with as much finesse as he can manage. He collapses on the bed next to Jensen and reaches for the handcuff key on the nightstand. Jared unlocks the cuffs and Jensen immediately yanks his hands free. Jared sticks the empty cuffs in the drawer and watches as Jensen rubs circulation back into his abused wrists. They’re not red or bruised, though, just a little numb. Jensen tips his head back and struggles for breath, making the cords of his neck stand out. “Fuckin’ hell, that was hot.” “You didn’t think that a minute ago,” Jared points out. “I was delusional.” Jensen sucks in air and pushes himself up on one elbow, but he’s not upright for long before he sinks down onto Jared���s slick chest. “You were right. About everything. Is that what you wanna hear?” Jared grins and kisses the top of Jensen’s head. “Indeed it is. You trust me now?” “Implicitly.” Jensen kisses Jared’s jawline until he makes it to his lips, and then covers them with his own in a somewhat daunted display of affection. “You are a god among men.” “Remember that the next time I tie you up and you wanna give me lip.” Jensen nods solemnly. “I will, I promise.” His head falls back down onto the pillow and he rubs his free hand over Jared’s back. “Where did you learn that, anyway?” “I ain’t tellin’ you!” Jared kisses Jensen’s forehead and slides an arm over his stomach. “Some things will just remain a mystery.” “Until I get The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica back.” Jensen’s breathing is somewhat close to normal, and he’s speaking full sentences with only one or two pauses. “Then I’m gonna learn all your secrets.” “You’ll never learn all my secrets,” insists Jared. “I’ve got moves you’ve never even dreamed of.” “I look forward to finding out.” Jensen kisses Jared’s jaw. “Until then, you gonna keep tying me up till I listen to you?” “Maybe,” says Jared. “Maybe not. You’ll never know, now, will you?” “God, that’s hot.” Jensen pushes sweat-damp hair out of his face. “You’ve more than earned your Sexy Librarian badge.” “Guess you’ve got some catching up to do,” replies Jared. Jensen grins wickedly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

[p-daddy]

April 16th 2001

Now son, when when you hey home, there is a girl here, who works with us, she is right up your ally. Leave her alone she is married!!!! If you knew where I was coming home from you can possibly understand why there was no way I could have ever listened to those words from anyone, let alone my mother. (Remember the date at the top it comes around again, number 2 or 3. I have not decided yet) I stepped off that bus after a 30 hour ride, ready to start a brand new life, this time I would get it right, my hopes were high, and God willing I would do just that. Here I am 21 years old fresh from HELL, and let me tell you all, I deserved to be there, and much longer than I was. You might could count that as a miracle in itself. But we won’t, if you keep up with these posts and I can maintain this drive to get “My Story” out there, I know it will help someone. You will get to hear about that period in my life. Let me tell you it was a wild ride from about 11 to 19 or so. Something a movie plot would come from, and nearly unbelievable. I can assure you, every word I post here will be the honest truth, so help me God. I know you can’t see it but my hands on a bible right now. Ok, that was a lie. But, you get what I’m saying. The whole reason I am even fiddling with this inter-web stuff. Sorry, got off track. You will see that quite a bit. So, fresh off the bus looking for that new life. You may be thinking he wants to change his path in life. No way. A new face, new knowledge, an addict, not in the since we all know. (???? Later) and ready to be “The Man” in my town. Number one rule in any illegal activity fallow the money. How do you have a flashy car, clothes, and house with no job, most get caught because they can’t show how they get their financial woes taken care of. So a job it was, it didn’t matter what because I would have no worries money wise, I had a plan. This time it was going to work, right? That’s what we all think. I tell you now my life took such different direction. You are about to hear miracle #1....???? You tell me. 3 days out, plan in hand. Starting my new ligit job, a cover mind you. Now where is this chick who is my type. My mom knew me pretty well. So I was hunting as soon as I stepped foot on property, my type, please forgive my choice of words here please, blonde, blue eyed, DSL’s (so sorry, trying to put myself back in that 21 years olds mind) and always and a must, a phat Ass. Holy shit, there she was 4 out of 4. A unicorn if you will. A perfect match to my TASTE. (Every sense of the word) everyone has a past time, you heard the term America’s favorite past time is baseball. Well I have one too it just happens to be going downtown. If you feel me. Blonde blue eyed, those lips, wow, and that ass tho, set a cold drink on that mother f¥<%€$. Way out of my league, I thought. So I stuffed what thought I had about making my move, over the next couple weeks we talked mainly about the people we knew. Us being from rival towns, my lack of self confidence and of course her marriage. None of it a perfect match, until, out of nowhere we had that moment you see in the movies. Sitting across the table talking like we have for some time now, Boooom, we locked eyes and it was there I knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. We didn’t just lock eyes, there was an electric charge, spark, or whatever you want to call an attraction that could not have been denied. So much so I had to say something. The craziest damn thing. At that point every thing I wanted went out the window. I wanted her. F#€£ money and Notoriety, I want to make this girl smile And permanently, but she is married. both in the eyes of God and Man a binding act. Not long before this wild rush passion she confided in me that the year before, her father, then, a dying man, he was not able to get the transplant that would save his life. The dream she had of her father walking her down the aisle, Like most women’s day father ,Was not going to happen. So she made a decision to make that a reality for him and herself.

Marrying a man she didn’t love, so her father could see his only daughter on her day..,.. unable to walk, he was wheeled down. She was able to give that him, despite all warnings. She took a step most people would not. Huge balls, for not having any. Then the damndest thing, their family got the call they had been waiting years for, they had a perfect match for his organ, through the tragic loss of a 16 year old boy who went to bed with a headache and never woke up. Rest In Peace young man and thank you to his family, through your loss we have gained so much. Your son truly has a place at Gods side. The odds of a perfect match on organ transplant are so rare. You are damn lucky if you can get a 90% match. Even then, they let you know of the high chances of failure and chances of death. Sitting well down from the top of the list, the match so complete dozens of Recipients were skipped. So sorry to all. After surgery he was told 10 or 12 years is what he had on this, no other word for it, “miracle” #1. 2000 was the year. We saw that SOB a couple days ago. 20 years. A miracle too, but we won’t count that one either. Even though with all the Bullshit I have had to deal with, from either marry her or leave to talks of a shotgun wedding. We should. With a father who is getting better and living in a lie with a man she did not love. She separated. She had a second chance at life.

[weekendwarriorblog]

30 Minute Experiment: Marriage #30ME

Okay, let’s do this.  I promised/threatened that some of these ramblings might get very personal, so at a certain point, you might be reading this experiment as my personal diary blog where I’m talking about whatever’s on my mind at any given time but always geared towards one topic. I also have decided to create a hashtag for this experiment, #30ME, short for “30 Minute Experiment” (duh), but also because it’s mostly about me, there’s a “ME” in there. I haven’t been 30 years old for a very VERY long time.

Let’s get to today’s topic, and as my friend David Kwong says in his show, The Enigmatist, “This is where it gets good!” (and I’m totally paraphrasing his act here, but hopefully it’ll get to start its run at the Geffen Theater in L.A. so people on the West Coast can see it and love it as much as those in and around New York! Shameless plug and link! https://www.geffenplayhouse.org/shows/the-enigmatist/)

So today’s topic is MARRIAGE, and it’s impossible to write about this topic, let alone for 30 minutes, without it getting personal.  Obviously, I’m not married, I’ve never been married and I probably will never get married.

It’s not that I’m against the institution of marriage per se, as I have many friends who are happily married and that union has definitely made them better people, and they all generally seem happy. Sure, I’d love to have that kind of happiness myself but I have this weird thought in my head that I’ll never be married, and it’s something I’ve said SINCE I was actually 30 years old. I remember when my friend and Magic Shop buddy Joe Warda was getting married. It’s how I got the apartment sublet where I now live. He was a little older than me but he met a woman at a wedding and when they got engaged, I told him “I’ll probably never  get married,” and he’d respond with a smile, “That’s what I said!” (Note: Joe is no longer with that woman. I doubt he’ll read this but if he does, I hope he’ll understand that I’m not stating this fact as judgment. I just remember those conversations fondly.)

You have to understand that when I was younger, say 11 or 12 years old, I was already a dreamer, and back then I dreamed of being married and having a family, particularly kids. My family was a bit dysfunctional, and in some ways, it still is, but it probably wasn’t nearly as bad as I remember it. Sure, I had problems with my Dad and my younger sister, but they were all things we got over once we got older and grew apart by distance. 

So here’s this 11 or 12 year old Ed thinking about having that house with a white picket fence (or in my case, black!) and being able to show that I could be a better father than my Dad. I even set a DATE for when I wanted to get married by, and that date was 1/1/00. I was going to be married and with a life partner before I was 35 years old, which seemed like an honorable enough goal.

The problem is that in the time before and since then, I never met anyone who I felt that I could spend the rest of my life. That’s a lie. I met one or two but our relationships never got anywhere to the point where I could propose the idea of even living together. I mean, anyone who has seen my apartment knows that it’s not a place where ANY human should live... let alone TWO humans. I also used to make a joke when I moved in here about how happy I was to not have a roommate after about 6 years of roommates. I would say that I’d never have another roommate... and that was even if I got married! Can you even imagine two people being married but not living in the same place?

So there’s that... the apartment but in the last four or five years, there’s also been the matter of money, because I would want to be a responsible spouse and contribute to the household. I couldn’t imagine being married and not being able to do that, but I also wouldn’t mind marrying a rich superstar with so much money they can take care of me. I doubt that would ever happen, although it’s a nice pipe dream.

There’s also the matter of kids, and though I haven’t really told a TON of people in my life, that stem cell transplant I had over six years ago of the leukemia? I was told before it that I wouldn’t be able to have kids afterwards. It was suggested i might want to freeze my sperm just in case I ever find a partner and want to have kids. So I found a sperm bank to do just that but quickly learned what I already knew... that the five months of chemo treatment I’d been getting to be put into remission had pretty much sterilized me. The transplant took that to the Nth degree, and I feel like the doctor should have mentioned this months earlier rather than waiting so long. I know that when women get stem cell transplants, they’re put into early menopause killing their ability to have kids, too. So imagine being MUCH younger than I was when I was told I couldn’t have kids and know that you can never procreate or give life. Fortunately, anyone my age who went through that may have already been married and already had kids, but not m. 

Back in 2013, I still thought that I would find a partner and have kids some day despite my advanced age, and that was already over six years ago!  So there’s that... impoverished men who can’t have kids are not exactly ideal husband material.

There’s also the idea that as I get older I would want to have someone there for me as a companion and to help me if I needed it. In the last five years since I’ve been back in New York, I’ve had a few procedures that require anesthesia, and those require you bring someone to take you home.  I have a limited number of friends to call on for something like this, as I may have mentioned in my “Friendship” piece last week.  Imagine if I’m still living in the same situation I’m in now when I’m 70, I’m probably gonna want or need someone around. I know what my Mom’s been going through since my Dad died in 2009, and honestly, I don’t blame her for being depressed.

And now on top of all that, we’re all in quarantine. We’re afraid to go out. We’re afraid to be in public with many people. I’m sure it’ll be a long time before anyone will be comfortable getting close or intimate with a stranger.

Oh, and that brings me to another point, and I’m sure this might come as a shocker to some but not to others... I’m asexual. I was already veering towards this before I got leukemia but the radiation I got before transplant was so damaging that it pretty much neutered and sterilized me, so I don’t even seek any sort of partnership for sexual pleasure. It’s just never something that crosses my mind. Again, anyone who knows me (especially the more attractive women around me) may have already figured this out. Who knows? Being a declared asexual is nothing that’s quit as socially acceptable as being gay or trans... but I’m starting to get off topic here.

I should also mention that if my brother, Rob, is reading today’s piece, he probably will text or EMail me saying that I’m oversharing, that I’m revealing parts of my life or lifestyle that should be kept private. You know what? Fuck that shit. (Sorry, Rob, and anyone averse to profanity.) We live in a world where everyone has to conform to certain social norms, and that includes the expectation that men my age will already have found someone to marry. My father started later and only found my mother when he pushing forty, which I always thought may ave contributed to the differences between us because by the time I was 15, he was already almost 60 i.e. older than me.

The idea of me getting tomorrow and having kids right away is just not something that crosses my mind... that is, other than when I decide to make the topic of today’s #30ME be “marriage.” I think a smarter or less brave person might immediately scrap everything I’ve been writing for the last 25 minutes or so, but maybe it’s because I just don’t know what the future brings, I want to get some things off my chest.

And I say it again... I have absolutely zero issues with the concept of marriage, and I love all of my friends who have found someone, and I love all of their partners and spouses, too.  Marriage is right up there with birthdays and funerals in terms of something I like to celebrate. If I know when your wedding anniversary is, you are likely to get a YouTube video of the Flintstones episode where they sing “Happy Anniversary” to the tune of the William Tell overture, something my brother and I loved to do ever since we heard it.

I guess there’s still a chance I might get married someday. I’ve spoken to one of my female friends about possibly marrying when we hit a certain age... maybe I said 50 or 60, I can’t remember... but a lot would have to change in my life (and hers) for that even to be feasible as a marriage of convenience to make sure we both have someone in our old age. 

We’re going through a lot right now, and believe me, going through it completely alone really sucks but also knowing how moody I can be, I can’t even imagine someone else living here with me without us driving each other crazy. 

I’m not sure if this will be the last I talk about this topic. It’s actually the first I’ve ever broached it in my life since hanging with my Magic Shop pal and colleague, Joe Warda. I have a lot of friends that I can get real with but this topic rarely if ever comes up, even with my friends who did get married and ended up splitting, something that’s happening way too much right now.

And with that... my time is up. Another #30ME tomorrow!

[phawareglobal]

Dawn Meador - phaware® interview 302

In this episode long-term pulmonary hypertension patient, Dawn Meador discusses PH diagnosis as well as her decision to adopt a child, post dx with her third husband.

My name is Dawn Meador. I currently live in Virginia. I was diagnosed in April of 1998, so I have had pulmonary hypertension for a little over 21 years.

When I first noticed that something major was wrong, I had a nine month old at the time, and I was carrying her in Walmart in her little pumpkin seat and I got to thinking, "I can't breathe. What is going on here?" You could literally see my shirt moving, my heart was beating so hard. So, the next day she had a doctor's appointment and I mentioned something about it to the doctor, because it was our family physician. From there, he did testing and then sent me to a heart specialist. They basically tried to tell me I didn't have a chance. I wasn't going to make it. I was going to have to have a transplant. There was no other ifs, ands or buts.

I got a second opinion from another doctor who did know more about pulmonary hypertension, who put me on medication and treated me for 14 of the 21 years before we moved out here to Virginia. However, I honestly think I had it longer, because I had spells where I would just pass out for no reason and they couldn't figure out what was going on or why I was doing it. Like during PE, there was one time we would do little stations and do exercises at the stations, and then run around the gym once or twice, and then go to the next station. My PE teacher looked at me and just screamed my name and told me to go outside because, he said, "You're as white as a ghost." He said, "From looking at you, I can tell you can't breathe, so go outside and get some fresh air." After that, needless to say, I never ran anymore in PE as long as I had him as my teacher.

So, I really think I had it longer. But it took me getting with the right doctor to actually figure out exactly what was going on. At the time, I actually had a five year old and the nine month old. I guess the first thing that popped in my head was this can't be real. This can't be happening. You know, I have a five year old and a nine months old and they both need me. I've got to stay here for them, so I've got to do what I've got to do to keep fighting through all of it. I guess it was not long after my husband went on deployment, everything shifted and it was a drastic change. I think I was more nervous for him to come back than he was, because we had to decide via email whether we was going subcutaneous or intravenous [for my treatment plan].

So through email, him and I are emailing back and forth about it and I'm like, "Great." We'd been together at that time, three and a half years. I just thought this is going to freak him out. You know, he's going to come home and I'm going to have this tube hanging in my stomach or out of my chest, and oxygen in my nose, and how is he going to react? His reaction to me was it doesn't change who you are as a person so why would it bother me? It's keeping you here with me so it's all good.

After my diagnosis, about a year and a half, two years later, my husband honestly just could not handle the medical issues and I was hearing, "Why do you have to go all the way to St. Louis?" Because it at the time I lived in Southern Illinois, so it was a two and a half hour trip to my doctor. "Why do you have to go all the way there? You should be able to find somebody around here that can take care of you." We all know with PH, the good doctors are few and far between. I guess that kind of started leading to the downfall of the marriage. We ended up divorcing and I met another man. He swore to me that it wasn't an issue to him, and after about eight or nine years, I started seeing that it was an issue to him, because I was having more problems. He just emotionally could not be there for me. So that marriage fell apart.

So, I was very, very hesitant when someone told me, "Oh, you need to meet this guy." I'm like, "No, no, no, no. I'm done. I'm not doing this again. They can't handle the medical problems." Our very first date we went out to eat and we sat down at the table and he said, "So tell me about yourself." And I said, "You know, I have two kids. I've been divorced twice. I have a lung disease that is going to one day either kill me or require a double lung transplant, and if you can't handle that, we're just going to call this friends and leave it at that." His next words to me is kind of what probably made me think, "Okay, he's a keeper," because his reply was, "Does the disease define who you are as a person?" "Well no." He said, "Then why would it be a problem?" I said, "Well, it was for the other two." And he said, "I'm not like the other two."

He has more than proven that he was right, because the week of our wedding, five days before our wedding, I was admitted into the hospital, because I was having a lot of issues and they had to do a right heart catheterization. During the right heart cath, they had to give me more anesthesia than they normally do. When I came out, I'm laid there, sicker than all get out. The anesthesia usually never ever bothered me, but because they had to give me so much more I was very sick. So here he is holding my hair back with one hand and the bucket with the other hand, and I looked at him and I said, "If this ain't going to make you run, I think we're good."

He didn't have kids when we got together and that was one of my concerns because I told him, I said, "You know, I can't have kids and you don't have kids, and I know you want kids." That is how the adoption kind of came about. We started talking about it. We got married in August of 2011, and at the very end of November of 2011, we had sat and prayed and thought and tried to figure out how in the world we were going to be able to do this adoption. [Going through] adoption agencies is 30 to 40,000. I don't know how people can even adopt spending that kind of money. A friend of ours sent me a text message out of the blue the very end of November. We were out of town. He had an awards banquet or something with the Navy that we were out of town for.

I looked at this text message and I looked at him and he's like, "What?" I said, "One of our friends is asking me if we're still wanting to adopt a child." I sent her back and I said, "Well yeah, if we can ever figure out how we can afford it." She said, "The girl that's been living here at my house with my daughter, who is pregnant, they have decided to put the baby up for adoption. Would you be interested?" We were like, "Yeah, we'll be back tomorrow. We'd love to meet with them tomorrow and talk, and then meet us and decide whether they want us to adopt the baby or not."

So the next day we met with them and we talked for quite a long time. On the following day I spoke with a lawyer and we got all the paperwork started. We found out the very end of November, and she was due December 28th. So, everything was going to have to move really quick. She ended up being born January 5th. So in less than a month and a half, we went from not ever thinking we were ever going to get a child to having a newborn baby that we watched at the delivery as soon as she was born. We are the ones they handed her to. She actually has a birthmark that is in the exact same spot as my husband's. She's got my husband's color hair, my husband's color eyes, and acts and looks just like both of us. So it's kind of unique how our story comes about.

There's lots of people that question us and ask us about it all the time. You know, "How did you think you were going to be able to handle a newborn with all your health issues?” My response was, you know, "If God gave us this baby to take care of, he's going to keep me around to me take care of him." So far he did it with the first two, so I think he's going to do it with this one too.

[My husband] treated my kids like they were his from day one. When he and I got together, the oldest was 17 and my daughter, the one that was nine months old when I was diagnosed, she was 13 and a half at the time when we met. So they were kind of pretty much grown and everybody's like, "You guys are going to start all over with a baby?" "Yeah. Why not? This is what we want." There were a lot of people that had doubts and worries and concerns, and I totally understand. I have been divorced twice. I have this lung disease. We never knew what was going to happen next, but we've been together nine years.

To see us together, we're not one of those couples that you can tell have been married for a long time. We're that couple, that 10, 15, 20 years down the road, you still think we're newlyweds and get along. We don't fight, we don't argue. We just don't. I dealt with all that with the first two and I told him right from the start, "I'm not going to argue, I'm not going to fight. That's not a marriage. If we can't talk about things and get along we need to figure out how to, otherwise it's not going to work." We communicate very well.

My advice would be just don't give up. Don't look at it as I'm never going to be able to have kids because there are other options out there. There's surrogacy, there's adoption, there's so many different routes that you can go. Just because you've got this disease does not mean you can't be a mom. It's not easy being a mom with the disease, but it is totally worth the fight to keep going when you look at that child and you know this is my child to raise. This is my child to take care of. It's the biggest blessing. I mean everybody asks us all the time, "Would you do it again?" Oh, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I don't care how old I am. I would take four or five more babies.

If somebody was to say, "Here, would you raise these kids for me?" I'd do it in a heartbeat, because I love it. It's what keeps me going. It's what keeps me staying positive and it's what keeps me knowing that no matter how many road bumps that I hit with this disease, it's okay because I've got these babies at home to take care of and I've got to get back home to them. If anybody ever has questions or doubts, I'd be more than happy to talk to any of them.

My name is Dawn Meador and I'm aware that I'm rare.

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