#been trying real hard to make daytime routine work for me but it's not going well lads

[nerice]

halfway thru breakfast and im alrdy contemplating another floor nap...

[roger-that-cap]

wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader 

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park. 

yet another au by me... 

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened. 

  “S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand. 

  “What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.” 

 “Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

  “Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see. 

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife. 

  Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously  irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms. 

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them. 

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it. 

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings. 

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea. 

 You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream. 

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch. 

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you. 

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom. 

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose. 

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.” 

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world. 

 But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt. 

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut. 

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime. 

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?” 

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once.  He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.” 

  His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?” 

  “Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.” 

 Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand. 

“‘I’m Bucky.” 

  For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.” 

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back? 

 “She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her. 

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.” 

  Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” 

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.” 

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.” 

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-” 

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”  

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see. 

 “She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.” 

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.” 

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth. 

  “I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

  She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn’t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention. 

  “Wanda.” 

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face. 

  “You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.” 

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic,  and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock. 

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.” 

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand. 

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.” 

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie? 

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power. 

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.” 

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?” 

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.” 

 Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.” 

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different. 

 It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather. 

  It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand. 

 Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

  “That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.” 

  “I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?” 

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look. 

“Are you into herbal healing?” 

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?” 

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.” 

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

  With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

 He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”  

You frowned. “What girl?” 

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.” 

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup. 

  There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes. 

  If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you. 

  You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck. 

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger. 

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was. 

She was silent. 

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second. 

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?” 

 That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-” 

 “Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember. 

  “I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-” 

 She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin. 

  For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours. 

  You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it. 

   You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all. 

Wanda. 

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace. 

  “I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.” 

  The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you. 

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.” 

  Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.” 

  “Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

   “A new life will do that to you.” 

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were. 

  She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves. 

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.” 

[worbiestuff]

COVID-19 PERSONAL EXPERIENCE

COVID-19, Coronavirus, is an infectious disease caused by a newly discovered corona virus. It is spread or transmitted through droplets generated when an infected person coughs, sneezes or exhales. These droplets are too heavy to hang in the air and quickly fall to the floor or surfaces. Some common symptoms include fever, dry cough, and tiredness, loss of smell and taste, headache and so on.

From a personal perspective on how COVID-19 affected me, I would say it did so in a lot of ways; education-wise, economically, physically, mentally etc.

The first confirmed COVID-19 case in Ghana was on the 12th of March, 2020. At the time, school hadn’t reopened but was in the process of doing so. Because of this, the president instructed that we were all supposed to vacate the school/hostel premises to our various homes, signifying all studies and academics to come to an end. We ended up studying online which brought so many pros and cons, which in the end the cons outweighed the pros. Bad internet restricted me from joining classes sometimes. I wasn’t understanding most stuff being taught because most of the courses were practical. Plus, I ended up missing some due dates for my assignments and had to beg or ask permission from some lecturers to finish them up because I had to balance house chores with school work because I was obviously home and couldn’t shun them because it’s my responsibility. Also, I had divided attention because of my siblings. I have a large family and it wasn’t helping me at all coupled with the online studies. In the middle of a class, I could be called to go on an errand or just have my little siblings running around for running arounds sake. It was one hell I had to go through.

COVID-19 also affected me economically. I manage my mom’s businesses for her sometimes and during the COVID-19 period everything was literally on me. My mom sells clothes. We weren’t having as much sales as we’d have if we weren’t on lockdown. Most people weren’t purchasing clothes because there were no new occasions. Weddings, funerals, parties and the rest had been halted too. I remember a friend mentioning to me that even if she bought clothes she had nowhere to take it to so she’d rather not buy, and this was really bad because there was not as much cash flow as there was without the pandemic and the lockdown.

My movement was also restricted because of the pandemic. We stayed home for almost a year. Months without stepping outside, no church services, parties, no visitations, etc. I was not allowed outside the main gate because of this and it got boring. I was just doing or following a particular pattern or routine every day for months; wake, house chores, eat, online class, sleep, and repeat. I got tired of the routine, I got tired of being online, I got tired of being stuck inside, and I got tired of everything at a point. It got so boring but there was nothing I could do about it. I wanted to stay alive.

 My plans on travelling was tarnished. My family and I had plans on travelling during the Easter for the most famous festival of the year which was always held in Kwahu; “KWAHU OO KWAHU! This is like a ritual we always perform, going to my mom’s hometown for the festival, paragliding, hiking and having a lot of fun but this year we were restricted as the festival itself was even cancelled, prior to the president’s address to the nation. I mean we got really sad, especially my little siblings but we had to do our part, to help curb the pandemic in order to stay safe.

Despite the negative impacts it came with, I can never forget the good it did by bonding me with my friends and families. Even though my family is large, nobody really stays at home. My dad is a business man and is always travelling up and down because of the nature of his job. My mom on the other hand left home really early and came back really late, we could go a whole week without seeing her. My older siblings too hardly stayed home because they were working. Since the president announced the lockdown, we were all brought together. Our big family was back. I was seeing my dad more often, my mom and older siblings too. We would mostly gather around in the hall, watch movies or just discuss random stuff and it felt good. On the other hand I bonded well with my friends too because we were all online. Our old high school groups became more active, we were reminiscing on old times and laughing hard at old pictures. Though it was online and not physical, it felt good and real because I hadn’t spoken to some of them in years but we got bonded and more close because of the pandemic.

THE ARTIST WHO INSPIRED ME

EMMA HARDY

Based in London, Emma Hardy is well practiced in capturing the nuances of everyday life. Her images reflect an often unnoticed drama behind the scenes. Coming from a theatrical background and having worked as an actress herself before focusing on photography, Emma cites her fascination with people’s behaviour, the tensions, interactions and quirky humour, as a driving energy in her work.

Mainly self-taught Emma prefers to work with natural or available light, “I try not to impose much technique or too much of myself on my subjects.” As such, there’s a hallmark honesty to her work. Her images are infused with a believable sense of being, her portraits are intimate and unselfconscious. Tilda Swinton, Natalia Vodianova, Noomi Rapace, Michael Fassbender and Stella McCartney have sat for her, among others.

Emma finds inspiration in the chaos and unexpected beauty of life, the less seen moments in between. For each commercial client she challenges herself to bring her sense of authenticity to a necessarily constructed commercial brief, “I photograph with my heart engaged, and however manufactured an instance in photography, the test is to bring soul into commerce”. Describing her aesthetic as raw but tender, Emma finds beauty in imperfection, and polish in the detail of everyday life. And through her lens, the most ordinary moments seem steeped in romance and intrigue, as if her subjects are characters in a movie playing in her head.

WORKS

WHAT APPEALED TO ME

MOODS

Emma Hardy likes capturing the everyday nuances of life or everyday moods of life. Her images are natural and sometimes unplanned. Working with people’s behavioral manners, interactions, attitudes, etc. She tries to make her work as natural as possible and puts her heart into what she photographs, as she stated herself in a commercial brief.

 COLOUR

Emma Hardy likes to work with natural or available light.

 THE PLAN/THOUGHT PROCESS FOR THE WORK

The initial plan of the whole work was to create something like differences, get a picture of my sister and I if possible or do a clone of myself since we already look alike and are twins. This idea was to put across a message that conveys tolerance and bonding even though we’re two different people with different personalities but still twins. Later the plan changed because of certain unforeseen circumstances. This time I aimed at creating the same differences but this time with a ball, to one part would be edited as if it were night time or dark, and the other would be left with the natural light, to show daytime. This was to signify that the sun gives the moon light, and even though they are two different bodies, the needed each other. Same applies with my sister and I, each one of us has our own sides, but we need each other to be around. The final plan after a few criticisms from my lecturer was to do the Chinese symbol yin and yang.

The principle of Yin and Yang is that all things exist as inseparable and contradictory opposites, for example, female-male, dark-light and old-young. The two opposites of Yin and Yang attract and complement each other and, as their symbol illustrates, each side has at its core an element of the other (represented by the small dots). Neither pole is superior to the other nor, as an increase in one brings a corresponding decrease in the other, a correct balance between the two poles must be reached in order to achieve harmony. Personally, I feel this symbol best describes us as twins because even though we are opposites we attract and complement each other. We have tiny traits in each other. And at the core of one another, we are represented by each other.

 SKETCHES, PINTEREST INSPIRATION, MOODBOARD

FIRST DRAFT WORK

FINAL WORK

TITLE

FOUND THE GOOD INSIDE THE BAD.

I chose this title because the corona happening was a bad thing that hit us all, but even in that bad, there was a little good; me bonding with my family, especially my sister was the good.

[thosequeenboys]

36: Reset (Joe Mazzello x Y/N)

Summary:  His 36th birthday a recent memory, Joe is eager to reset himself with a positive focus on his future.  Taking care of his precious nieces leads him into a situation that may change his future – and help him realize his dream of having a family.

A/N: I love picturing Joe as a loving husband and dad and wrote this after Joe’s 36th birthday.  Recently I wrote Y/N’s version of this story: 36: Half Full.  Joe’s family members are written as fictional characters.  Any likeness to his real family are unintentional and coincidental.  Song lyrics that came to me while writing are bolded and referenced at the end.  

Warnings:  Fluff, Angst and brief references to a deceased parent, masturbation and Joe as Daddy (!) and a drop of swearing

Joe threw three days of clothing into a duffle bag and took a stab at being grateful.  His 36th birthday coincided with the reality that he was between jobs, between relationships and plagued with a little too much uncertainty for his taste.  He needed a new narrative, a reset – and a jolt of positivism.

‘Here goes,’ he thought. Being in between gigs allowed him to care for his adoring nieces fairly regularly over the last few months.  And now, he’d be staying with them while his sister and her husband attended a wedding.  This was a gig he knew well and particularly as of late, cherished.  Since his dad died, he found comfort and stability in those two little girls: Josephine, Josie, his dad’s namesake, a growing toddler of 15 months, and Jessie, a highly articulate and bright second-grade graduate.   The loss of his dad still stung, but from it was born this intimacy and his solidified dream that now more than ever, he was destined to be a father, with his own loving father as a role model.   But for now, the role of beloved uncle would have to do.

He climbed the steps of the stately brownstone and let himself in, bellowing “Hellooooo,” which cascaded up the high ceilings and the floors above.  In an instant, he heard a sound that made him feel whole and gave him solace like no other. “UNCLE JOOOOOOEEEEEE,” Jessie ran to him with a huge smile and outstretched arms, and he swooped her up into a big hug.  Teetering toward him was Josie, a broad smile on her face, Joe’s sister Patty, trailing behind.  

“Jojo!!” Josie said, followed by gibberish. “You said my name??!!” Joe exclaimed happily. He was amazed. Only last week, she didn’t try to say his name.  Joe leaned down, perching Jessie on his knee and bringing Josie in for a hug.  “My two best girls,” he cooed, bending to kiss each of them.

“Ok, Girls, give me a few minutes with Joe. I have a lot of instructions to go over.”  You’ll have him to yourselves for three days soon enough.Joe’s sister, Patty said.  “YAY!!!” Jessie yelled jumping up and down, the embodiment of youthful enthusiasm.  

“Hey, Joe,” his sister said warmly, as she removed Josie from him and put her on the floor. “Jessie, watch your sister.”   She turned to Joe. “Let me walk you through everything.”

“Ok,” Joe said, adding, “I feel pretty well versed, I mean, I’ve been babysitting them and…”

Patty cut him off.  “I know.  But this is the big league.  Every moment. Lots of details.  You usually get them at their best and then you can walk away. Let’s start in the kitchen.”  

Patty had all the meals and snacks listed in detail, as well a grocery list.  “And make sure Josie ONLY gets Stonyfield Farms YO-BABY yogurts!” she implored. It was indeed a house of many yogurts. “Here’s Jessie’s water bottle for camp,” she pointed to it on the counter.

“YO, PATTY, I got it,” Joe said, containing a smirk, and glancing at the pile of papers.  The family recipe for nachos-really? He could make them in his sleep.

They proceeded upstairs to the bedrooms where Joe was schooled in Josie’s daytime and bedtime routines (which he knew) and Jessie’s camp routine.  “And be sure to hang the bathing suit EVERY NIGHT so it dries COMPLETELY!!”   Joe loved his sister deeply, but at that moment his tensed his mouth to avoid responding cattily, “No, I think I’ll leave the wet suit in the bag so it smells gross and is damp for her the next day.”  

“Sure, Sure,” he uttered lightly instead.

Fortunately, Joe was saved by the bell in the form of Peter, a strapping accountant with a penchant for murder mysteries, working out – and getting on the road.

“Come on Patty.  Quit torturing him before he runs out of here screaming. He can text us.  And by the way, he’s been helping out a lot this summer. I told you I wanted to get on the road by 6:00. It’s 6:15.  Let’s go.”  Peter hefted a suitcase and bounded down the steps.   Joe gave him an appreciative nod.

“Go,” Joe said gently to Patty. “We will be fine. I’m looking forward to it.  Pete’s right.  I’ll text you if I need anything.  You guys have a great time away together.”

“I know.  I’m sorry to be a nut.  I’m just - well. It’s hard to unwind.  And so much to keep track of.  You’ll see when you’re doing it all-work, family….” She sighed and planted a kiss on his cheek.  “Thanks for doing this.”  She went to pack a few final things before Peter came to collect her suitcase.

With a kiss to the girls, Patty and Peter hit the road.  “OK, who’s ready to show me some bath toys?” Joe said as he closed the door behind them.   “I am!” Jessie bounded upstairs to the bathroom, with Joe carrying Josie behind her.

The next morning was Friday. and Joe arose early. He prepared breakfast, packed lunches, put away random toys and checked the shopping list.  He woke and dressed the girls, collected Jessie’s backpack and threw in her lunch and bathing suit.  After brushing their teeth, he stuffed his own backpack with snacks, lunch, diapers, and wipes, and threw a towel and water toys and sunblock in the stroller basket. He hoisted Josie and grabbed the stroller, and ushered Jessie out the door, which he locked behind him.  He ran through a checklist in his mind hoping he remembered everything.  He had to admit, Patty was right-it really was a lot of details to manage-along with the constant banter with two young people, eager for expression and interaction as their worlds unfolded with each new day.

They walked half a mile as the summer sun warmed the city pavement.  They entered the YMCA that housed Jessie’s camp and proceeded to a large gym where groups of kids gathered by age. Jessie ran to a woman who was waving to her.  She had a warm smile and wore a neatly pressed shirt and capri pants with sneakers. She seemed to be taking in everyone-campers, caregivers, staff, while answering questions and ensuring everything was running smoothly.  Carrying a clipboard and an array of keys on a lanyard around her neck, she looked very official.  

“Hi, Jessie,” she greeted Joe’s oldest niece. “Hi, Josie,” she added bending slightly and peering into the stroller.

“Hi, Y/N, this is my Uncle Joe. He’s taking care of us while my parents are at Cousin Carol’s wedding in…” Jessie provided a litany of details as Joe and Y/N looked at each other and laughed.  When Jessie paused, Joe extended his hand.  “I’m Joe, nice to meet you.”   He suddenly felt awkward.  Should he have presented himself more formally, more guardian-like?   She smiled.  “Hi, Joe. Patty wrote a note saying you’d be helping with the girls.  That’s so nice.  I’m Y/N/Z, the Assistant Director of the camp.  If you need anything please let me know. Jessie is a wonderful camper!”  She winked at Jessie who smiled.

Now there’s a woman who knows how to introduce herself, Joe thought.  And she’s pretty and warm.

“Thanks,” Joe said, as Y/N turned to speak with a parent.  Joe hugged Jessie. “You have your lunch and water bottle?” Joe suddenly felt panicked.  “Oh, Crap! I forgot your water bottle. Should I bring it?”

“It’s ok. I’ll use the fountain.” Jessie said.

He appreciated her flexibility, but his inner voice said, “parenting fail!”  He thought Patty would freak if she knew.  “Good plan. Thanks for being flexible.  Have a great day.  We’ll see you at 4:00.”

Jessie walked toward her counselor and friends. Joe leaned down to check on Josie who was sitting comfortably in her stroller playing with a toy. “Playground?” he asked.  “Pway” she responded, and he gave her a kiss on her leg.

As he headed out, he noticed Y/N on the side, speaking with some counselors. She was really pretty.  Really together.  He wondered what she did when camp ended.  She certainly must like kids, he thought.  As Joe reached the exit, still watching her, she turned and waved to him. He waved back with a smile.  

Joe and Josie headed to the playground for a morning of water sprinklers, swings, and monkey bars. He followed her around, speaking to her and encouraging her to play with other children.   Josie handed another girl her ball.  “Say thank you,” the woman with the child said to her. “Very nice, Josie.” Joe praised.  Josie suddenly began to get winey, and Joe sensed that she needed to eat before she melted down. “C’mon, let’s have lunch.”

They ambled over to the shady bench, and Joe changed her diaper and washed their hands with a wipe.  Then he set out their lunch and they ate turkey sandwiches, the very popular Yo-Baby Yogurt and cut-up peaches, which were perfectly sweet and juicy, symbolic of summer. They sipped water from a bottle, taking turns.  After lunch Joe cleaned up. and Josie played a little more. But the sun was at its peak, and Josie was fading.  “Let’s go home for a nap.” Joe said as he picked her up. His phone pinged with a text from Patty.  “How is everything?”  “Great, just taking Josie home from PG for a nap.”    

Joe lugged everything – including Josie and himself - up the steps and into the house.  He had to admit he was tired. He dropped the stroller and backpack and carried Josie up the steps. She wrapped her arms around Joe’s neck and leaned into him. When he got to her room, he realized she was asleep. He didn’t want to put her down. He sat in the rocking chair and put his feet up on the ottoman.  He felt soothed as he held her against his chest.  He closed his eyes and without being aware, he dozed.  An image of Y/N came to him.  It was he fall She was in a flowing dress, cinched at the waist, a blazer and heels.   He was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket. They kissed and walked hand-in-hand down the street, chatting and laughing.  

He was jarred awake by his phone ringing. Ben!  He picked it up. “Hey, Buddy-give me a minute!”.  He put the phone on the ottoman, got up carefully and laid Josie in her crib gently, moving the stuffed animals away and covering her with the light blanket.  He slipped off her sandals and left them on the changing table as grabbed his phone, walking out of the room.

“Hey, Ben.” he said.

“Hey-how’s your 36th year treating you so far?” came the response.

“So far, so good.  I’m taking care of the girls for the weekend. Patty and Pete are at a wedding.  It makes me realize that I want to have kids.  Really badly.  Like more than before.  If I can’t get it together by my next birthday, I’m going to get a surrogate and do it that way. On my own.“

“Whoa, that sounds really extreme.  Isn’t that where you have to jerk off into a cup? You don’t even get to have any fun? Wait: Bet you’d meet a smart, pretty and mature woman on Tumblr who’d gladly assist ---try that first. “ Ben laughed. Joe was annoyed, feeling Ben didn’t see how important this was to him. Joe didn’t want to continue the discussion.

“That’s not the point,” he said curtly.  “Moving on, you ok?

“Yeah, yeah, still filming this bloody movie. We should wrap in a few weeks.”  

“Finally! Let me call you next week. I got to get Josie ready so we can pick up Jessie and shop for dinner.”

“You really are Domestic Daddy, aren’t you?” Ben laughed again.

“I hope so.  One day.”  Joe replied softly.

“Seriously.  Those girls are lucky to have you. You’re an amazing Uncle. And you’ll be a super dad.”  Ben said.

They ended the call warmly, and Joe checked himself in the mirror.  He looked like he had been in the hot park running after a toddler most of the day and thought that should be addressed-before he saw Y/N again.  He changed his shirt and freshened up.  He went to the nursery and saw Josie stirring.

“Hey big girl. You ready to get up and see your sister?”  He lifted her out of her crib, still sleepy and laid her on changing table and changed her diaper, shirt and shorts.  He kissed her feet and she giggled.  He buckled her sandals and took her downstairs.

He filled up the water bottle.  ‘Ok, we are ready to roll.”  He scooped her up with the stroller and they were on their way.  

They arrived at camp a little early.  He wheeled Josie in and saw Jessie playing her favorite game, Chinese checkers, with a young counselor. Josie was getting restless and he let her out of the stroller, following her as she walked around.  

“Hi, Joe.”  It was Y/N, still looking fresh after a full day. She bent down to Josie. “Did you have fun in the playground with Uncle Joe?”

“Fun Un JoJo!” she responded as she toddled around and clapped her hands.

Y/N laughed and turned to him.  “A standing ovation. I’m impressed.”

“Ha, well, we had fun, but I have to say, it was tiring. And I’m just watching one! Amazing you look so, uh, calm after running the show here. “ Joe said admirably.

“I’m a third-grade teacher so I’m used to it,”  Y/N said. “I’m working on my admin degree so I can be a Principal one day.  This gives me good practice,” She said.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Joe said sincerely.  His eyes followed Josie who was headed toward her big sister. Joe followed, with Y/N behind, stopping to check in on various groups.  

“Hi Uncle Joe.  I’m winning,” Jessie said, self-satisfied.

“Creaming me is more like it,” the Counselor said.

“Well, that’s great, but be a good sport about it,” Joe said pointedly to Jessie.  “It’s important to have fun and tell her it was a good game-no matter who wins.”

A counselor came by with an ice pop. She asked Joe. “Would she like one?” “Sure, thanks,” Joe said, as he unwrapped the watermelon flavored pop and took a bite.  It was refreshing and quite tasty.  He offered some to Josie, who nibbled on it, and it started to drip.  He took his backpack off and unzipped it with a flourish, retrieving a napkin to wipe her up.

Meanwhile, as the counselor planned her move, Jessie eyed Y/N, who had sidled up next to her. “Y/N, did you know Uncle Joe is a FAMOUS MOVIE STAR?” she bellowed.

Joe felt the red rising from his neck to his face and he was pretty sure he was creating a new addition to the Crayola 64 pack.  Fucking Embarrassed Red.  Kids really do say the darndest things.  He bent his head down focusing on getting the pop into Josie with minimal mess.

“Wow, interesting,” Y/N responded, playing it cool.  “And he’s a GREAT UNCLE!”

“Who is successfully making a mess with this pop,” he retorted, wiping his mouth and giving Josie another wipe, before she took off for the crafts table. One of the counselors hoisted Josie on the bench and set her up with some crayons and paper.  “You sure?” Joe said not wanting to be a burden. “Oh, not a problem,” the counselor said cheerily.  

Joe looked behind him for Y/N, who had vanished.  He wanted to ask her out. He knew he had a brief window of opportunity, before he took the girls home. This would be the last time he’d see her.   He looked around hoping she’d dart back into the gym. Meanwhile, he moved to Jessie who was close to winning the game.  After a few minutes, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a changed Y/N. He turned to take all of her all in. She was wearing a flowery sundress with wide straps and a deep neckline that accentuated her figure. Her sneakers were replaced with heeled strappy sandals  She looked really lovely. You’re just too good to be true.  Can’t take my eyes off of you. (1) He didn’t want to take his eyes from her.  His plan to approach her was interrupted by Josie waddling over to him and Jessie and the counselor yelling ‘Good Game!”

“C’mon girls,” Joe headed quickly to retrieve the stroller near where Y/N was bidding good-bye to parents.

“You look…nice,”  Joe said, trying to sound neutral. “Big night out?” He wondered if she had a date.

“Thank you.”  Her faced flushed.  “I’m meeting some of my college friends.  One just got engaged and another is expecting.”   “Lots to celebrate.”  Joe said, relived she wasn’t off to a date.

“Yeah,” she said wistfully. “You know, life in the 30’s.”

‘Uh, yeah,” Joe uttered. Suddenly Joe turned, distracted by the girls. He took a deep breath and leaned down. Jessie, can you help Josie into her stroller, please,” Joe said, hoping Jessie would bring it home for him to let this moment unfold.  I can't be contented with yesterday's glory. I can't live on promises winter to spring. Today is my moment, now is my story. (2) Turning to Y/N he said,  “Y/N, I was wondering, if, uh, one day, you might want to grab dinner.” He said.  He held his breathe.  She looked at him.  “I’d love that.  Here, let me give you my number.” She hastily wrote on a paper in her clipboard and gave it to him and he smiled.

He turned to Jessie who was helping Josie into her stroller.  “Thanks,” he said, giving her a big smile.  “You’re such a good helper.  I really appreciate it.”

“Great,” Joe said to Y/N.  I’ll probably need 2 days to recover after my sister gets back,” He laughed. I’ll text you. Maybe we can get together next weekend?  

“That should work,” she said.  “Bye…” her voice trailed off, as a counselor interrupted.

“Have fun tonight,” he called after her, with a brightness in his voice and a spring in his step.  He turned the stroller and grabbed Jessie’s hand. “Bye, Y/N” Jessie called. “You like Y/N don’t you,” Jessie said to Joe.  Kid didn’t miss a thing. “She seems really nice.  Ok. Dinner.” said Joe, changing the topic. “How about we go to the supermarket for nachos ingredients.”    When they arrived home, Joe headed to the kitchen, unpacked the groceries and started cooking dinner as the girls watched Dora the Explorer.  “UNCLE JOE,” Jessie yelled.  “Josie smells!!  “Oh crap,” Joe uttered to himself.  “literally. WTF, I am in the middle of dinner.”  He asked Jessie to hang up her wet swimsuit before he addressed the diaper. . The evening ended with a yummy dinner, The Lion King and a few bedtime stories, which Joe read in a few voices, eliciting giggles from the girls.

Their fun-packed Saturday featured excursions to the Farmer’s market, library and small zoo. After a Thai food dinner, the three of them headed to bed early, exhausted.  

Joe woke too early on Sunday.  The girls would sleep another hour. His sister and Peter would return in the afternoon. Thoughts swirled through his head non-stop, even before he mobilized himself to make coffee.  His first thought was that they could make pancakes; the girls could pour batter into cookie cutter shapes set in the pan.  His second thought was ‘Wow, Ben was right, I really am Domestic Daddy.’ His third thought was Y/N.  He wondered if she told her friends about him-that she was looking forward to their date.  He wondered….Say you'll see me again even if it's just pretend in your wildest dreams. (3). He rolled over and pulled the soft blanket up to his neck, willing to give sleep another try. He drifted off and saw Y/N in his dream. It was winter and they were both bundled in jackets and scarves, holding hands and walking fast, dodging the cold.  

“Two, at least,” she said. “What do you think?”  

“For sure.” Joe said and he turned to her and stopped.  “Well, now that that’s set, we should think about a wedding date first.”  They laughed.

He suddenly felt a warm body climbing on him and he opened his eyes.  “I’m hungry.” a sleepy Jessie said. Joe rolled over moving her next to him. “Good morning.  Me too.   How about pancakes. In cookie cutter shapes?”

“Yay!” Jessie responded.  “I know where mom keeps them.”

“Great. I’ll meet you downstairs with Josie.”

She ran out, and Joe collected himself as he rolled out of bed. He felt positive and hopeful.  Bring on 36!  

SONG NOTES

1.       Can’t take my eyes off of you, Frankie Valli

2.       Today, John Denver

3.       Wildest Dreams, Taylor Swift

[cd-stories]

Jim’s Office Adventure

It had been four years working as an administrator within a typical manufacturing company. Apparently our company made something to do with automobile engines, but it was all beyond me. Just get the job done well and people saw me as professional and hard working. In the modern world it was accepted that guys could be administrators just as much as girls could be mechanics and to tell the truth, so long as I got the work done I was pretty much off everyone’s radar. Just ‘that guy in the admin team’ I suppose. If I thought about it I guess I should have known that it would all come out eventually, but I never imagined anything quite like what I’m going to recall here.

I was the only guy working in the administrative department with five other women under Lucy, the head administrator. We all got along, but that’s about as far as it went towards me. I still didn’t feel part of the collective, but didn’t feel any animosity from the other girls either. They were friendly enough, but, let’s say, I wouldn’t expect to be asked out on the town with them. I had been cross dressing for what now seemed like a very long time. Initially it was shifty rummaging through female relatives drawers, longing glances through lingerie catalogs as a teenager, ending up with a rather extensive wardrobe of clothes, shoes and underwear now.

Living by myself allowed me the privacy that I liked to practice my fetish. I never really wanted to be a woman, but just loved the sensuality and power I felt dressing up as one. It always seems so unfair that women had all the glamour and fun! And I always felt a new confidence when I went out dressed up that I didn’t have in my ‘regular’ life.

My physical appearance helped a lot. Partly it was down to luck and my genes, but also diet and exercise that maximized my physical assets. I was naturally tall and skinny: 5 ft 11 in my bare stockings. Regular work outs at the gym kept me toned, avoiding bulking out too much! This left me with slender, shapely legs and kept my body and shoulders slim.

At 23 years old I looked young and fresh, and my mother’s genes had blessed me with a boyish delicate face and appearance. As a result I normally found that I had to try to ‘butch’ up for my daytime persona with crisp white shirts and shapeless trousers!

Like a lot of crossdressers I’d tried to give it all up, bundling all my clothes into bins and swearing to stop it all (usually after some near miss…), but it always seeped back into my life. At the time I was happy and comfortable with my lifestyle. I had a nice steady job during the day and an alternative female persona for evenings and nights out.

Each existence was separate and never crossed-over except for really extra-ordinary circumstances. But then this is all about one of those occasions, which led on to so much more… Work officially finished at 12:00 on a Friday, but I had too much work to finish and had to carry on into the afternoon. Tonight I had other plans though.

Tonight I was meeting up with some of my ‘girl’ friends (my crossdresser friends) in town and had a weekend break planned. We’d booked a minibus for us all to go down to London for the weekend, spending some relaxing time in a posh 5 star hotel and evenings in some of our favorite alternative clubs. I couldn’t wait to get dolled up ready for our mini-adventure. The big problem was that I needed to be ready at 4:00 pm, which didn’t give me time to get home, change and get into town. That meant breaking my major ground rule of mixing business and pleasure. I had to get ready and dressed at work, and I had to bring in my weekend clothes to work. They were sat in my weekend bag, which I had brought in early and stashed out of sight under my desk. By 2:00 almost everyone in the building had left for the weekend.

There were a still a few engineers and executives about, but I was sure I hadn’t seen any girls around. I was planning to make a break for it to the ladies, so once I was inside there I was safe. A lot of the lights had already been turned out and the day was turning to winter dusk outside. I finished up my work and now it was time for me to get dressed up.

Handily the women’s toilets were located just out of sight from the office door a little along the corridor. By now I hadn’t seen anyone pass our office door for 20 minutes. I was certain there was almost no one else left here, but I felt a little tingle as I got up with my weekend bag to sneak to the ladies. With my heart beating hard I left the office and turned left down the corridor, pausing at the water cooler to take a slow drink and pretend to read one of the company’s motivational pieces on the news board. “OK, this is it,” I thought after no one had left the ladies for a good 5 minutes, “All the admin girls have left, it’s now or never”.

Confidently I picked up my weekend bag, slung it over my shoulder and moved quickly and quietly down the corridor, past the men’s room, and with one last cautious glace over my shoulder slipped into the sanctuary of the ladies toilet. My heart was still pounding as the automatic lights flickered on. No one in here — phew! Just to be sure I went into the second to last cubicle and locked the door. Now I could relax a little and get into my dressing routine. I quickly stripped off and filled the carrier bag I’d brought along with all my day clothes.

Last night I had spent a luxurious evening bathing, waxing, shaving and moisturizing my entire body. Now I stood for a moment enjoying the feel of my hands gliding over my soft smooth body. Sitting down on the loo I pulled on a pair a silky hold up stockings, the light fabric gliding easily up my freshly waxed legs. And with my pair of black leather boots that went up to just below the knee zipped on at least now I would appear ‘normal’ from under the toilet door in an emergency. Feeling much more relaxed now, I could really go to work on my female image. First I attached my wonderful C cup silicon fakes and blending in the edges with some foundation. I then got out my pocket mirror and starting to apply my makeup. Not too much, but enough to bring out some of the natural feminine look to my boyish face.

By keeping it low key I could normally pass without too many unwanted double takes. So, I applied some of my favorite foundation followed by a light dusting of blusher to bring out my cheekbones. Next I put on some dusky eye shadow to match my hazel color, followed by coal grey eyeliner to open up my eyes and the first coat of mascara.

My favorite subject at school was always art: who knew being so handy with a brush would come in so useful! The only real splash of color was reserved for my crimson lipstick, with a touch of lip gloss.

Tonight I was going for elegant and stylish, so standing up again I slipped on a delicate lacy black thong, followed by the matching bra. Then I wriggled into my killer Little Black Dress. I loved this dress and always pulled it out for a good night out. It hugged where it should, hid my worst bits and fitted like a dream.

I guess the way the hem line ended just below my stocking tops helped too! Next I applied some pre-prepared crimson painted nails and while I waited for them to dry I brushed on a second coat of mascara and fluttered my eyelashes to myself in my mirror. Finally I took my favorite brunette bob wig out of the box in my weekend bag and fixed it into place. It was a modern cut that angled forwards and down with a straight cut fringe.

It went very well with the young-classy-thing I was going for. With some luck I might make someone’s night in the bar tonight! Once I was happy with my appearance I gingerly opened the cubicle door to check myself out in the bathroom mirror and make any final adjustments. “Woh, cute honey,” I thought to myself.

I whispered another silent prayer to the cute gym instructor that had come up with the routines that had added shape to my cute ass. Just need a few tweaks to my blusher, tidy up a stray hair or two and I’m ready to hit the streets! I turned back to the cubicle and picked up my makeup bag off the toilet seat and put it next to the middle sink. I then leaned down to retrieve my day clothes and stuff them into my weekend bag. Now fully dressed I was enjoying the snug fit of my clothes and as I bent to pick up my bag I relished the feel of my black dress’s hem inching up the back of my thighs to reveal a peek of stocking top and bare flesh. Mmm.. that felt good as I kept one leg straight and paused bent over double reaching for my bag.

Just as I was enjoying the luxurious stretch down the back of my leg, I froze mid bend as I heard the outer door suddenly swing open. Panicking I stood upright again, but didn’t know what to do. The inner door opened and I heard heels tap across the tiled floor. “OK… OK… keep calm and casual,” I thought to myself.

My heart was beating so hard in my chest I felt sure anyone in the same room could hear. Clutching my bag I returned to the sink where I had left my makeup kit. By looking down slightly I could keep the fringe of my wig concealing my face. With some luck she’d go to a cubicle and I could slip out without any questions or confrontation.

Flicking my eyes up to the mirror I saw that I looked good enough to pass, it was just a pity I couldn’t do a final touch to my makeup. With a feeling of dread I felt the presence of someone walk behind me and take up position at the next sink. “Why had I taken the middle sink?” I thought to myself. “Oh no, now I’ve got to stay and do something at least else it looks odd.”.

I took out my blusher brush and touched up my face, trying desperately to look calm and collected. Glancing to my left in the mirror I saw Helen, one of the senior executives styling her hair with her fingers and a small can of hair spray. “Idiot!” I thought, “Of course there was Helen as well as the office girls.

I’d forgotten about the one female executive who could be working late in her office!” “God, these long meetings play havoc with my hair!” she said. “I’m sure it’s the air conditioner, but I always come out of that room looking a mess.” “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I mumbled in my feminine voice, desperate for something to say.

“And I’m supposed to be going out tonight,” she said, “now it’s too late to go home and I’ve got to keep these stuffy work clothes on.” So far she seemed far too preoccupied to notice me much, so with gathering confidence I chanced a longer look to my left. She was wearing a modern cut navy blue skirt suit, with a white blouse underneath.

The suit suited her figure well and true to Helen’s form the skirt was that little bit shorter than necessary for business. I had to admit that she looked good, just as she always did. She was rather short, under 5ft I estimated, but her sensuous curvy body and larger than average chest more than made up for it. Matching navy blue 3 inch high heels also helped disguise her height, with the added bonus of making the most of her heart shaped rear. And if she wasn’t eye catching enough there was the shock of fiery red hair which contrasted so well with her creamy white skin.

“No, you look great,” I replied “Just maybe lose a few buttons on your blouse and add some more makeup and you’ll be OK for bars.” I couldn’t believe what was going on here. I needed to leave and here I was having a conversation with one of the high level management dressed as a woman! I’d be lucky to keep my job if she realized.

“Oh, thanks,” said Helen. “Could I borrow some eyeliner? I don’t keep any at work.”

“Sure,” I replied, cursing myself for mentioning makeup. I rummaged in my makeup bag and passed her my eyeliner, without turning away from the mirror. I continued to tweak my hair and makeup while Helen concentrated on applying eyeliner. She finished what she was doing and passed me the makeup.

I turned to take it and fumbled it with the rest of my makeup back into my weekend bag. “Right I better get going,” I said, still trying to avoid eye contact with Helen. “OK. Me too, I’m about done in here. Thanks for the eyeliner again.” “No problem,” I replied. Turning to leave, we both made for the door and for an instant I looked straight at Helen.

There was a slightly quizzical look on her face, and then it was gone. I opened the door and pushed my way out into the relative freedom of the corridor. “Looks like you’re on for a big one,” she commented as she followed me out “What are you planning?” “Um… I’m meeting some friends in town and we’re going. down to London,” I mumbled.

“Uh huh…” she answered “… well you have fun” she finally said.

Still on edge I turned to go, but was called back after three steps. “Excuse me,” said Helen. “I hate to do this, really I do, but you do work here don’t you?”

“Sure,” I replied casually, screaming on the inside, “down in the finance office with Sue.” “Oh, just I haven’t seen you around much. Are you new?” “Yeah. I transferred from the Northern branch 3 months ago.” “Ah right I see.” There was another long pause, “sorry to do this, but can I see your ID? We’ve had a few security breaches recently and you can never be too careful.” “No problem,” I replied. I squatted down next to my weekend bag and made a big show of rummaging inside searching for my ID. Desperately I thought “What am I going to do now? I can’t show her my card!” “Sorry, I must have lost it somewhere,” I said with maybe a little too much confidence.

“Right.” said Helen. She sighed and finally added, “Well, would you mind coming with me while we sort all this out?” “Sure, but I do have to go soon you know.”

“Yes, this will all get sorted quickly one way or another,” she replied ominously. Feeling like I was falling in a dream I followed Helen back through my office past my desk and towards her executive office along the far side.

I’d never ventured into her office before and I was surprised how nice it was in here compared to out in the drones section. There were large windows down one side of the office, looking out over the landscaped grounds our office block sat in.

A large desk dominated one corner of the spacious office, with a wall of books and files to the left of it. In the opposite corner to the desk was a low coffee table surrounded by 6 easy chairs. Evidently this was where the deals were made.

The only other furniture to be seen were a selection of large foliage plants dotted around the room, Helen’s black leather high backed office chair and a further standard office chair pulled up to the other side of the desk. She went behind the desk and sat before motioning me to sit opposite her.

“OK then…” she said, “sorry, what did you say your name was?” “Rachel,” I blurted out, “Rachel Stevenson” “OK then Rachel. We need to find your ID in a hurry or get you cross checked with Security. What’s it going to be?”.

By now I’d resigned myself to losing my job and life as I knew it, so it was either humiliation now with Helen or humiliation with Helen and a selection of security guards as well. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. I tried to think of something clever and then it hit me.

“I am sorry but the truth is I am just here to fill in for Jim. You see, he’s my close friend and he wanted me to finish some of his work. Since, he had done me a big favor a few weeks ago; I came in to help him. Apparently he had some personal work to complete today. I am really sorry.” I said timidly “I shouldn’t have done this. Please don’t call the security.”.

“Well, why didn’t you say it before,” Helen exclaimed, “I know Jim, not personally but I have heard a lot about him. He’s a good worker. He must have had something really important to call you in.” Stunned, I just nodded.

I couldn’t believe that she really said that. I felt a moment’s pride at the realization that she hadn’t recognized me and believed my story. Helen got up from her desk and eased down finally. “You can go now” she said with softness in her voice. “Thank you so much,” I replied. “Have a nice weekend,” Helen said and we both walked out of the office.

I held my breath until I was out in the corridor. After what seemed an eternity, I was finally out of the building. I checked the time and there was still time to catch up with my friends. What an afternoon it turned out to be.

The End

[the-dyslexic-blogger]

so this is where it begins

So, Hi I'm Dino (obviously not my real name but I wish it were haha). There is a trigger warning to self-harm, mention of suicide and depression.

I'm 20 and attending university a few of my friends have done some blogs, so I decided this is where I'm going to start.

As a reader, I thought you'd better known I have dyslexia. Hence, it is a big step to write a blog as, usually, I'm not too fond of it (the dreaded writing spelling and grammar NOOO), But here we go.

In my lifetime, I've been through a lot of crap to get to be who I am today( I will probably talk about some of this in other blogs.) Of course, the aftermath of having a lot of crap happen to you is a lot of issues in the future and a lot of trauma.

There is a daily struggle with mental health. Everything is a battle most days I have to drag myself out of bed which is so very hard to do many little tasks that are easier for other like showering I find is a massive task (thanks depression love you too). Most nights I'm up to the early hours of the morning fighting the demons in my head screaming at me to give in and will not shut up until I give in to the blade and feel the sweet relief of pain as I cut myself. The blood flows out of wherever I've cut it from, Even after this it's not the end of the battle, I get a big hit off of the guilt about doing it, so I don't sleep whatsoever so am tired all the time. In the daytime dark thoughts still spinning around my head, monsters breathing down my neck. Throughout the day, they are lingering over me, waiting for me to mess up somehow and then reminding me of this mistake all day.

The night time is when they are the loudest when everyone I could turn to is asleep. Still, I don't want to bother my friends with my shitty problems 'they don't care. "They don't like you' the demons whisper in my ear when I pick up the phone to text someone, To scream out and get help for my head trying to kill me, haunting me dark thoughts taking over my mind full of darkness and nightmares no light left I'm alone with my thoughts so, I give in and let the demons take over like a bring me the horizon quote 'it comes in waves, I close my eyes Hold my breath and let it bury me I'm not okay, and it's not all right '. I'd say night time is like a tight rope your battling to staying it while monsters are trying to push you off watch you fall to your death some people make it, but some fall off. I always cant get the thought of they (The demons) have been there when no one else was. They have never left me like everyone does.....

Its been about eight years since I started cutting I've been self-harming for a while I can't remember exactly when I began, it began as hitting myself hard. , it only developed into cutting in year seven. I was bullied a lot, so this triggered me to start cutting myself. I felt worthless and like I deserved it everyone hated me so I may as well hate myself too. It began to get worse when my best friend I'd known since I was in primary school killed herself. The guilt consumed me whole, and I became a shadow of who I used to be I was no longer that sweet innocent child who had no care in the world. I was a self-destructive monster who wanted nothing less than to hurt me and wanted nothing more than have me dead. (I'm not going into the suicidal thoughts in this one yet maybe in a future blog.) Yet no one knew. I wouldn't show any emotions expect happy I was 'hyper ', but it was all an act to stop the evil thoughts consuming me and not to let anyone worry about me I didn't deserve that. I'd tell myself daily that I deserve the pain that I cause myself.

I tried to get help for the bullying at school, but my school made it worse so from then forward I shut down completely refused to talk to anyone about my depression. I didn't have a pleasant childhood my parents were abusive (again not going into that in this one). I didn't have many friends, so I never felt good about myself. This was all a massive kick at my self-esteem. It was only until year 11 when my games teacher noticed me as always wearing long sleeves in the blistering heat when we were playing rounders.

It was a childcare lesson she took me aside and took me to the school nurse then I'll never forget how my heart dropped when she said "roll your sleeves up" I first refused. She suggested that she'd go outside the room and to show the school nurse to make sure they wasn't infected or anything so I agreed to this. After this miss brown was the most supportive and she'd been. School became a bit easier from then. We started talking more and more each lesson I enjoyed her company.

One of my bullies who I am very close to now, and we talk a lot came up to me and apologized for what she has said to me in the past. I forgave her, and we sat and chatted about things I let her open up, and she had been through a lot of shit as well, and I felt terrible and told her she could talk to me. After this we became friends, and we talk now and then.

At this point, I was still self-harming and being bullied even cyberbullied to the point the police was involved. Another traumatizing event happened during this time I put my trust into the wrong person and regretted it. I still regret it today and hate myself. But we will cover that in another blog.

I did my GCSEs did pretty well, and life was okay even though I was still at home my self-harming was still a thing, That summer my sister found out about it she asked I told her not to tell mum. Guess what she did TOLD MY FUCKING Mum. My mum was in a lousy mood came to me shouted at me to take my jumper off, so I did she saw the cuts and had a go at me took my phone off me and grounded me and more which I'm not going to go into yet. It was horrible of course I cut again and again and felt suicidal she made me feel so worthless and alone.

Starting college for the first time was stressful and made my anxiety so bad. The first year of college was when I began therapy Tamsin was my therapist. She was lovely, helped me a lot. My self-harming didn't stop but reduced a bit whereas before the sweet relief of the blade and saw how much id bleed was most nights. It was like it was part of my routine. Go to school/college get home to wait till everyone is asleep then cut my night away.

Then lie in bed and stare at the ceiling thinking of how worthless I was and how I want to be dead how I wish I could cut deeper and made it worse for myself. This reduced a bit it wasn't every night, but most nights it was rough and never thought it would consume my life as much as it did never thought id still be here struggling with it.

I've cut myself a few times where I think I probably should have gone to the hospital, but I didn't. One of these times was in my next college it was rough as my original college had told me I wasn't good enough, And that I Wouldn't make it, so I moved to a new college. One of the first weeks there I remember cutting very deep and panicking it was a hot day I was at work and had got home and felt stressed over things and cut my arm badly. I wrapped a sock on it was all I had and texted my girlfriend she told me to find my mate I walked into town found my mate we went to the shop got some supplies sat on a bench and patched it up. I knew a paramedic, so I texted them asking them what I should do they told me to put alcohol on it, Once I got in I put some rum into a small glass went upstairs and told my dad I was going for a bath I ran the water got a wet flannel and bit it. At the same time, I cleaned it I screamed into the flannel in pain I put the water on so my parents couldn't hear me I led on the floor after this and cried to myself silently until I was done then I came out so my dad wouldn't think anything of it went back into my room and cried myself to sleep.

The second year of college wasn't too bad. I had a shit therapist who would tell me things that triggered my eating disorder and would make me feel suicidal. I remember going into her appointments feeling okay and come out feeling suicidal. I had good best mates in my life it was okay (I was still cutting through) thankfully. I am always thankful to this day my friends stopped me from going to this therapist as she made things worse I stopped seeing her for a few months if I didn't stop seeing her id be 6 feet under the ground with nothing to me but a skull.

I wasn't in therapy for a few months as I needed a break from it all until my cutting and suicidal feelings got worse, so I decided to get back into therapy with the help of my friend I had this lovely therapist called Sharon she stuck by me and suggested I go to the doctors, so I did. I was put in meds and probably diagnosed with my issues. However, id had them since I was at least eight or nine at least had some of them like anxiety. Things calmed down meds helped me but also affected me badly I got all of the side effects,( so that wasn't fun.) Still, things went pretty smoothly until university applications I was accepted into a good uni on a conditional offer. This all went wrong this was in 3rd year by the way my college fucked up and put me into The inappropriate exams I couldn't do the GCSE due to my mental health my therapist suggested I do not take it I was suicidal and cutting.

So I didn't get into the university I tried to get into another one they rejected me as I was about to give up hope my friend introduced me to clearing, and that's how I got into the university I'm in now.

Self-harm and suicidal thoughts still attack me, and I still struggle with simple things like just staying alive and not cutting. Each year I wonder am I going to make it to the next year or will I kill myself before the year ends its an achievement getting through the year and surviving it.

I have excellent people in my life now. I feel happy with where I am for the first time in my whole life. I've never felt pleased with the way things are going things usually fuck up. I'm pretty sure life will throw another obstacle my way eventually, but I'm sure one day it will get better. Self-harm will be in the past one day, not right now I'm not ready to stop altogether I can't physically do that (sorry). One day my mental illnesses will be manageable without the pain that comes with them now. Years down the line, I can say I WAS a self-harmer instead of I AM a self-harmer. That will be a while I still need to heal my emotional scars and finally be free from the monster that is depression. Depression is a war you either win or you die trying it's the worst beast of them all the strongest beast, but even the biggest worst beast can be beaten. I believe in all of you out there struggling with your depression. Suicidal thoughts depression can be beaten, look at those who have got through it google it many celebrities have depression and won the war in their head. People like Lady Gaga, Demi Lovato, Ellen DeGeneres and many more.

Depression is the silent killer it waits till your alone( i mean not alone physically; you could be in a room full of people and still feel alone. )

Then it strikes with false things about no one caring about you. But you are so much stronger than you think if you need support, there are people out there who care about you. You may feel alone but don't tell me in the world of billions, and billions of people, not one cares because that's not true I care.

It's okay not to be okay. I look back and see things do get better from the point I am now to the point I was six years ago things have changed, things may not work out to start with, but it will be okay. Still, they will work out one day this darkness your in will be light you won't have to struggle with the beats in your head the silent monsters that grip you with their claws and consume you alive.

So there you go that some of my battle with self-harm I will go into things a bit more in future. I hope you liked it is not the happiest (sorrrryyyyyyyyyyy ). Still, I hope I can inspire you and give you hope that it does get better and things will work out.

You probably have been told this thousand of but here is the Samaritans number they good and living is good once you get past the darkness of depression. You will get through this your strong enough!

Stay strong fighter!

love

Dino xx

summations:116 123

[ladylynse]

Another Phic Phight entry, courtesy of @blueoatmeal‘s prompt “Domesticated: Vlad’s daily life from the perspective of his cat”. ...I somehow managed to write three thousand words without any dialogue, which is rare for me, even considering how much I typically capitalize on introspection. Humour and fluff this time (in drastic contrast to last time). [FF | AO3]

From day one, she had known that the human who foolishly thought he owned her was not like other humans. True, she couldn’t complain about the name he had given her—Maddie surely suited her better than Fluffy—and it was not as if she expected him to be able to pick up on the nuances of her true name, but he was different from the others who sometimes came by. His scent was more…distinctive than most.

There wasn’t just determination, ingenuity, desperation, obsession, or any other trait or emotion that sprang to the fore and blended back into his unique scent, as it was with other humans. No matter the food he ate, the acrid chemicals he used, or the expensive cologne he wore, he could not mask the underlying smell that raised her hackles and warned of sickness and death. He could not wash it away, either. It never faded, though there were times it grew stronger.

When she’d first arrived, it had been weeks before she’d stopped fleeing from him, stopped hiding the moment she’d sensed his approach. It had been weeks before she’d trusted him enough to stay in the same room, and weeks more before she’d deigned to allow him to touch her.

In the end, she’d decided he was trainable, and he’d deluded himself into thinking the same of her.

She was happy to keep him company during the odd hours he kept, though she had no idea what fascination the light creature held for him. It formed a human shape, but it had no smell, no body. It did not stroke her, did not acknowledge her, did not even seem to see her, despite her numerous attempts to get its attention. Her strange little human also called it Maddie. She supposed his was a simple species, and she could not fault him for getting confused. She already had to do so much for him.

Whenever he went to visit the creature of light, in the Hidden Room of Bad Smells and Slippery Surfaces, she had to remind him of the dangers. Had she not taken it upon herself to block his view whenever possible, he might have fallen for the siren song of Light Maddie, mesmerized by its captivating realm of blinking light squares and the swirling not-wall. If she did not break its spell, he would spend too long staring at the light squares, and occasionally Light Maddie would convince him to summon forth the beings of death—ghosts, she remembered—from the not-wall. Worse still, her human sometimes gave himself over to the ghosts.

She could not always suppress her instincts to run when that happened, but she was getting better at being there for him, at reminding him that this was the real world, that his place was among the living, serving her.

She had some success snapping him out of the ghost state by knocking things off shelves, but it was far from reliable. She’d had to clear off an entire countertop of glassware once before he’d finally torn himself from Light Maddie’s seductive squares of flashing lights. He had yelled at her, but she’d known it was only Light Maddie’s terrible influence, and she’d borne it gravely.

Considering he’d given her an offering of fresh fish soon afterwards, she knew she had done well.

While Light Maddie tried to keep him in its little hidden room, busy with light patterns or funny little tools or, sometimes, creating more creatures that reeked of death, her human would always return to her in the end. If he were ever foolish enough to lock her out of the room and was deaf to her very vocal protests or the way she raked her claws against the sealed doorway, she would wait for his return on the bed she allowed him to share.

The bed was best in the daytime, of course, but she couldn’t make her human understand that. He never knew enough to sleep in the warmth of a sunbeam. For a species that barely had any hair, except in the oddest of places, he—like others of his kind—had very little survival instinct. She gave him as much of her coat as she could spare, rubbing on every available surface and sleeping on his false-furs so hers would cling to them and enhance their warmth.

His lip always curled at this—she suspected it was a variation of what all humans did when they were happy—and he would use his death magic to try to return her hair to her. He did not seem to understand that she could not take it back once it was given, and all too often the hair was left on the floor for others to clean up.

Really, he didn’t seem to appreciate everything she did for him. She guarded him while he slept, and more than once she’d had to fend off the creatures beneath the blankets. Far though they were from his face, she was not fooled by their tactics; she knew their dangers and reacted accordingly. He would often wake with a cry of pain whenever she was fortunate enough to strike their flesh, and she knew the creatures must have attacked him as they recoiled from her. They had not yet given up. She needed to be vigilant.

Of course, she also had to wake him each day before his sleep became a sleep of death. Dropping things did not always work here, even when she carefully knocked something onto his head—usually one of her toy mice, being easy to transport and hard enough for him to notice when it fell, though she favoured the string of the feathered ball as well. Given the lack of reliability, however, it was often necessary to go right next to his face to check that he was still breathing. On occasion, she would realize that his head was too exposed, too cold, and would grace him with her body heat by curling up on top of him. This proved to be the most effective method for waking him, but he was distinctly ungrateful every time she did so, and he had not yet realized her stony silence in response to his sharp words meant that she did not find it an acceptable way of interacting.

It was a price she had to pay, however. Her intelligence came with patience, and he had already shown that he was willing to learn and adapt to her ways. He’d only had the gall to feed her tasteless, dry kibble once; after she’d regurgitated it over his regular eating spot while he’d been away, he’d learned his lesson. It had been no different when he—or, rather, the ghost to whom he had given the task—had failed to renew her litter box. She required it to be fresh. When it had not been, she’d made a point of relieving herself in his shoes when he’d been away. He had since learned not to leave such imbeciles to care for her needs.

Now, they had fallen into a routine. After she woke him, he would wrap himself in his false-furs and talk to her about his plans. He always had plans. They never seemed to work out, as he never planned for her involvement. She had tried to show him this oversight when they played with the ivory figures on the two-coloured board, swatting at more than her fair share whenever he became overeager, trying to encroach on her territory with his little black figures. He merely laughed, stroking her and calling her little pet names. She always purred to show her pleasure—she must reward his good behaviour—but she resolved to find another way to get this message across to him.

The few times mice had dared to invade her home, she had killed them and brought them to him to show off her prowess. He had acknowledged her skill in that but never sought to expand upon it. Of course, he had also disposed of the mice without feasting on even the choice parts, so she knew he had a lot to learn.

He was getting better, however. He had made a point of presenting her with offerings of food in person in the mornings. If he dallied, enticed by Light Maddie and the temptations of the hidden room, she would increase the frequency and volume of her meows. In this way, he would understand the urgency of the situation, and she was often able to save him from Light Maddie for a little longer.

The detailing of his plans continued at this point—she suspected he thought she may bless them if he appeased her—and, all too often, one of the ghosts interrupted them. Sometimes, her presence was not enough to keep her human grounded in the living world, and he was overtaken by the death state and drawn away. There was nothing she could do for him when it came to this, and it was often when she would sleep. To be fair, he would still leave her even when he was not coerced by Light Maddie or the ghosts, but she knew that very few humans did not face the outside world each day to toil; it was out there that they sought to find and retrieve the offerings they gave to their watchers, and her human was no different in that respect.

Other animals of lesser intelligence—she would never forget the day she had met the horrid ghost dog—may think they had been abandoned, but she knew better. Her human relished her presence too much to leave her. Even if he came to his senses and decided to flee from this place, he would take her with him. It was not that he feared her displeasure; it was that he loved her. She knew that in every stroke, every coo, every murmured bit of praise. She was his Maddie. She allowed him to think of her as a partner, subservient though he truly was, and he recognized the honour she bestowed upon him. She would not sit on just anyone’s lap, after all, particularly if they carried with them that peculiar scent of death, decay, and danger.

In his absence, she would do what she could. This involved defending her home from everything from spiders to uninvited ghosts, but most of those ghosts were afraid of her now. The blue box-stealer in particular knew her wrath. Too many times, in his eagerness to abscond with her favourite play box or bed or even litter box, he had not been fast enough to evade her claws, and now a warning hiss was all it took to deter him. (The hiss was especially effective when he could not see her, expertly hidden among the shelves as she could be; she suspected he was the one who had spread the word that she had powers they had not yet uncovered, powers akin to theirs or that exceeded theirs. She approved. Their terror was right and true, and the infernal vulture ghosts have not disturbed her since the whispers began.)

Upon her discovery of the plant ghost, she resolved to test the plants in her home regularly. Her human was unimpressed whenever he caught her nibbling on a fern or three; he acted as though she did not know which plants were deadly and which were not, and as if the threat of the plant ghost was not real. If he would not seal away Light Maddie and close off the not-wall forever, she had to do what she could to preserve the integrity of her home. She did not wish to be caught unawares.

She had been particularly disturbed the day she had come upon her human trying to create more death beings with ties to the living world. She could not ignore the reek of wrongness that permeated her home when the attempts at creation began, and she took her cue from her human. He did not truly care for his creations, so she would not allow them to touch her. She did not want them to get attached—or risk herself getting attached to them. It would be…harder to scorn them if she found herself caring for them. She had made that mistake once, with the girl. She would not do so again. Indeed, she had resolved to destroy her human’s experiments whenever he continued attempts to carry them out. They were unnatural and unsafe.

She knew how fond her human was of the other boy like him, and she’d long since decided she could tolerate him. It helped that one of the boy’s friends (she had seen them together and recognized the mix of scents) had once attempted to free her human from Light Maddie. Light Maddie had been suitably distracted by visions of the one her human called an oaf, an imbecile, a buffoon, and she had activated that one’s programming whenever possible. (It was only a matter of treading across the keys in a particular order, and she had seen the boy’s friend enter the sequence; it had not taken much experimentation to reliably replicate it while laying upon the keys or walking in front of the light squares to distract her human and remind him of her presence.) It had served her well until her human had called in another ghost to locate and remove what he believed to be a virus. She had not corrected him, nor had she informed him that further experimentation had allowed her to restore what he’d thought was offending programming.

Truthfully, she had hoped her human’s acquiescence to the death state would lessen when he began to more frequently involve the human girl in his work. She did not know of Light Maddie, the not-wall, or the secret room, but she was well aware of the strange objects that came from there, and she had no qualms about using them. The girl smelled too sharply of vengeance for her taste, but her human expressed his pride in the girl and her work, and she had allowed the girl to stroke her. Her touch was warm, strong, and her scent changed to a more honest one when she did so; being granted petting privileges helped the girl in her own struggles, and she one day hoped to extend the same privileges to the boy her human sought to coax into taking up residence with them.

She was unhappy that she saw the boy mostly when he was in a similar death state to her human, but she had seen how he fought to bring her human back from the brink, and that had won him her favour. Besides, he had remarked favourably upon her presence more than once. She suspected he was the reason her human had decided to worship her over others (though why any chose companionship with those dreadful dogs was beyond her; she simply could not understand the minds of some humans). However much the boy smelled of death dog slobber, he could not be beyond redemption.

Her favourite days were those when her human did not come home bleeding or burned, coupled with the rare times when he did not complain loudly about his own minions—be they among the living or the dead. No, she relished the times that he came home and started a fire, allowing her to relish the false sun’s warmth. As she waited for him in the gentle heat of the hearth, he would prepare her meal and serve it. She would eat her fill, and then she would take up residence on his lap, gently kneading and then settling down. They would rest together this way, and she could feel him relax as he stroked her or brushed her.

He was too tense, her human. It was getting harder for him to return from the death state each time, and she suspected he had not even noticed. It was why she didn’t wish him to continue with it, why she wanted him to end his association with Light Maddie. But she had not discovered a way to return the not-wall to the gaping hole that was its natural state, and the best she could do in the meantime was sabotage his experiments and give him her love.

When he was sufficiently comfortable, she would groom him. He was only as flexible as her in his death state, and she did not want to encourage that. His own tongue looked woefully inadequate for the task, so she would do what she could, even though she’d have to drink soon afterwards to rid herself of the lingering taste of death. (The taste of death was satisfying when the kill was her own, but it was unnerving to taste it on a living human.) He always seemed amused when she moved from licking her paws to licking his leg or, when he began scratching her behind the ears and under the chin, his fingers. She tried to regularly clean his face for him, but he never gave her enough time to do an adequate job. Too often, he would laugh and pull her away, though whether he set her back on his lap and continued doting on her or picked her up to show her another one of his inventions depended on the day.

Still, it was…nice, being with him.

He treated her well.

She was a reason for him to live, to focus on this life, in this world, even if her presence was not yet enough to stop him from returning to the death state.

She hoped he would give it up for her eventually, whether or not any of his plans worked out or his dreams came to fruition. Because they didn’t need anyone else; they could get by, just the two of them. She was happy. He could be, too, if he allowed it. She had no doubt about that. He smelled happy, in those rare moments when he forgot to worry and fret, to pine and plan.

He hadn’t learned, and she couldn’t make him understand, the one thing she knew so well.

The present was precious. It was easy to get lost in the past and forget the future, and it was easy to focus on the future and neglect building any bridges to that future in the present. Neither past nor future should be ignored, but neither should they be favoured over the present.

Her human had fallen into a pattern of sacrificing the present in an attempt to secure the future, but he had told her of his past failures in his certainty of future successes. She knew how many foiled attempts at achieving his dreams lay broken behind him. It was rare that he remembered he was often leaving his happiness behind, swallowed in greed and envy for what he did not have, and that was why she hoped her presence would ground him—and remind him of all he had now.

She would find a way to rescue him from this downward spiral soon enough, before his tenuous grip on reality failed completely and he gave himself over to the death state.

Until then, she would allow him to continue to serve her, to be reminded that he had a place in the living world, and she would enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers.

(see more fics | my phight phics)

[flyswhumpcenter]

Nurse Café - Chapter 1/6: “You’re Not Supposed to Drink Coffee This Late, Sir”

NEXT CHAPTER

Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There's, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)

Wordcount: 1.5K words

Notes: C'mon, the occasion was too tempting for me not to title this fic after the real banger that is Susumu Hirasawa's masterpiece, "Nurse Café".

Your boi is working on his big-ass Arc-V fic project, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do and writing a nice little sickfic. AKA: I'm bursting that fandoms's door like I've always done, which is with a sickfic nobody wanted but me (and maybe my friend @nehamerchant123 who got me into this mess in the first place) (btw go check her cake business, she’s working on her cardd page for it)

I've been into this game's characters for a whole three weeks but I am not giving a shit I am doing this. I also don't know anything about colleges at all in any part of the world, I don't even know the Sorbonne because I've been there like thrice and it's always been in the same parts anyway (to be fair, I'm not even attending it yet lmao) It's very self-indulgent so it's short and split in two, I dunno, I may combine the two chapters some other day. It's probably also OOC, but whatever yeet

AO3 version available here.

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On second thought, his life may have been a mess, lately. For someone who liked organization, keeping a pace and thinking everything thoroughly to reach as much perfection as possible, he sure had allowed things to get messy without meaning to. To be fair to himself, problems had started piling up suddenly and at an incredible speed, to the point he didn’t know in what order he should have attempted fixing them: should he prioritize taking care of his grandmother who broke her leg not too long ago, his studies increasing in volume or his club duties, even if his leader was getting on his nerves with his weird, nonsensical shenanigans?

At first, he tried managing everything at once, but after some weeks of pulling almost-all-nighters, he decided to seek alternatives. It didn’t quite work out as planned, but at least, he had found a way to survive the storm for now: the local coffeeshop’s espressos. For someone who used to be so on-the-nose with his health, that was a strange choice, sure, but being friends with people like Subaru Ahehoshi made one adaptable and needing to find solutions quickly, if just temporary.

Not that he didn’t hate relying on coffee in the first place.

 His new routine, solidified by a couple months spent tuning it to maximize time use and task efficiency (albeit it was still a bit stiff, like he had always been), consisted of doing the most he can, not fall onto his bed and immediately find sleep before getting woken up by his own anxiety, and continue on his day by getting a cup of coffee in the same café, each time, to the same cashier. It was always the same order in the same place at similar hours of the evening, which gave it a sense of comfort he wasn’t against in times where he wasn’t sure how he should have asked for help. All of what he was doing is stuff he was supposed to be doing by himself, after all: he shouldn’t have needed someone else’s help for that, didn’t need to bring them through the mud with him (even if Isara had offered to help him, he had always declined: Isara may have very well been the only man he knew that had constantly been busier than him).

His grandma has told him before to lay it off, to let her do her thing and for him to focus on himself. While he intended on forcing himself not to barge into her life constantly, he quickly found himself doing it again even after her scolding: he just couldn’t not worry over it, he had to check if she was doing fine and if she was getting the hang of things. Ah, how thick-headed he’s been!

(In a way, maybe he put himself in that mess to begin with. Should have applied his own advice and tasted his own medicine).

 With a presentation dooming over his head for the next week and more drama club shenanigans, he had gotten backed in a corner: it was either researching for the entire night or risk getting an awful grade that’d sink his results to the bottom of the sea. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he had gone for the first option, albeit he was starting to think this may not have been the greatest idea he had ever had. (Actually, far from it). Still, that presentation wouldn’t write itself on its own, so he went for it and spent a night or two working on that while occupying his daytime with taking care of his grandma (who’s soon out of having her feet stuck in some cast, thank God for that) and club business and other college-related catastrophes strolling around in his life.

It was with a pounding headache and stumbling feet that he made it out of his flat and into the campus, heading straight for the café he always got his precious cup of coffee in (he was hesitating to put aspirin in the cup itself, but that sounded like a terrible idea, and he had left his aspirin tablets in his flat anyway), ignoring the gazes around him (it was easier to do when his sight is half-blurry to begin with). Once he was done with that necessary loss of time, he’d be able to come back to his actual work and that until he’d be finished with it. If he was productive enough, he should have been done with that presentation’s slideshow by the time 5AM hits.

 He entered the café, heard an unfamiliar bell ring immediately as he opened and closed the door, and went straight for the counter like a drunkard entering a tavern. He didn’t care about it in the slighest: he pulls out his yens from his pocket, slams them on the counter and asks, in a groggy voice he doesn’t like to hear to himself, “hello, I’d like an espresso, please”, with the least charisma he could have mustered because he was that tired and he just wanted to be over with that damn presentation already.

It was only when he rose his eyes to face the barista that he realized he had entered the wrong café, right as he faced a high school classmate, friend, and probably something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on, whom had never worked at his usual café. He didn’t say anything, but gulped and swallowed his pride back in, and payed for his espresso by pushing the coins anyway (Ahehoshi would have jumped on the counter to get them: they were undeniably shinier than they should have been).

 “Good evening, sir, thank you for com…”

Silence.

“Hokuto, is that you?!”

That voice was no mistake: this was Anzu, from the Management course. This was going to be painful…

“Ah… Yeah…?” Oh God. What was he supposed to tell her? That he didn’t even know where he was walking anymore? That this was all a giant misunderstanding on his part?  “Yeah.”

“I’m not used to seeing you around here? How are you?”

“…Fine.” Something was missing. “I hope you’re doing well too.”

That wasn’t really good dialogue. Not that Anzu picked up in it: she was probably too busy trying to do her job.

“Here you go, Hokuto…” She put his cup on the counter and picked his coins. “You’re sure you should be drinking that at this time of the day? It’s late and you’ll have a hard time sleeping if you drink that now.” Then she muttered to herself: “looks like you’d benefit from a good night’s sleep too…”

“Thank you, have a goodnight.”

 He picked his cup and went to a table, legs feeling faint. There was nobody still around in the café: clearly, unlike his usual 24/7 place where there always was someone living in the night (the Sakuma brothers trying to avoid each other but finding themselves in the same place and Hajime taking part-time jobs were the firsts to come to his mind), this was a daytime place and he was all aone, stuck with his pounding headache and Anzu cleaning before closing. He had something like fifteen minutes to drink his fuming coffee and get out of there, but even his hands felt sluggish and unresponsive.

Maybe he really wanted to throw that presentation out of the window and just sleep for the next three days. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore anyway.

 After a few moments, he watched with bleary eyes and eyelids closing on their own Anzu walked to him and sit on the opposite side of the table, staring at him with an expression he couldn’t really read, before her hand arrived on his forehead. It was cold, unnaturally so, and he wondered if she didn’t have blood circulation problems like he was worried he could have had before. Yet, despite his rising concerns, he still let himself lean into it, too tired to really pay attention to how he was behaving. That was bad, awful even. He needed to gulp his coffee, so he did, burnt his tongue and throat, and was about to pack it when he noticed she was still staring at him.

“I… I need to go, is there something wrong?” He asked, hoping this would be enough.

“You…”

Huh. Okay.

“I’m leaving now, I’ll let you close the sh—”

 Black dots appeared in his sight as soon as he got up and he felt his body plunge forward, hand slipping instead of grabbing at the table, vision blurring until all he could feel was hands wrapping themselves around him and faint, muffled sounds resonating in the distance.

It was all over, wasn’t it? He couldn’t move nor feel anymore, right? What a way to end his rush… What way to finish the evening that he was supposed to finish his presentation on… That was his way to go? Huh… Not like he could resist against his own body finally turning on him.

 He had failed in a dramatic fashion, that was for sure.

And, to be honest, he kind of hated it.

[rovvboat]

Abort Mission - Cable/Nathan Summers x Reader P.1

Part 1

Warnings: Smut, NSFW content, Angst. 

A/N: Hope you enjoy this angsty smutfest! It’s my first time writing smut and I didn’t think that I’d do it so soon, but it seemed so.. //NEEDED// for this storyline- AGAIN: this one’s a long one bc I’m trying to set the scene for part 2 - the smut in this is worth it!!! So indeed look out for p2 if you enjoyed this one - its gonna be much more fast-paced than this one is ;) Cheerio~!

Words: 4k 

Summary: Your team had been tipped off about a possible resurrection of an unnamed villain by Black Talon and his followers, which prompted a recon mission led by Cable. Long nights awake had driven you to the point of extreme agitation.The remote and small location didn’t help and neither did the fact that you easily become a restless mess; to add to the complexity, you have a crush on Cable. Things get heated when you could no longer keep it in.

You were chosen as the on-site medic – despite your reluctance – by Colossus; who cited your usefulness, where resources would be limited, as the reason why you were best for the job.

And the choice was ditto-ed by Wade, who cited your terrible crush on Cable as the reason why he voted for you. To your relief, Wade’s voting was done where Cable wasn’t within earshot – so there wasn’t much to worry about. The last thing in Cable’s mind would be a relationship, and you weren’t prepared to test out that theory.

Of course, your powers could mold things out of the materials around you and enhance the healing factor of anyone you willed and you could, with enough time, change the landscape of a limited area by accelerating certain reactions… Damn your powers. It was so easy for you to get chosen as the in-and-out-house ‘’medic’’ – especially because of how fast you could recovered between missions.

Your high energy was also a key factor in this long-haul mission - which was expected to take at least 2 weeks. You and Cable were thoroughly prepped and the both of you set off to the post in record time.

The land rover bounced up and down as it sped through the rough and uneven terrain. The uncontrollable bobbing was making you feel sick, but you tried your best to keep it in, putting one hand on the dashboard to keep yourself steady as the car made a rag-doll out of you.

You looked over to Cable in the driving seat, his eyes focused entirely on the far away destination.

‘’Hey, how long til’ we reach the spot?’’

‘’We’ll be arriving soon, don’t worry. You feeling okay?’’ Cable responded, without taking his eyes off the road

‘’Well, I’d feel better if this car could stop wobbling so damn much.’’ You said as you used a hand rub circles around your stomach in an attempt to soothe it, and tried to make yourself feel less sick.

It worked. Until the next big bump in the road almost threw you off the seat.

‘’Do they not have cars in the future, Cable? You suck at driving.’’

Cable chuckled.

‘’Alright, alright, stop your whining. We’re here.’’ He said as he put the rover in park.

‘’And where exactly is here, Mr. Can’t Drive? We’re still in the middle of nowhere.’’

‘’We gotta walk from here, kid. The cabin isn’t too far off, and we don’t want the engine noise to alert anyone that we’re here.’’

‘’Wow, I didn’t know we were having an affair.’’

‘’Yeah. Sure.’’ Cable scoffed. He was one of the only few people who could take your snark, and you didn’t know whether it made you happy, or annoyed that it wasn’t annoying to him.

‘’Hey, I have a question. Since you know my real name, can I know yours?’’ You asked with a mischievous tone in your voice.

‘’It’s Nathan. Nathan Summers. Now let’s get to work.‘’

You were surprised by his candid response.

‘’I honest to God did not think it would’ve been that easy.’’ You remarked.

You and Cable got to unloading the gear and rations you brought. As you do, you noticed that he had stopped unloading, and was looking intently at something. You walked over to see what had caught his attention, when he spoke up.

‘’Tell me again, how would… a long bolster pillow… help us get information from our enemies? You gonna smother them into talking?’’ He joked as he held up the long grey cushion in front of him.

‘’That’s for me, Nathaniel. I can’t sleep if I’m not hugging something.’’

Cable looked at the pillow, then back at you; the smirk on his face clearly showing his amusement at this revelation.

‘’What?’’ You said, snagging your lovely pillow away from him.

‘’Nothing. I expected as much. Now get a move on. We’re burning daylight.’’

You both began trekking away from the dirt path and into the forest.

The forest looked magical. The rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, and the vines seemed to dance with the light breeze, as you walked through it. The slight crunching sounds of your feet treading on the leaf litter against the sounds of the forest – alive and creaking and croaking and cawing – reminded you of how out of place you were.

While you were busy taking in the sights and sounds of your surroundings, Cable made sure to mark the way leading into undisclosed location using a knife, in order to make it easier for you to find your way back; in case you get lost during the mission. He was lucky that you were easily distracted, else you would be trying to annoy him out of boredom.

After what seemed like days of walking – though honestly it was only about 30 minutes or so – the sight of a dilapidated cabin finally came into view. It was big, but obviously couldn’t have been your place of residence for the mission, mostly due to the fact that it stood crushed under a gigantic tree.

‘’Holy shit. That looks so cool!’’ You exclaimed under your breath. Cable hummed a sound of agreement. The kind of hum that an older sibling would make whenever a younger sibling points out something mundane and routine with a sense of renewed awe.

‘’Don’t patronize me, old man Nathan!’’ You said with a light shove.

You walked ahead to inspect the house, and saw that it had moss and algae growing all over. There were shards of glass scattered around the entrance, and to top it all off, a heavily rusted metal fence barricaded the front door and windows.

You looked up at the huge tree that had fallen onto it. The weight of the tree had caved the roof in – who knows how long ago – and now looks almost as if it was part of the cabin.

‘’Home sweet home.’’ Cable quipped.

‘’This has got to be a joke, ri-‘’ You started, but Cable cut you off.

‘’Stop talking and follow my lead.’’

You held onto your bag straps and grudgingly tagged along. He strode over to the thick base of the ginormous fallen tree; where its roots were pointed in all directions. The tree looked awfully old yet sturdy, but something about it seemed awkwardly placed the more you looked at it.

Cable did some mental calculations and made his way to the underside of the tree, near the perimeter of the cabin and pulled on a loose vine.

The vine was connected to a stealthily hidden trap door, which gave way as Cable tugged at it. You hadn’t even noticed the way it curved into a kind of entrance, but it was perfectly camouflaged against the deep ashy brown of the fallen tree. The trap door opened into a narrow crawlspace that looked like something out of a zombie movie.

‘’Go on, get a move on. We don’t have all day, Y/N.’’ Cable urged. He took out something which looked like a gun from his fanny-pack – he could call it a utility bag all he wants, it wasn’t going to make it true – and pulled the trigger, which released something into the distance with a strong wisp. He did this a few times at different angles.

You furrowed your brows, but didn’t question it and got into an army crawl position, pushing yourself into the crawlspace. It turned out to be bigger than you expected; dust and tiny fiber particles swirled around you as you pushed your way deeper into it – using what little light that entered to guide you wherever you were headed. You heard Cable enter into the crawlspace behind you and cover up the entrance, instantly engulfing you both in darkness.

‘’Nice place you got here, Nathan. Where do I put up my reviews in Yelp?’’ You commented, turning your head back at him as he caught up with you.

‘’You talk too much Y/N,’’ he returned, ‘’Now hurry up and get to the end.’’

You hustled and reached the end. You stretched your hands out and felt a metal wall in front of you. Before you could ask, Cable voiced out.

‘’Okay, now you have to pull on the lever. Feel around for it, it should be to your left.’’ He instructed.

Using both your hands, you felt around the ground and finally discerned a hard, metallic smooth protrusion from the adjacent wall. You pushed it up and suddenly, the wall in front of you rose with a mechanical shunting and clunking noise.

The wall revealed behind it a wide-open space, fully furnished with a narrow kitchen – with a door that led into the world’s tiniest washroom – and a small living room with a slender sofa and a single-bed right behind it. It was quaint, but better than anything you could ever have expected.

‘’Dibs on the bed!’’ You called out as you got up out of the entrance and jumped on the bed. Cable just sighed as he got up. It’s hard to even imagine that you were an adult. But it was entertaining – to say the least.

You helped Cable bring in and set-up the equipment at the surveillance post; which turned out to be the two-way window in the kitchen that overlooked the abandoned military base a little ways off - past a few trees and shrubbery.

You let out a deep breath, thinking about how long of a mission you had in front of you, as Cable arranged for a surveillance schedule. He carefully divided up the timings such that he would do most of the night watch while you did mostly daytime. A switch happened every 4 days for effective exchange of notes and to ensure that you both were on your toes. Cable passed you a set of earpieces as you were setting up.

‘’These are our ears on the ground. If anything happens in there, we’re gonna hear it loud and clear. The team also has a set back home and they would be helping us keep track of Black Talon’s followers. They can hear us – and the recording device in the abandoned base – but we can’t hear them.’’ Cable explained.

‘’Is that so?’’ You took an earpiece. ‘’Fuck you, Wade! I know it was you who took my M&Ms from the fridge and made Colossus take the fall! Colossus, buddy, you did nothing wrong and I will make sure Wade suffers for this.’’ You dramatically exclaimed into the comms device. 

Cable stared at you in what seemed to be both reserved disappointment and met expectations. A hard line to cross, but you do it anyway.

The first few days had gone by without incident – and no sign of Black Talon or his followers. However, on the fourth day, there was a sudden influx of noise in the comms. The followers had planned a ritual to allow Black Talon’s return as well as preparation for a ‘resurrection’ of sorts. All details were captured on audio, which made it easier for an eventual ambush. However, one crucial detail had not been disclosed.

When was this ritual going to happen?

All signs pointed to the speculation that it was going to be a month away. But the team wanted the mission to proceed as normal for another week to ensure nothing new popped up.

 Both you and Cable were clearly getting antsy. A good 5 days had passed since the last appearance or instance of anyone around the base, and so far, nothing seemed to be happening. Even picking on each other didn’t seem to satisfy the accumulating energy from being stuck in such a small space.

You tried doing some on-the-spot jogging and star jumps but still felt restless.

‘’Maybe you should try to get some rest. I can take it from here.’’ Cable offered.

You dragged your body to the couch, stretching out one leg over the couch as you let yourself fall onto the comfortable fabric, and tried to get some shut eye.

After 20 minutes of tossing and turning, you got up off the couch and walked toward the kitchen window.

Cable had been diligently standing watch, making notes of any activities around the abandoned base. He looked up to acknowledge you and went right back to keeping watch.

‘’I can’t sleep’’

‘’Have you tried hugging your pillow?’’ Cable asked nonchalantly as he continued refocusing the night-vision binoculars.

You rolled your eyes at him, and meandered over to him. You tapped him on the shoulder, then motioned with your hands for him to step away from his post in front of the tinted windows. You picked up the binoculars and scanned the surroundings.

‘’Boy do I love looking at nothing happening!’’ You tittered as you set the binoculars onto the table.

‘’We didn’t come here for a fucking field trip now, did we? If you could stop your incessant whining for about 30 seconds, maybe we could’ve gotten our job here done quicker.’’ Cable snapped back at you. Your eyes widened in surprise.

‘’Yeah, cos I’m that useless right?’’ You glared at Cable and stormed out of the kitchen. Great, now you were both restless and frustrated.

‘’What the fuck are you talking about?’’ He called after you.

‘’Forget it.’’                                            

You suddenly felt a hand clasp around your wrist, pulling you in the opposite direction, until you came face to face with Cable. You held your breath, you whole body tensed, as he paused for a second; eyes locked onto yours like a magnet.

The tension weighed down heavy in the room, as if all the forest was spectating your little show from the outside; waiting to see what you would do.

This couldn’t go on any longer.

You swiftly took one step towards Cable, placing your free hand on his neck, and drew him into a deep kiss. He slowly let go of your wrist and pulled you closer to him. His cybernetic arm on the small of your back, easing you into it.

He tugged at your legs with a low growl, with a neediness, a desire.

A desire that filled you as well.

You instinctively wrap your legs around him and Cable immediately propped you up onto his waist; almost as if it was what he was waiting for the entire time.

You brought your hands up to his face, as you broke away from the kiss, heavy pants escaping your lips as you stared into him. He seemed hesitant to continue.

‘’Are you sure you want to do this?’’ Cable asked tentatively. His low, husky voice sending chills down your spine as you held onto him.

‘’Yeah. I’m sure.’’ You seductively whispered into his ear; which was enough to drive him wild.

He let both your bodies collapse onto the couch, you on your back, and him on top of you. You picked at his shirt trying to find the edge, and dragged it up off him as he lifted his torso up to pull it over his head. His attention focused right back at you, as he placed kisses from your lips, down to your neck – lingering at your collarbone, causing you to arch your back as you stifled a moan. His hands go to work on your shorts, yanking it off, leaving your panties exposed.

He pushed his body off of yours and shifted your body up a little to pull your shirt off, exposing your bare tits to the cold. He took a second to admire your almost-naked body, running his hands over your breasts and pinching one of your nipples between his fingers, pulling at it gently as his tongue played with the other. You were turned on beyond belief.

He brings his face up to yours, hastily meeting your lips, as if time had kept them apart for too long. Your tongues moving slowly, playfully, around each other – fully getting a taste of each other.

Cable breaks the kiss, rhythmic heavy pants escaping from both of you. He moves to unbuckle his pants, but you beat him to it – pulling the belt out of its metal confines and discarding it onto the floor so quickly that it made Cable let out a deep chuckle.

You ignored it and continue unzipping his pants and yanked it down together with his boxers, exposing his thick cock. You stroke his length with fervor, and watch as he melted into your hands – his brows furrowed and his eyes closed, focused intensely on the feeling of your pressure moving up and down around his shaft, as you felt him get harder against your palms.

‘’Oh fuck, darling, this is gonna end too soon if you continue like this.’’ He moaned against your slow lazy strokes. He brings his hand down to stop you; pulling arms up over your head, holding them together as his body closes the distance between you two. You relent, allowing him control.

‘’Good girl. Now let me return the favor.’’ He whispered into your ear, his hand sliding down your thigh, then over the fabric covering your pussy. His finger circling around, pressing down whenever it was directly above your clit.

‘’You’re already so wet for me, doll.’’

‘’Fuck, Nate. St- Stop teasing– ‘’ You moaned.

‘’Tell me what you want.’’ He said as he kissed that sensitive spot on your neck, making you dig your fingers into his back. When you finally spoke, your voice was raspy and strained.

‘’I want you. Right now.’’

He immediately yanked your panties off, and brought his hand to his hard member, positioning it at your entrance – leisurely teasing your pussy with the tip of his cock.

‘’Nate!’’ You whined.

With one swift move, he pushed himself inside you – painfully slowly – as if he was restraining himself. You writhed under him as you got used to his size entering you. You search for his body – unbearably absent from yours – and pull at his hands.

He immediately goes to kiss you again, rhythmically driving into you, as his tongue found yours.

Your body stiffened from the overstimulation, and as the tension accumulated, you whimpered and squirmed beneath him. You wanted nothing but release, but your body wasn’t allowing it.

‘’Nate, please- fuck I can’t.’’ You said as you gnawed gently at his neck; trying to rid of all the pent-up energy.

‘’Just hold out for me a little more, doll.’’ He growled, getting close to his own climax. He shifted his body closer to yours, quickening his thrusts.  He put his arms around you in an embrace. His face lying next to yours as his hand pushed your face closer to his.

‘’Oh fuck- Nate, please- I need to-‘’

‘’Shhh… It’s okay. It’s okay Y/N.’’ He whispered into your ear as he circled your clit with two fingers – with just the right amount of pressure – edging you closer and closer to a much-needed orgasm.

‘’That’s it babygirl. I want you to cum for me.’’ He coaxed. He continued gently pushing into you.

The thought of having him delving so deep into you, with his fingers making magic on your clit, finally pushed you over the edge.

‘’Nate I’m- Fuck- I’m coming!’’

The orgasm seared through you; leaving your body arched, toes curled and legs trembling. The contractions of your pussy against his hard cock, pushing him to his own climax.

As all the pent-up energy slowly dissipated in those moments of satisfaction, you lowered your body down onto the cushions.

Cable continued where he left off and thrust into you, hard and slow. You let him find his own orgasm as he promptly pulled out and came over your stomach with a moan.

His body collapsed onto yours, his breathing steady as his eyes closed. His hair drapes onto his forehead. You instinctively go to shift it out of the way; and slowly ran your fingers through his hair. You watched him as he fell asleep on top of you, the sound of his breathing lulling you to sleep as you finally, finally, fell into a deep slumber.

 You woke up to the sight of sunlight filtering into the room, with the sound of bird chirping and going about their day.

All of a sudden, you felt a drop in your stomach, as you noticed that your bolster had replaced where Cable had been. You also noticed that there was a blanket over you.

Was I dreaming…?

You looked around and saw your shorts, shirt and panties folded neatly on the coffee table. Last night had happened, so where was Cable now?

You quickly throw your clothes on – save for the panties which you stuffed into your daypack – washed up, and wandered into the kitchen.

You noticed Cable leaning against the window frame – staring out the window – with a coffee mug in hand. He looked relaxed, but somehow distant. As if he was deep in thought.

‘’Good morning.’’ You voiced as a yawn escaped you. You stretched your arms over you, your feet tiptoed in an automatic response.

Cable watched you tenderly, catching your morning yawn and stretch.

‘’Good morning, Y/N. There’s some coffee in the pot if you’d like.’’ He responded, looking back towards the window.

You brush your teeth then pour yourself a cup of coffee and settle down on the small dining table. Cable moved towards the dining table, taking the seat across you. There was a sudden seriousness to him that demanded your attention. He set his mug on the table before continuing.

‘’Y/N… I hope that it was clear that last night… was a one-time thing.’’ He stated. ‘’I don’t want you to think tha-‘’

‘’No, yeah, I get it. I didn’t expect anything from this.’’ You interrupted, taking a sip of your coffee.

‘’That’s good to hear. And hey, we can finally get out of this hellhole. I think we have all the information we need for the ambush.’’ He divulged as he stood up, taking a swig of coffee before moving to wash it in the sink.

You kept quiet. Your heart sank the moment the words ‘one-time thing’ spilled from his lips. You did all you could to seem like it didn’t affect you, to make it seem like the tears brimming over your eyes were no indication of how you felt. You abandoned your half-empty coffee cup and hastened to the shower, where you could let it all out under the running water.

 Once the coast was clear, you and Cable packed all the equipment and made your way back to the rover. You followed Cable through the forest, not once stopping to look at the surroundings; your eyes focused straight ahead, but on nothing in particular, looking slightly dazed.

Cable had noticed your lack of wit and conversation, but knowing better, he decided not to remark on your newfound silence.

When you finally reached the jeep, you hauled your gear onto the back and settled yourself in the front seat. You wanted to sit in the backseat, but thought against it, should it arouse suspicion in Cable. You brought your bolster along with you to the front seat to help you ease the bumps.

Once he was done securing the gear in the back, Cable took the drivers seat and began the drive back to the X-Mansion; as you held onto your pillow while watching each tree pass by you from the window. The slow bumps seemed to induce sleep as you drifted off – your eyelids as heavy as your heart was – whilst Cable did his best to drive as smoothly as possible through the uneven terrain to take you both back home.

[maskydoo-old]

Nightmare Neighbors 6

(I’m writing out scripts for upcoming storytime style youtube videos, and posting what I have here. Note that this is a true story. Feedback is welcome.)

Nightmare Neighbors 6 draft

Imagine the angriest crazies you’ve ever met online. Now imagine they know where you live. Now imagine, they routinely hang around near your house, waiting to catch you outside and alone.

Somehow, my life next to Loony and Toony Feckwad was like living right next to the worst kind of Youtube comments section.

And there’s no simple block function.

Now, I’ve been using the made-up names for these people throughout the telling of this story so far, but during these events, I didn’t actually know these people’s names.

I figured at this point, since I was getting the law involved, I really should find out.

Also, I told my boss about what happened, and he told the higher ups at the company. They decided for security reasons to preemptively ban the two crazies from the premises, and needed names and identifying photos so the guards could deny them entry if they ever showed up at my work.

But. Like. It’s not like I could just ask them their names anymore.

So what can I do?

The obvious option was to do a public records search by looking up their address. I got names… but… I wasn’t entirely 100% totally certain it was really them.

I didn’t know how trustworthy the information on shady-looking public records sites would be, and I didn’t want to accidentally give the police, and eventually the court, the wrong people’s names.

I was especially confused since multiple surnames came up for Loony, and I wasn’t sure if they were different people who happened to have the same first name, or if Loony really did change her surname that many times. (It turned out to be the latter.)

So. To Facebook. I couldn’t find a profile for Toony, but I did find Loony. Good enough, now I could confirm their identities.

That was all I wanted to do. I didn’t care to go through her information, and I certainly didn’t want to contact her. I wanted as little to do with her as possible, which was partly why I waited this long to even find out their names.

I was about to click away when… I noticed something. Right to the top of her profile there were several unhinged posts that were clearly about me.

For starters, she was convinced I was stalking her Facebook, and had been for some time. These posts were deranged rants that were clearly meant to call me out, and included lines like:

“I know you’re reading this, stalker!”

I mean… now I was reading it, but these posts went back weeks, months. What the hell, lady? She thought I cared to see her facebook, but that was the first time I ever looked her up.

She even had one that was taunting me for not getting to have her husband and how she’s a special beautiful wife.

She… just has no grasp on reality at all. Imagine being mercilessly harassed by crazy people over a situation that only ever existed in their head.  

In her posts, she also ranted about how I was calling her from hidden numbers. Anytime she got a call, it was absolutely me. It MUST have been.

I don’t. I don’t think I have to tell you I obviously never called these people. I’m a millennial. I can barely be bothered to call people I actually like. I order pizza through apps just to avoid speaking to a human.

But that’s not all I was accused of. In a more recent post, she insisted that I had some habit of driving slowly past her house with binoculars.

Ummm…

I live next door to her. I drive in this neighborhood because… I live here. But I funny enough, I don’t drive past her house. I don’t need to. My house is on the corner.

And what would I need binoculars for? Their house is only a few yards from the road. Even if I wanted to watch them… I wouldn’t need binoculars for it. And I would think driving at the same time would be pretty difficult.

I don’t think I even own any binoculars.

And what a weird thing to complain about when they are literally the ones watching me. They watch me from their windows, they stand outside in the dark waiting for me to get home from work. And apparently that’s OK.

Lady. Lady. Lady…. lady. Lady. Do you live in your own little world?

I guess she just assumed that since she was so obsessed with me, I must be obsessed with her.

That’s… that’s not how anything works.

I know in an previous video I called out Toony as a viewer,  

(replay joke)

But that was obviously a JOKE. I don’t expect him to ever actually watch this. And I don’t expect he’d have the self-awareness to recognize himself if he did.

But Loony, Loony really thought I had nothing better to do stalk her, or at leas that’s what she was claiming to think on Facebook for whatever relatives of hers that would see it.

I have no idea why she wrote those things. It could be she was just lying for attention, just making it up out of nothing. For what reason, I have no idea.

Or It could be that she was truly delusional, and genuinely believed her own words. It’s possible she was suffering from very real paranoia.

I think the difference between her paranoia and mine is that I actually did have crazy, hostile neighbors.

Whereas Luna had a neighbor who wanted nothing to do with her. I’d be happy to pretend she didn’t exist. If she and Toony ever quit their nonsense, that would be the end of it.

Yet here she was, pretending it was the other way around.

Now. I don’t really care about the unflattering and untrue things she was saying about me on her page. They were absolutely insane, yes, but were not really harassment like standing around in the dark screaming at me when I get home. It’s her page. She can write what she wants. I don’t have to read it.

What I did care about though were the references she kept making in her rants to the day I’d ‘get what was coming to me.’ She said multiple vague threatening sounding things along those lines in a number of her posts about me.

So, yeah… I was right about this pattern of escalation. This nutjob clearly intended to do me harm eventually. As she said herself, it was only a matter of time.

To make matters worse is her Facebook friends and family believed her, and wanted involved. Maybe they’re similarly crazy people, or maybe they were actually decent folks but, since they only had her crazy words to go on, got a very wrong impression of the actual situation.

Either way, this was really concerning when a number of these people left comment son her rants, offering to come ‘deal with me,’ and asking Loony for my information, my name, where I lived.

Ok, so that angry internet strangers at my house metaphor I used earlier had a strong chance of becoming a lot more real than I thought. There were now strangers volunteering to physically come to my home to physically punish me for things the Feckwads were making up.

This is bad. This is real bad.

I didn’t know what to do. I was completely sickened by what I saw. I knew I never wanted look at her page again. I just wanted to close the page and never think of it again.

But… forgetting what I saw wouldn’t make it go away. The danger still existed.

And now it wasn’t just the neighbors I had to worry about. This witch has and an army of flying monkeys to send at me. Any random stranger on the block could have been with Loony and I had no way of knowing.

At this point in my life, I was already dealing with a lot of problems. And I really, really, really did not need this.

I was now alone most of the year, with my boyfriend away at work in another country. I didn’t really have any friends or family nearby. Not much of a social life to speak of. Even at work I was largely isolated. Being a security guard, I was often the only person in the entire building.

My only regular human contact was decidedly negative, which made me withdraw more.

It was like when you burn your hand, you don’t want to reach out again.

And now even had to worry about random strangers at my door.

As I mentioned before, my work schedule was inhuman. I’d work morning, day, and night shift all within the span of a week. Sometimes, these would be 12-hour shifts with only 8-hours off in between. I never had a consistent sleep times.

And when I tried to sleep, I was kept awake by daytime noises, just the unease of being alone, and by having unstable neighbors who liked to sneak around near my house at night.

The work schedule and lack of sleep weren’t great for my grades. I was, of and on, taking classes full time. Or, I was trying to, but concentration was hard. I ended up getting sick and as a result of everything, failed an important class.

My dog got sick, needing medication multiple times per day. Then my cat got sick, and needed emergency surgery. I’d drag myself half asleep to vet appointments, try to find ways to make medication times fit work hours, setting alarms to wake myself up in the few hours I could sleep to give meds, and worried constantly about how I was going to pay for it all.

I spent most of my time indoors. The construction of our homes was very much not in my favor. The way they were designed, the neighbors could easily see from their windows when I was outside. Their bedroom window had a clear view over my fence and into my back yard. And their kitchen widow could see my driveway, so they always knew when I came or left. If they saw me outside, they’d shout from their windows or even come outside to confront me.

But my windows minded their own business. I couldn’t see their property from inside my house they way they could see mine. So I had no way of knowing if they were out there until I was already out my door. I had no way of avoiding them.

So I just. Stayed inside. I was exhausted anyway.

That garden project I wanted to start? Not happening now that my yard isn’t a relaxing place to be anymore.

My dog wants to play, but she’ll have to settle for chasing the ball inside.

The grass is getting long, but I can only manage a section at a time before I’m interrupted.

Eventually, it got hard to find the motivation to do much of anything at all. I hardly even saw the sun anymore.

I’m not saying that the neighbors alone pushed me to seriously google symptoms of depression. They weren’t that powerful, and I wouldn’t want to give them too much credit. I probably would have been feeling generally pretty low anyway.

But they were an extra source of stress that I did not need on top of everything else, and contributed to making my existing troubles worse.

I mush have looked pretty pathetic. I don’t care much for malls, but I dragged myself to one one day, and I wasn’t even sure why. I guess I just wanted to be away from my house. I bought a pair of pants I didn’t need just to justify the trip. This cashier, I didn’t even know her, came around the corner and hugged me. I didn’t tell her anything, but I guess she just knew I needed it.

I should be able to feel safe in my home, but this was stolen from me. I worried about what might come next. Maybe they’d damage my property. Maybe they’d hurt my dogs. Maybe they’d attack me in my driveway or break into my home. Maybe they’d send a stranger after me.

I couldn’t know.

But what I did know, is that I couldn’t live with this. No. I wouldn't live like this. I refused.

Time for a plan.

[mumofadaofficial-blog]

The Gap Filler

Firstly, a massive thank you to everyone that has read my first post! Your messages and comments have been overwhelming and you will never know how much it means to me to know that you all care enough to read our story - you guys are friggin amazing!! And I am so pleased to see that what I am doing seems to be helping or comforting others in some sort of way.

SO - last time I took you through Adas birth and getting her home. I touched very very briefly on the stressful time we had before Ada came off oxygen so I want to give you a run down on that. As traumatic as Adas entrance into the world was, life didn’t seem to get much easier for us and I think it almost completely fried my brain, but hey, we’re all crazy in one way or another right?!

Going back to KL hospital was an exstremely hard thing for me. The memories of what had happened there were still very fresh and very raw. Ultimately though, if it hadn’t of been for the team of people that initially worked on her, she wouldn’t be here today. So I sucked it up, put on my big girl pants and was ready to give it another chance. 

There was definitely a big difference to Norwich, mainly I would say communication issues that I’m hoping lessons have been learnt from now. From going through this I have realised that parents really need to be included and told what is happening every step of the way, something which I think can easily be overlooked. When your Childs life is in the hands of someone else you NEED to know what is happening. 

I don’t want to dwell too much on the things that were done wrong once we returned but it was a struggle and no parent should have to feel like they are battling with the providers of your Childs care - my advice would be to stand your ground, be strong, ask as many questions as you want and make sure you are happy with the answers and information given. 

I also think its important to remember that not all people take the same pride and care in their job as others do, so we always tried to make a point of thanking the people that went the extra mile for us. 

On the day that we were finally able to take Ada home we were not allowed to do so until she had undergone an MRI scan on her brain, we were told this was just routine. There wasn’t much explanation as to why. Instantly you think to yourself ‘omg, whats wrong?’ ‘Is there something wrong with her brain’ ‘is this routine or are they hiding something from me’ After doing research and asking questions, it is a routine thing to happen after a baby has been starved of oxygen at birth. Thankfully with Ada there was no signs of damage to her brain in the initial overview and this was then backed up by a specialist team at Nottingham (you still can’t stop your brain from thinking ‘what if?’ Whilst waiting to get those results back). After this she then had to have blood tests and a scan on her liver due to certain enzymes not being at an appropriate level. Without sounding thick, I didn’t even know what that meant and my head was just not processing anything properly. The information given to us on what would happen if it didn’t sort itself out was also very patchy. 

Now taking a new born home on oxygen is bloody tough, you find yourself confined to your bedroom or to the lounge, the rooms where we had the oxygen canisters. And you feel very restricted and trapped. So much so that I pretty much only went to my mum and dads or to Tesco if I was feeling super brave. Trying to get a baby out of the car is hard enough when you’ve never done it before, let alone having a back pack with oxygen in it too. Personally we felt that we couldn’t travel up north to see Nathans family as it would be too hard, so unfortunately people had to miss out. Trying to run a house when confined to those two rooms is very hard, that whole sleep whilst the baby sleeps is not even a real thing! When Ada was sleeping I wanted to do my washing, clean up, eat something or even just sit outside and have a coffee. Looking back, I wish I had relaxed a bit more and just thought fuck it! Those jobs were not going to please anyone but myself. Being easier on myself after having a c section would probably of been a better option and I shouldn’t of pushed myself to do so much when it was sometimes really hard to do so. Thankfully Nathan was a good team mate and I have lovely family and friends who all tried to keep me sane and help as much as possible in the process.

In order to assess how Ada was coping and trying to wean her off oxygen it meant having weekly 24hr assessments on an oxygen monitor at home. If you haven’t ever had any experience with one of these its a clever, annoying as shit, little machine that shows her oxygen saturation levels via a sensor on her foot. If they drop below 90 it makes the loudest most annoying bleep you’ve ever heard…great when you’ve just got her to sleep and shes moved and knocked her sensor off 🙄. They are used a lot on premature babies, however, Ada was a full term, strong bruiser of a baby who really enjoyed throwing her feet around and getting into massive strops! (I have absolutely no idea where she gets her attitude from?!) It soon became apparent that trying to get accurate readings from the machine with the amount of movement she was making was going to be hard. The machine would go back, data would be downloaded and the readings were not accurate enough due to movement. It felt like a constant ACCESS DENIED. Back to stage 1, which is really hard on your mental state and emotions when you are desperate to get your baby better. This would mean we would have to repeat the 24hr process and her oxygen level couldn’t be reduced, even though as her parents we knew she was ok and capable. I was left with no choice but to provide a written documentation of EVERY movement that made her sensor drop throughout the 24hr period, sometimes meaning I wouldn’t sleep just to be able to prove that she was doing well. We’re talking like mental person sending in four A4 pages of movements! This went on for weeks, the longer it went on, the stronger Ada was getting and the harder it was to get the readings. At the time she was also struggling with silent reflux which seemed to play up especially for us on the days she had her monitor on - thank god we have now found infant gaviscon!! 

As well as trying to cope with the oxygen there was a lot of different appointments at home, the hospital and doctors. Blood test for her liver enzymes again, health visitor, collecting oxygen monitor, hip scan, monitor again, physio, dropping monitor off, monitor again, dropping it off, another blood test, monitor again, health visitor, monitor again, immunisations, monitor again, physio, monitor again, consultant appointment, blood test, another hip scan, more immunisations, monitor again and physio - you get my drift and I’ve probably missed some out! Whilst all of these appointments were happening I was then having to chase for answers and information on the outcomes of all of these as the communication was very poor. But if you ask enough questions and make enough phone calls, eventually someone will answer you and you will find out what you need to know. Personally I don’t think it should have to be like that and it makes the situation a million times more stressful. But I do understand that staffing levels don’t always allow you to be the main concern and if your out of sight you can often be out of mind. 

Gradually throughout all of this and my crazy note writing Ada was weaned down off her oxygen one step at a time, then it was stopped in the daytime so she only had to go on it at night. 

Finally on the 27th of September we got the call that I had been longing to get! Adas consultant was happy for us to turn her oxygen off, completely! No messing around at night, no more changing plasters and making her face sore (making you feel like the worst person in the world), no more fighting to put her cannula up her nose and no more sleepless stressful nights with a monitor bleeping in your ear! I cried and then rang Nathan and cried a bit more, then I probably rang anyone else in my phone book that would answer, and you guessed it, cried some more. For once throughout this they were tears of happiness and relief. She had finally done it, our miracle baby had stuck her fingers up to the world and smashed it! In the words of the king that is George Michael ‘You got to have faith’ 😉 

Now, our only reason to go to the hospital is for extra immunisations against bronchiolitis, unpleasant, but better than her being hospitalised again or poorly. And for routine check ups with her consultant which will happen until Ada is 2. 

Deep breath for this part. 

The effect that this has had on me has been unreal, and although Ada is fighting fit it still isn’t easy. I was always quite ignorant to issues involving mental health and was one of those ‘just get on with it’ people. I’ve now realised that sometimes this just isn’t possible. When something in your life has been so traumatic and so stressful it can be really hard to deal with and process, my main concern was Ada and to worry about me later. It is also very easy for people to say ‘she’s fine now so don’t worry’ but you do (please don’t take offence if you have said this to me!).

Hiding your feelings and pretending everything is ok is not healthy for anyone, but to seek help was not something I was prepared to do until recently. I am by no means crazy, or a manic depressant but I do have my bad days. Days when things get to me and the stress takes over, flash backs, not being able to sleep because my brain won’t switch off, worrying that something will go wrong, being well and truly put off from having any more children, having to have full control of all situations, and for weeks, I fully blamed myself for what happened to Ada and believed that I should of known something was wrong and prevented the whole situation. I have felt in the past like I am not good enough, like I’m doing a shit job and like I can’t cope. I have struggled to speak about how I feel as I was worried I would be judged or people would think I was a shit mum or that I couldn’t look after Ada properly. I have also pushed help away as I feel compelled to be some sort of ‘super mum’ and that no one else should be doing my job. 

I still cannot talk about what happened without crying, and there isn’t a day go by when I don’t relive it at some point. I constantly look to see if Ada is developing as she should and is there any signs that something isn’t right, when I should just enjoy every moment. Living with me is probably a nightmare, Soz Nath, Mum and Dad - cheers for putting up with me 😘 Somedays I will snap at the smallest thing and overreact, whereas another day that same thing wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. 

I am a very private person when it comes to my feelings and I have always thought to show people the venerable side of me would make me seem weak, when in fact it does the opposite. From doing this and the responses I’ve had I now realise just how important it is to talk out and show everyone the old saying of ‘It’s ok not to be ok’. To write this down and tell you all what has happened is unbelievably difficult, yet very therapeutic and I strongly believe that if more people were to speak out about how they feel and the effect it has, then it wouldn’t be such a taboo subject. Because it most definitely shouldn’t be and anyone who says they haven’t had a full scale meltdown at some point is most probably lying to you. 

Ok, so might as well of just posted a naked picture of myself with the caption ‘HERE I AM’ after all that, but thats probably about as honest as you will find me. 

Amy x

[dontshootmespence]

Broken Homes Fix Broken Hearts

Chapter 19

So who else is loving Derek and Juliet as much as @veroinnumera and I? Let us know!

                                                            ------

“How many boxes can you possibly have?” Juliet asked incredulously, glancing all around her expansive living room at the copious amounts of crap Derek managed to bring with him. “I have never known a man with so much crap.”

Her sweet, badass boyfriend cut his eyes at her. “I have a lot of shirts and pictures of family and gym equipment...shut up! I have a lot of crap.”

Juliet snickered as she opened one of the boxes and saw a couple pictures from his mantelpiece. They were going to have to make a place for all of these pictures. This was his family - and hopefully in time, they’d be her family too. “It’s okay. I love you anyway.”

“Don’t even get me started,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You’re the one who practically proposed to me.”

“Shut up!”

                                                           ------

It had been three weeks since everything had fallen apart and back together again. Well, mostly back together. Derek was still suspended because of some stupid federal government bureaucrats who refused to take their heads out of their asses. He’d been keeping busy working on other renovations, helping her out at the library, and enjoying the first real break he’d gotten from work in years. He seemed happy, but it killed Juliet inside to know he wasn’t out there doing what he really needed to be doing. Somehow these idiots couldn’t see that they were sidelining their best player. Oh, yeah, they’d also been watching sports together and not to brag but her “lingo” was getting pretty great.

Right now he was downstairs making pancakes. The smell wafted all the way up to the second floor, providing enough motivation for Juliet to pull herself out of bed. She looked around for clothes, only to realize the only articles she could find belonged to him.

Juliet paused for a moment after slipping on one of Derek’s old Northwestern University T-shirts. He hadn’t gone home for a night since everything had happened with Carter. He’d slept in her room every single night. And it looked like his closet had essentially appeared in her room. His toothbrush was next to hers on the sink. His shoes sat beside hers at the front door. All the little things said that his life was here, with her.

Was she thinking what she thought she was thinking?

...She wanted Derek to move in. Officially. Oh wow, that’s a big step. Am I ready for that? Are we ready for that? What the hell am I saying? He disarmed a bomb for me and refused to leave my side even though it meant his certain death, of course we’re ready.

This was what she wanted.

Unequivocally.

After having pancakes with Derek, she told him she had a quick errand she needed to run, which was good for him because he had to meet up with his team to figure out where the bureaucratic bullshit was heading. Of course they were good little conservationists and showered together, saving the planet’s all important water before heading their separate ways.

Since Carter had reappeared and forever disappeared, she’d been a little extra nervous getting on with her daily routine, but on the opposing end, she knew she had Derek, who was literally ready to walk through fire for her. As long as he was hers, she’d be okay. She was sure of it.

The first few stops were easy; the local party supply store to get streamers and balloons, flowers from Andra’s (a bouquet of freesias which according to Spencer symbolized complete trust), and candles from the fancy little artisanal shop around the corner.

Then came the hard part: food. Juliet wasn’t much of a cook. Over the years she’d learned how to make a few very basic things, but she stuck to them like glue. Eggs, grilled chicken with vegetables, and a few others were staples she was very confident in. Unfortunately none of those were Derek’s favorite. As she’d learned a long time ago from the very first pizza they’d shared. Derek Morgan was a “meat man.” He also loved Mexican food. So that meant steak fajitas.

Juliet had never cooked a steak before. She’d seen it done on Food Network and in Youtube videos….but she’d never actually tried to do it herself before. But special occasions called for stepping up one’s game. And if a hunk of red meat stood between her and moving in with the man she loved, then she was going to cook the hell out of it.

Figuratively. She was fairly certain overcooked steak was bad.

A couple hours later, the key was made, the food was made and she was panicking. What if the food was awful? Screw it, we’ll order out. What if he says no? Again, what the fuck brain, he loves me. He saved my life.

With the rice and beans made and set out on the table and all of the fajita fixings set out buffett style, she tried one more small piece of the steak to make sure it was okay. It wasn’t chewy or tough. That was a good thing, right?

The streamers were in place. Flowers in the vase? Check. Balloons blown up? Check, check. Candles lit? Triple check. “Okay this is good,” she muttered to herself. “He’s not gonna say no. He loves you. It’s all good.”

She was taken aback when she heard his car pull up, unlocking the door and sitting at the table to wait for him. “Well, well,” he said; he was about to get his flirt on. “This is all for me?”

When she nodded, he replied, “Then I might have to return to favor one of these days. Or later on.” His over exaggerated wink made her snort with laughter. “You made fajitas!” He exclaimed, eyes going wide. “You do love me.”

“You know I do you dork.” Juliet smiled, glancing down at the floor nervously. “I made beans and rice too. And all the toppings are on the counter. I think this is the first time there’s ever been a tablecloth on this table and-” She cut herself off. Oh fuck I’m rambling.

She was rambling, and it was quite possibly the most adorable thing Derek had ever seen. “Everything alright?” He asked gently, sitting down and piling some fajitas onto his plate. He was listening attentively but this all looked too good not to start eating.

Juliet nodded, unable to help but laugh at the sight of him tearing into his food. He looked about five. To be fair though, she looked the same way around good food. Say something. Just start talking. But nothing came out. It was like she could see the words written down on flashcards inside her head but her voice wasn’t working.

Slowly, she pulled the key out of her pocket and tossed it hesitantly to him. Given her poor aim it fell onto his plate rather than landing in his lap. Apparently watching sports didn’t make someone better at throwing.

Derek picked it up off the plate, staring at it quizzically for a moment, glancing up at her for some sort of context.

“Your toothbrush is next to mine on the sink!” Juliet found herself blurting. Wait. That didn’t make any sense. Try again. “I-I mean...would you...maybe, possibly, want to move in here? With me?” She asked softly, voice faltering slightly as she met his gaze.

This was it.

For a split second, her brain told her she’d fucked this up, but then Derek smiled wider than she’d ever seen him smile before. “You want me to move in? Is that what all this was about? A dinner to get me to say yes?”

“Maybe?” Juliet said. Plausible deniability.

Grabbing the key, he placed it on his keyring and stood up, walking to the other end of the table and taking her mouth in a sweet but heated kiss. “You didn’t need to do all this to get me to say yes, but the answer is yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

“Anxiety.”

He snickered and kissed the tip of her nose. “Touche. Also, I had no idea you could cook.”

“Is the steak good? I’ve never cooked steak so I was hoping it didn’t suck.”

“It definitely didn’t suck.” Derek grinned

                                                           ------

“And you haven’t cooked for me since then.” He pointed out teasingly.

“That’s why I asked you to move in. So I could avoid cooking. It was all a ploy. I’m using you for your body and your culinary talents.” Juliet pushed back.

Derek came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Somehow I think I can find a way to be okay with that. In fact I love when you use me.” He whispered, trailing kisses down her neck.

She giggled, he was trying to be sexy which it was but it sounded straight out of a daytime soap opera and she couldn’t help but laugh.  

“Oh? So you think this is funny? I’ll show you funny.” He warned jokingly, before lifting her up onto the couch and starting a tickle attack.

“No! Please! I’m sorry!” Juliet gasped in between uncontrollable shrieks of laughter.

It felt good to be home.

@epiphanyys @crimeshowtrash @literallyprentissstwin @jazz91121 @jennferjareau @spencer-puppies-and-stuff @fl0werb0nes18 @stunudo @spencerthepipecleaner @theofficeofsupremegenius @ultrarebelheart @lookwhatyoumademequeue @lukeassmanalvez @mentallydatingspencerreid @nobravery @criminal-anatomy @matthew-gray-reidler @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @original-criminal-fanfics @lovelukealvez @stories-you-wont-hear @speedreiding @marvelfanlife @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars @wonderboygenius @spxcxrrxid @imagines-for-criminal-minds @acespence @sweater-vest-reid @criminalmindskeepsmealive @spenncerreiid @sam-carter-in-training @parker-hopper @spencerwreid @ssahotchner @profiler-in-training @were-skye @trollitis @heyboywonder @ficrecswithcassie @janiedreams88 @gingeraleandcontemplation @cynbx @fortheloveofspencerreid @tippy06 @cleocc @bestillmystuckyheart @ssaunitchief @xxm3xxj @xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo

[inhalareexhalare]

The menstrual cycle begins. I usually feel pain until the third day at most, but I can move just fine.

Slow, but with fight in it Like embers of honey

It scorches the eyes But is sweet to the palm

Did you know by the way? The faster and the hotter you heat honey, the more you reduce its nutritional value. So yes, while it has a very warm color, its temperature is usually not the same :)

2018-10-23 10:00 Philippines Tuesday

My daytime journal has been discontinued due to its tendency to take over my whole identity. I somewhat live [a double life], you could say, and I am now exploring my nighttime psyche.

This is my heartfelt "letter" to @neweresth​ (CHECK OUT neweresth IN YOUR DASHBOARD BTW IT WILL ROCK YOUR DORMANT WORLD), who inspires me to keep learning and discover my photographic sense.

True enough, this nighttime journal has been a very big compilation of crunchy insights to my deep-deep-down subconscious, which in my opinion takes a big bite off the whole pie of what makes the self.

I've been anxious about how to teach for a time now. It's like a secret calling, a secret dream that I have that I quietly—and secretly—shut off every time it resurfaces.

The reason is my ineptitude with socializing. Communication, especially verbal, has always been hard for me.

My English teachers throughout my school life (and even outside its premises) have doubted my authorship of countless papers I've written, all due to the fact that I navigate speech poorly, yet apparently write eloquently enough above my age.

That has discouraged me from honing my lesser swords. The possibility of never growing out of anything.

But that's bullshit.

I write because I love. I write because I want to communicate. Communicate!

I write for no one else other than for the truths that live inside me, and they are written for no one else but others who could do with a genuine story that cares about their beautiful and suffering minds.

I am socially inept. I am antisocial, by the world's standards. But that doesn't change what I write for.

I write to learn.

Likewise I will teach to learn.

Maybe I am bad at it. Maybe it takes talent.

But nothing good has ever touched and transformed hearts and minds other than that which has originated from those very things.

Talent is a gift indeed.

But heart even more so; it is both curse and privilege.

The pain that makes us human. The agony that teaches us what is real. The happiness that guides us to what is worth living for.

If I had all power, and all talent, all knowledge, and all beauty. If I had all riches, and all the admiration, and fame, and number of friends--

If I have not love, I am nothing.

PS I really do love movies. If you’re an aspiring writer, or a writer with fluctuating inspiration, do watch The Rewrite. Check out  1 Corinthians 13:2

“And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.” 

2018-10-23 18:07 Philippines Tuesday

"Keenness, spontaneity, and trusting the moment..."

I entered the room to discover a Thor exploring the wonders of my film-filled laptop.

I took my favorite Nuyorican Poets Cafe book to read and learn. Stepped out to the living room filled with people and stretched my legs to feel at home on the couch. I made a re-friend! :) Yana approached me and asked about the book.

I didn't know she was interested in prose and poetry! She also writes snippets here and there sometimes. I told her to collect them.

I asked for recommendations, since strangely enough, even though I like to write I don't have a wide background when it comes to poetry from the celebrated and the local poets alike.

I don't know why I didn't read them sooner.

Keep learning!

2018-10-23 19:31 Philippines Tuesday

To Karu:

Sorry for imposing on you last night. I just really do value good sleep. I don't know about you but I can't workout without it, and it also affects the general mood and brain function.

I still don't know what to do about it. Everyone seems to enjoy not sleeping at night, but I don't feel like conforming to it especially since I see its daily effects on me. You can actually join stuff like that if you like. I was thinking that we both need sleep desperately, but I realized that I might have been forcing/pressuring you to go to bed.

Though I do request to have no guests in the late night of this approaching Saturday. I'm going to need tons of energy and also an early alarm since I will be called for work (thank God they allowed me to go to church first)

(Even if I did only request it, that doesn't change what it might have felt to you. So again, I apologize if a part of you was in unease or anything.)

I love you

[25 minutes later]

I would like to kiss you all over, but that will rouse you from sleep.

I love you, and I love you to death.

2018-10-24 06:21 Philippines Wednesday

From Isla:

"My tita and tito from [the] US are here in the PH right now

"and they said im too young to be in a relationship.

"and gave this vibe like......don't be in one right now.

"i really appreciate the love and support from them ofc

"it's just....medj na-down ako lol" [I was a bit downhearted lol]

To Isla:

I'm assuming they aren't free thinkers, your aunt and uncle hahaha

They probably are right, but if you think about it that observation is only relative to an imaginary concept which is the future

In my opinion, no one is too old, and no one is too young. It's never too late, and it's never too early

There's only now, and a moment's opportunity to come to a decision

There's only now, and a moment's commitment to be true to who you are at this point in time

Only what is existent after all counts as truth :) the future is yet to happen, and both possible and unlikely

Entrusting the sense of reality to tomorrow, in other words, a question mark seems illogical to me

The BEAUTIFUL book you gave me about the deaf-mutes gave me this idea

The future is not a universal or "natural" concept

[Check out Seeing Voices by Oliver Sacks]

And the past is not more real than a memory is. And we all know how nearly inexistent memories are. That's all they are--memories.

From Isla:

"Those are beautiful thoughts. :)

"Reading it really helped me.

"I'm thankful that i have you in my life."

[An hour later]

"Did other people tell you the same thing before? if you don't mind me asking

"Have you ever been so hard on yourself one time in your life, and eventually you stopped it?

What did you do to overcome it?"

To Isla:

Personally, it takes me a continuous amount of effort to stand up against the self-hatred. Some say it's a lifelong sickness we have as humans, and it seems true to me

(also, writing heals both the writer, and hopefully the reader, so it's mutually a good thing, hopefully hahaha)

It's like the motivation to commit to a vocation

It's not natural to be motivated at every moment of your life, but we seek to make it a habit

Habits form the shape that our thoughts and feelings take. Like my nighttime anxiety. It was developed because I gained the habit of thinking that I am alone and abandoned every time these factors come together: it is nighttime, and I am physically alone

I unconsciously associate the scenery with something from the past that reminds me of a similar situation, but is actually entirely different

In fact it dates back to the time I was still very close to my mother. We still loved each other as I grew up, but not too close as to always be hugging every chance we get

It dates back to when I was a little girl of age 5 at most (since the scenes were from my Atimonan home, and we left that when I entered elementary)

Habits don't die on their own. They cannot be thrown away just like that. But, they can be replaced

If I can create a little nighttime routine, even just cue words or a little ritual, that could change a lot. I just need consistency because some nights I'm too tired and I forget to pray or to practice deep breaths and stuff. And when I find myself alone again, it starts all over; I get anxious as hell

So maybe the first step before changing your habits would be to forgive yourself

We are imperfect, at that is incurable. But we have the potential for growth, and that is at least forgivable. We can learn from our mistakes, so we shouldn't let ourselves down from them.

They are there to give us two options: give up, or try again.

Changing a habit is probably going to take more tries than my fingers can count, but hey we're still alive and breathing, so I presume Life is willing to give us as many chances as we need in a lifetime

Failure is unfortunate, but failure is an important mark of what truly matters to you.

If it's worth more than the self-obsessive need to be successful, and if it means your life and your calling and a better world, it's at least worth trying again, no? :)

When people bring you down, they could be there for a good reason, and that's not to bring you down. Maybe that's hardly what they wanted to do in the first place.

We need to learn to assert our own beliefs and stand up to them. Maybe they think it's all just a whim because they don't understand yet how it matters to you, and what it means to grow up.

Growing up means making mistakes (your relationship is not necessarily a mistake haha), getting up, and learning something new.

Learning something new always requires a new experience.

Learning something new always means stepping out of your comfort zone and into unknown territory.

If you end up hurt, that's fine, we're here for you. What's important is that the lessons are not lost. What you learn is what you grow out into.

So don't ever stop learning. :)

Learn to stand up for what you believe in.

Don't be afraid to share what you have learned!

But never impose beyond your personal right to live. Nothing teaches an individual more than a personal experience.

We each take our own paths, and each take our own lessons in life, in forms that we are ready to understand.

And if advice or conversation cannot help your case with them, then you've done your part.

All you need to do is live your life and live it honestly enough for it to speak for itself

2018-10-24 07:00 Philippines Wednesday

[acabloe]

Soon Goodbye, Now Love: chapter six

new ppl who r just seeing this it’s a guardian angel A/U

find all the parts here ☟

Ao3   ff.net

tw’s: swearing, mentions of depression and anxiety, loss of memory

still based on this song lol

here is the moodboard for ambience purposes if you’re that kind of kid

a/n: its been very long yada yada please just tell me if you want the next chapter because im stuck in au land, if you would prefer a Jane Austin au literally ill drop everything 

once the lights go out

Higher City, Angel Habitat/Complex - 2:45 AM

Half an hour post-transportation and five hours after Chloe’s accident.

Beca stumbled on her footing as she grasped around the edge of the doorframe, looking for a switch or a pull to shed light into the pitch-black space that expanded beyond the doors of her residence for the next who-knew-how-long.

Her neck whined in an aggravating crick from sitting hunched over Chloe’s bedside for so long and her mind was mushed from the weight of stress, overtiredness, excessive adrenaline usage and above all else, of course--grief. The only thing keeping her from collapsing on the ground in the doorway of this small concrete hallway and weeping herself to sleep was the sentence she continued to recite to herself repetitively under her breath: “Chloe’s alive, everyone’s safe, you’ll be okay.”

She far from even entertained the possibility that the last part was rest assured, but the act of mouthing it repetitively had a numbing effect on her currently fragile mental stamina.

After fumbling for a few seconds, she huffed in exasperation and gave up trying to find a switch. Sleep was the only thing she had the brains to carry out. Deliberation over everything else that had transpired in the past four hours would be performed when her brain was a just little further away from falling apart.

The man at the front desk of the grey building had given her a small but heavy and lumpy grey drawstring rucksack before dropping her off alone in the dingy hall of her new quarters. She set it down by her feet now, using it to prop open the thick black door to let as much light into the room as possible.

Hands outstretched, she shuffled inside and waited until her eyes adapted to the murky black interior. It took a few seconds but eventually the slight outlines of shapes faded into view and she finally spotted what she assumed was a thin standing-lamp in the corner. She stepped blindly towards it and jumped backwards a little when it suddenly flickered on, sensing her hand in the air a few inches before it.

The space was little more than a closet. Beca had little mind to care, too exhausted to be grumpy. Besides, it was pretty comfortable considering her own size. The walls and ceiling were simply white-washed cement and there was a foot by foot square to serve as a window at the farthest wall from the door, though it had little to no effect at this time of the night. She wondered briefly about the concept of daylight here and if there even was sun or moonlight. The sparse furniture was a bed, an old wooden sea-trunk, and a tiny porcelain sink in the corner. Beca placed her rucksack in the trunk and sank onto the stiff but not wholly uncomfortable pallet, lacking any sufficient drive in her to take anything off, including her shoes, or even get under the soft linen sheets. Her eyes fell shut and the relief of deep sleep ebbed impending in her mind’s eye.

Yet her head pounded and her heart still fluttered at a sickening pace under her ribs. She found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes closed; the image of Chloe, pale and fragile in such a battered state after the accident, had etched itself clearly behind her eyelids. Her breathing was difficult to regulate (she was unsure if this was due to her thinking so deeply on the act of regulating it, or an actual physical anxious reaction) and the room was uncomfortably cold.

She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. Everything was gone. Everything she and those she loved had worked so hard to build from so little was over and erased without trace. She had trudged heavily from wholly miserable to the happiest she had ever been without ease and certainly not in good time. All of that happiness. Up and gone like passing something eye-catching for its possible beauty in the sand on the beach, but upon running back to find it, its existence is nothing more than imagined.

A distinct memory faded into view. It was more of a moving image (a gif, so to speak) than a memory, but she could hear distant and muffled voices as if she were standing outside the door of a closed cinema to a movie she wasn’t familiar with.

The image was of her and Chloe in their late teens resting under a filter of broken apricot sunset through a canopy of birch leaves shimmering above their heads. Chloe’s head rested on Beca’s shoulder as she ripped up the grass beneath her, spreading it over Beca’s legs like dirty confetti.

She didn’t remember the scene as such. She only knew that it felt real. And that it ached her chest and throat and burned her eyes with the threat of tears.

Now she could no longer withhold the prickling tears and shuddering sobs and resolved that if tiring herself out would be the only route she would be able to take towards a somewhat restful night, she would charge down its’ course at a thousand miles per hour, foot stomped on the gas pedal.

She stretched and bided in the memory as deeply as she could.

Her sobs reverberated softly in the small stone room.

Underneath this, a soft irregular ticking noise sounded from above and outside her window. She ignored it. As it got louder she recognized it to be rain, heavy and sheeted. This prodded her curiosity just enough; still shaking, she stood from the bed and wobbled over to the hand-sized window. Sure enough, though it was dark outside, blue light from a nearby pathway lamp lit up tiny cascading waterfalls down the thick pane.

“How fucking ironic,” she whispered.

-

Chloe called in sick the next day to work. She wasn’t positive why, she simply knew that the exasperation of her most mundane course of existence would eventually wear whatever mere being she had left into the shell of a personality akin to that of a tired old cat.

The events of the past two days had stirred in her a sort of awakening for what it felt like to experience happenstances outside of her citadel of repetitive routine and emotional hibernation. Though it was not the most merry or enjoyable topics to mull over, she found herself wrapped in reflection often and began finding a need to force herself not to dwell on it so much as not to overthink to the point of obsession.

The urge to constantly check in on her odd rescue-project was difficult to quash but necessary. Chloe reminded herself that her relationship was barely visible with this human being--all she had done was let her stay the night and drive her into the city. They had barely even conversed. Still, the event had shaken her, and she had little else to think about. She convinced herself to only inquire into Beca’s situation in two days time when she was sure Beca had become a little more settled. She was confident that Flo was good hands and that she would care for her guest appropriately, especially since now she would be living above the cafe.

Except that Chloe found a bracelet resting on the coffee table by her couch that wasn’t hers. So she kind of had to go back to the cafe. Kind of.

-

It had taken the entire remainder of the day and most of the next to finally situate Beca into a somewhat habitable situation. After Chloe had left, Flo closed up early and she and her new employee spent several hours behind the counter and in the bakery as she showed her the ropes. Beca was happy to see how surprised and pleased Flo was at Beca’s natural agility and skill around the oven and the baked goods. Flo easily taught her to bake the four most popular pastries, specific to her family’s recipes, and how to make four of the simplest drinks on the menu to start out, as well as her way around the cash register. As the day came to a close, they left the cafe to rush their way through several more monotonous but still critical errands like setting up both a bank account and a small, temporary mobile phone. They stopped at Flo’s apartment a few doors down from the cafe before calling it a night and Flo piled Beca’s arms with enough food to last for a week or so. The following morning, Beca set out on her own to blunder her way through a T.J.Maxx and a shopping center to find some clothes that were--well, some clothes. Once she returned to the cafe they worked a little past 6:00 which came oddly fast (her orientation of time and its passing were still muddled and the work at Flo’s came naturally to her.)

Succeeding the whirlwind of toil they had conducted over the past two days, Flo expeditiously suggested that a trip downtown was in order and after twenty minutes of walking briskly through the chill of the celebratory evening, the pair dropped into two rotating stools in a colorfully-lit bar home to some very happy and boisterous company. It had been so long since Beca had had any alcohol, so she ordered the most obnoxious drink on the menu and four jello shots to split between them.

“So, first real day back! How are you feeling?”

Beca sipped her syrupy cocktail and grimaced at the unaccustomed flavor of alcohol.  

“I don’t know. Everything’s kinda’ blurry right now, but my brain is sort of slacking off a little in the staying-awake-during-the-regular-daytime department. The time difference is so much more insane than when you swap from different time zones on earth ‘cause there are an extra four hours of daytime and an extra two of night. There aren’t sunsets either, the sky just goes black for a while which is actually really depressing.”

“Wait, so, do you have, like, powers or anything? Can you fly? You don’t have a halo, right?” Beca again decided to refrain from divulging her distressing ordeal concerning her glowing appendages. She had blissfully forgotten about that situation until Flo had mentioned powers, which threw her in a temporary whirlpool of apprehensive unease.

“Not really, and no, I can’t fly. I mean, I can kinda’ tell when something is wrong with whoever I’m guarding, and I can slow down time by a couple of seconds, but that takes so much energy and I can only use it in emergencies. And you know about bringing the memories back, but that’s only if the memories have been taken away by heaven. They mostly spent time training us how to deal with any situation; so like, CPR, difficult-situation negotiation tactics, advanced martial arts and stuff.”

“Oh. That is boring.”

“Yeah, kind of.” Beca sipped her drink again which was less foul the second round, but still jarring.

“So how does this-” She gesticulated vaguely at Beca’s body which she understood as metaphorical- “work anyways?”

“Oh, well after you die, you can request to be a guardian and they put you through this huge crash course for protecting a human. After training you’re assigned one person to guard on earth for their whole life, starting whenever heaven thinks that person needs the most guidance. Sometimes that means bumping into them and becoming best friends with them or marrying and growing old with them. Sometimes you never even meet them in person, just help them from afar. You do what heaven dictates is best for them, so no complicated attachments. When they die, your memory is replaced in the mind of everyone you’ve ever met as someone else, so no one will recognize you when you go back to earth and you get sent back to heaven and reverted to the age you died to start with another assignment. You can never, um, retire or whatever, and apparently you can only stop once you’ve worn out your brain. And then they, you, know, cease you ‘cause you’re no good to them anymore.”

“Shit.” Flo had sat through staring at the dark brick wall behind the bar with a blank expression enunciating her contemplation of what Beca had revealed.

“‘Shit’ is right. I guess it sounds kind of cool when I describe it, but when I thought I was actually going to have to do it for, like, thousands of years, I was really fuckin’ bummed, dude.”

“Understandable. But you hacked the heaven system, how does that work?”

“Yeah, hacked, or something. I don’t even know if they’ll be able to tell. They’re supposed to be able to connect with their angels but I severed that attachment when I changed my assignment. I think they-” Flo brought Beca’s expatiations to an abrupt halt, holding up her palm to signify silence and raising her phone to her ear, an apologetic glance tossed in Beca’ direction.

“Chloe! Hi! What’s up?” Speak of the devil. Beca squirmed a little on her stool at the sound of Chloe’s voice on the other end. She couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but she didn’t sound particularly troubled. Even so...

“Oh, okay. We’re at a bar downtown right now…uh huh. Yeah, she is all settled, we finished a few hours ago.”

Flo removed her phone from her ear and hid it under her chin to bring her attention to Beca. “She says she has a bracelet of yours?”

“Oh, um. I guess? I don’t really remember having one but-”

“She says it is not hers.”

“No, Flo, I said it might be.”

“Okay...it is hers. You can drop it off at the café. Anything else?”

Beca seized Flo’s phone from her grasp. “Will you give us a sec’ Chloe?” She placed it on mute.

“Hey! What?!” Flo scrambled and stretched, trying desperately to reclaim her confused friend on the other end of the line, but Beca held it out of her reach, exasperated.

“Flo, why are you being like this?!”

Flo sighed heavily off of an exaggerated voiced inhale and rested her hands on Beca’s arm. Beca grew uncomfortable with the sudden sincerity in her voice.

“Okay, listen. Beca, I know you did not come back for the Bellas. I know you just came back for Chloe. I think you really need some time to adjust on earth before you do anything rash. I don’t think you should be getting too close to her and I think that you are idealizing your situation. Por el amor de Dios, Chloe doesn’t even know who you are! You need to slow your ass down, girl! We have the Bella reunion soon. You can wait that long at least.”

Beca chewed on her lip thoughtfully. This was the first vocal confirmation of what she had been refraining from thinking over fully past the whispered voice of reason behind a closet door barely ajar in the very recesses of her mind. For the thousandth time that day she swallowed the reflection of how careless and hasty her actions had been.

Beca had never dwelled so long and hard over someone or something as she had over Chloe whilst in heaven. Only her mother’s death came as remotely close a subject to how ruthlessly Beca obsessed (Obsess - used very much in the dictionary sense; not lightly. See also; beset, consume, haunt, etc.) over Chloe and her accident. Considering this, a complete and detailed plan would definitely make sense in this context; however, obsession to this point considers little factual influence in a non-idealized, material world. Hence, Beca’s rash behavior and her reactions to Chloe in palpable physical situations.

“Okay... maybe you’re right. I guess I was really weighing everything on Chloe liking me for me, and not all the stuff we shared in the past, you know? Sorry about not saying anything about it, and I really am so happy to see you. I love you so much. All of you. Please don’t think I didn’t come back for you guys. You mean everything to me, we’re family. I just, you know... Please schedule the reunion soon?”

“Yes. Fine, I will.” Beca slowly retracted her arm and placed the phone in Flo’s expectant (but now softened and more sympathetic) outstretched palm. She unmuted the call.

“Hi, Chloe, sorry about that, drunk asshole was bothering us. You can bring the bracelet to the reunion. By the way, do we have some dates for that yet? Aubrey should be here this month, right? Yes. No, uh-huh. Okay great, perfect, text the group-chat about it? Okay, bye!” She hung up and grinned at Beca. “Two weeks, as long as everyone is free!”

“Ugh, dude what am I gonna’ do in the meantime?”

“Well, I know that you only came back for-,” Beca threw her a glare and Flo surrendered, hands in the air. “Sorry, right, a couple reasons, and it is all you have got your heart set on, but you need to take a few steps back. I have to say Beca, you really didn’t plan this very well. You need to establish a solid base here because this is your life now. You may be an angel, but if you think about it, I am, like, definitely a saint for doing all this for you.”

Beca flipped her off and returned to wincing down the copious amounts of fluid she had spent an annoying amount of cash on.

“For real though, you’re right. And I really... appreciate everything you’re doing for me Flo, it means a lot.” Flo smiled and nodded.

-

Perhaps if Chloe hadn’t felt so out of place, she would have asked Flo to let her join the girls at the bar. But for some reason, something about the phone call and the whole situation whispered a sense of exclusion -- well intentioned or not, she couldn’t tell. She hadn’t felt this socially anxious in a while. Her mental health was not even anything she had thought about in depth for a few years and she had long ago passively accepted the concept that with age came dampened emotions, and that such was a perfectly natural sequence. If nothing would ever give her real pleasure again, so be it.

Another walk. Another achingly familiar song. Another foot in front of the other. Another fifteen minutes later and she stood in front of a deep, deep dark pond, rocky banks powdered with grey-blue frost. The water reflected with the perfection of a mirror the nothingness of the ashy sky.

Chloe now stared into this nothingness -- the sort of staring where everything at once is what those who are staring can see, but they aren’t looking, just seeing and thinking. She stood, leaning slightly in a gentle trance as she remembered the time she had dived into this same water. She had choked and snorted through her nose as she had come up for air and swallowed some accidentally. A friend on the bank had been slumped over in hysterics at her fruitless efforts to cease wheezing and laughing and coughing and yelling at her friend to stop. In her mind she imagined that it was Beca who sat beside the water giggling at her. Stupid and weird that you’d think of her, she thought, but she couldn’t properly remember who it had really been, and the image of Beca fit comfortably well in the situation.

She closed her eyes and settled deeper into the memory, in place but outside of time. In vein, she tried to remember who had actually been there to witness the moment. She couldn’t even remember when it had happened. This was not a memory she had thought about in...well, truthfully, she had completely forgotten about it since it had happened. The age of the memory prevented her from remembering details. Only present, was the sweet feeling of the moment, a honey-like residue, resting delicately in her conscious.

She was now fully trying to convince herself, however, that Beca had not been there. She finally shook her head as if to dislodge the memory and sharply inhaled cold air, opening her eyes to see, hunched over on the side of the banks with chin rested on knees, none other than the subject of her specious nostalgia. Chloe blinked several times and recognized the figure to be but a log, dark and rubbed to clump from weather and wear. Now freaking herself out she rose swiftly and promptly speed walked for her home, holding herself firmly from looking around for fear of misreading another inanimate object.

She wasn’t there, obviously she wasn’t there. Just someone who reminds me of her, or looks like her. Obviously.

[ellymackay]

4 Ways Lockdown Changed Sleep, for Better and Worse—and What to do Next

The article 4 Ways Lockdown Changed Sleep, for Better and Worse—and What to do Next Find more on: The Elly Mackay Blog

Since the earliest days of the coronavirus, scientists have been furiously at work studying its characteristics, searching for treatments and ultimately a vaccine, and investigating its effects—including on sleep. There’s been research that suggests melatonin might have some protective benefits, helping to mitigate the severity of Covid-19 ( in animal models). Researchers are examining the effects of social isolation, economic upheaval, stress and uncertainty on our nightly rest. 

We’re (mostly) on the other side of a months-long lockdown, and scientific research has begun to reveal ways that broad social quarantine has affected our sleep. This won’t be the last we learn about the effects of this unprecedented global upheaval on sleep. But research now begins to point to specific sleep challenges—and some silver linings around sleep in the age of coronavirus. 

Here are 4 things we’ve learned so far about what’s happened to our sleep since lockdown, with some advice about how to put this information to work for your sleep, going forward.

Some of us are getting more sleep since lockdown 

That’s one of the takeaways from two just-released (and separate) studies, both published in the journal Current Biology. These studies contain several interesting findings which I’ll talk about. 

One study by scientists at the University of Boulder analyzed the sleep of a group of 139 university students, comparing data collected about their sleep before lockdown to new data collected after lockdown, when students left campus and classes went virtual. Scientists found a large majority of these young adults sleeping more during lockdown than they had been before. Pre-lockdown, 84% said they were sleeping 7 or more hours a night. During lockdown, that number rose to 92%. Sleep in this group increased an average of 30 minutes during the weeknights, and 25 minutes on weekend nights. 

It’s noteworthy that this additional sleep didn’t involve going to bed earlier. The students actually went to bed LATER during lockdown, and got up later. This makes sense when you recognize that nearly all college-age adults are Wolves. Late bedtimes and wake times are right in sync with their bio rhythms. Some adults (like me) stay Wolves throughout their lives. Others, after the age of 25 or so, will shift to Lions, Bears, and Dolphins. 

What’s a WOLF? (Don’t know your bio type yet? Take my quiz here.) 

Another just-published study, conducted across 3 European nations, included more than 400 sleepers. This study also found people sleeping more at night than before stay-at-home became a reality for most of us. 

What next: If you’re a person whose sleep increased during lockdown, that’s great! There are a few important things for you to consider. 

Were you sleep deprived before lockdown and not aware of it? Odds are the answer to this question is YES. Many people are too busy and too stressed to assess their sleep accurately. A lot of us become quite used to the impact of sleep deprivation on our thinking, our emotions, our energy levels. Take some time to reflect on what’s different about your life with some additional sleep—and take that new awareness of sleep’s importance with you as you move forward. I just wrote about how most Americans are waking up exhausted. Sleep deprivation is most definitely NOT a problem that began for most of us in just the past few months. 

How is your sleep QUALITY? I’ll be talking about what scientists are learning of sleep quality during the pandemic in just a minute. The big takeaway to know is this: the benefits of more sleep can’t compensate for poor quality sleep. You need both sufficient amounts of sleep and sound, refreshing sleep to feel and function your best. 

Are you sleeping TOO MUCH? There is no single amount of sleep that’s right for everyone. But there is definitely such a thing as too much nightly snoozing. Oversleeping—the medical term is hypersomnia –can bring about real health consequences, as I’ve written about before. 

But wait…are we REALLY sleeping more since lockdown? 

Careful readers will have noticed that I said, “some of us are sleeping more since lockdown.” The reality is, we don’t have enough data to know where sleep amounts have been trending overall since the pandemic began. Plenty of anecdotal evidence suggests that some people are struggling with less sleep since lockdown. And there’s some preliminary research to back this up, including this recent study that included slightly more than 1,000 adult sleepers between the ages of 18-79. Among them, a very slight majority—53%–said they were sleeping less since lockdown orders went into effect in most parts of the US in March. 

I’m particularly interested in seeing how this breaks down by age and also gender. Individual lives have been very differently affected by the pandemic, and by lockdown and other social measures taken to address the virus. A 20-year old college student (see above) might have an easier time finding extra sleep time during lockdown than a middle-aged parent who’s homeschooling and working from home. A retired older adult might have their daily routine less affected than a millennial who’s gone from working in an office and socializing on the town. 

What next: If you’re among the people whose nightly sleep duration decreased during lockdown, keep in mind you’re not alone, and there’s no competition here—you’re not “losing” at sleeping during lockdown. But you are losing sleep that you need. To remedy this, start by looking in the areas where your life has changed the most since the pandemic started. Maybe you used to hit the gym after work. The absence of that late day exercise might be affecting your ability to sleep, so try taking a good long walk before dinner. Maybe your kids’ at-home-all-the-time schedule have you folding laundry at 11:30 p.m., when you used to be sleeping peacefully. Get the kids to help—or let the laundry sit until the next day. Same applies to all the chores that lead you to stay up past your optimal bedtime. If your routines haven’t changed much but your sleep has, take a close look at your stress. Here’s what I wrote recently about how stress and sleep are related. If lockdown added a whole bunch of new or different responsibilities to your day, too many to identify just one, then think about what one or two responsibilities you can remove from your plate, in order to allow more time for sleep. You’ll get more done, faster, when you’re rested. 

The quality of sleep has taken a nosedive 

Recall I mentioned above how you can’t have just plentiful sleep—it must also be high-quality sleep? Here’s the flipside of the news about people sleeping more during lockdown. It appears that even among people who started getting more sleep during the weeks and months of stay-at-home, their sleep quality suffered. Some of the same recent studies that showed increased sleep duration showed a decline in the quality of sleep. This investigation of a European population found that sleep quality grew worse during lockdown, with more people having problems falling asleep and staying asleep through the night. And while a small majority of people reported their sleep duration has increased, a much larger majority of people in this study reported that their sleep quality was better before lockdown began. 

There are several reasons why sleep quality might have been compromised during lockdown, and might still be a challenge: 

Stress. No surprise here. There’s been a massive uptick in stress over the past several months. Increased stress is almost certain to interfere with sleep. Here’s my recent article on how stress and sleep interact, and ways you can reduce stress to improve sleep. 

Lack of exercise. Most people I know—my friends, my patients, my colleagues—try hard to stay fit and physically active. So many exercise routines got put on pause during lockdown, and you might not have found your footing again yet. Missing out on exercise will diminish sleep quality—and you’re especially prone to feel this if you’d been working out regularly before lockdown and had to stop suddenly. 

Changes to diet. They don’t call it eating your feelings for nothing. Stress and emotional upheaval can change appetite and send us running for the starchy, sugary foods that comfort us (thanks, in part, to their triggering of spikes in the calming, feel-good hormone serotonin). Those same foods are likely to contribute to restless, less refreshing sleep. This is especially true if you’re eating lots of these foods AND eating them at night, close to bedtime. Here are food mistakes that can really undermine your bedtime routine—and here’s why scheduling time for daily, intermittent fasting may help your waistline and your nightly rest. 

Bad dreams and nightmares. Quaren-dreaming was a real phenomenon—and may still be for many people. Early on in the pandemic, we saw studies showing significant rise in nightmares and stress dreams. Active, intense, disruptive dreaming will interfere with how well you rest at night. 

What next: A few important steps everyone can take. First, bring your awareness to your sleep, and do a real, honest inventory of how it’s going. Include your daytime energy, mood, and degree of fatigue in that assessment. Just because you don’t remember waking up throughout the night doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. Your daytime functioning is an important blueprint for sleep quality. 

You’re likely to find at least one if not several causes for your poor sleep on this list I’ve given you, above. Identify the triggers that have created new sleep problems—or, as is likely the case for many people, exacerbated sleep problems that already existed, pre-lockdown. If your own adjustments and attention don’t bring about improvements after a few weeks, reach out to your physician for guidance and consider working directly with a sleep specialist. 

Sleep schedules may be more routine than before 

There’s some preliminary research that suggests lockdown may have increased the consistency of sleep schedules. Those college students from the UC Boulder study? They not only reported getting more sleep, they also reported sleeping on more regular schedules than before lockdown. (Remember, they went to bed later and got up later. I’ll come back to this in a minute.) Something similar was true for the pan-European group of sleepers who were recently studied. They also were found to be sleeping on more regular schedules, in addition to be sleeping more overall. What’s happening here? Seems pretty clear that lockdown freed many people from social jetlag—the fatigue and sleep deprivation that results from a mismatch between a person’s individual optimal sleep-wake schedule and the schedule that society demands us to adhere to. Lockdown brought about a suspension of those society-wide schedules for most people, and offered more flexibility in daily routines. 

It makes perfect sense to me that this would lead directly to a more consistent sleep schedule. That’s because with newfound flexibility, many people will have naturally gravitated toward sleeping more in line with their bio rhythms—like those college students who went to bed later and got up later during lockdown. Wolves prefer late nights and are averse to early mornings. I’ll bet there are Lions out there who are going to bed before its dark outside during these long, June days! 

Consistency is the cornerstone of a healthy sleep routine. The more regular your sleep schedule, the easier you’ll fall sleep, and the sounder your sleep will be. (Less waking up restlessly during the night.) You’ll be sharper and have more energy for all you need to do during the day. And you’ll be reinforcing the same bio rhythms that keep your sleep-wake schedule on track and keep your body functioning at its best. 

What next: Lean into your chronotype right now, and for the long haul (www.chronoquiz.com). If your sleep schedule has become more routine, that’s great. Put effort and attention toward maintaining this new schedule as your routines continue to evolve and change. And don’t stop with sleep schedules. Your chronotype can point you toward the optimal times to do just about everything, from leading a team meeting to going for a run to having sex. I wrote about how we can use our bio types to minimize disruption and maximize health and performance during these uncertain times. 

Sweet Dreams, 

Michael J. Breus, PhD, DABSM

The Sleep Doctor

www.thesleepdoctor.com

The post 4 Ways Lockdown Changed Sleep, for Better and Worse—and What to do Next appeared first on Your Guide to Better Sleep.

from Your Guide to Better Sleep https://thesleepdoctor.com/2020/06/30/4-ways-lockdown-changed-sleep-for-better-and-worse-and-what-to-do-next/

from Elly Mackay - Feed https://www.ellymackay.com/2020/06/30/4-ways-lockdown-changed-sleep-for-better-and-worse-and-what-to-do-next/

[sending-the-message]

The Proposition by JD-McGregor

My fate was already sealed before the curtains drew. Sickness had already set in.

Suspended lights turned and curled inwards. Center stage became fully illuminated. There, standing in the middle of his fellow first graders was Jeffrey. My Jeffrey. The son who had made me so proud when he first told me he landed the lead role in the school play.

No father was meant to feel ill at a time like this. Yet, for me, sitting in the rows of seats lined up on the gymnasium floor with the other parents, it felt inevitable.

Jeffrey took a couple steps forward. He stood alone, ahead of the other children. He began to recite the lines I had helped him rehearse just a few hours earlier.

At first, I heard his words clearly.

"In the beginning," he said. "There were only a few of us."

I mouthed the words along with him silently. With deliberate attention to detail, I tried to stay with every syllable. I tuned in. I didn't want to leave the makeshift auditorium.

"But times changed, and now we are many."

His words sounded further away. The voice had gotten deeper. I started to slip.

"From this day forward we will..."

The rehearsed words trailed off. The voice I then heard was no longer that of my son’s. It was the voice of the daytime news anchor broadcasting a breaking report. He spoke with the casual professionalism of a man with no personal connection to the heartache his words would create. The buzzing static of an old TV was in the background.

It was a recording I could never forget. I had only played it over in my mind a thousand times before.

Tragedy strikes close to home today. The body of eighteen-year-old Westmount resident, Amy Bray was found in a dumpster behind a bakery near the downtown core. The body shows signs of severe sexual assault and trauma around the neck. All evidence suggests she was strangled to death with a rope.

An anonymous tip was given to police this morning stating that screaming could be heard from the parking lot and a bald man could be seen running from the area shortly after. Police were on the scene within minutes and have since taken homeless man, Troy McAllen, into custody. Authorities are urging whoever called to step forward and provide more information.

The mug shot of his wrinkled face came in into view. That bald headed mother-fucker left his DNA sprinkled all over the crime scene. His eyes glared back at me, just like they did from the TV screen for the first time nearly twelve years prior.

I was no longer in the school gym watching my son’s play. I was somewhere else.

The routine of running through the same memory over and over against my will was not a new development. I had been trying to get over it with the support of family, friends and medical professionals for years.

But things weren't getting any better. They never got any better. Something needed to change. That much was obvious.

The bathroom floor was sticky. My dress pants clung to it as I tried to lift myself above the open toilet. As I knelt there dry-heaving, I dreaded two things.

First, the idea of having to wait alone in this school bathroom for the vomit (if there would be any) to come out.

Second, the fact that at some point in the evening, I would have to explain to my wife why I had gotten up from my seat. Why I embarrassed both of us as I ran out of the gymnasium with one hand on my mouth, the other on my stomach.

I gave up on the former after twenty-five uneventful minutes. But there was no way I was going to try and squeeze my way back to the empty seat in the gym. Instead, I succumbed to the temptation. With shaking fingers, I dialled my brother's number.

"Hello," Noah answered. His voice sounded tired. He knew my reason for calling.

"Noah," I said. "It's happening again. I'm leaning over the toilet seat in Jeffrey's school bathroom right now. It's bad, it's real bad. Don't think I can get up."

The sigh was long on the other end of the line. I clenched my teeth and stretched across the closed toilet lid.

Perhaps even my brother, the one person I felt I could trust above anyone else, had grown weary of dealing with me.

I couldn't bring myself to blame him, though. On our last phone call, I took the gamble and crossed the line. I mentioned the proposition. Surely, I sounded delusional. And perhaps, I was delusional.

After what I’m sure was much deliberation, Noah spoke again.

"Roger, remember what the doctor said. Relapses are part of the healing process. You need to keep the pills with you. Always need em on you."

"But I've been taking them, and all the other pills I've tried for almost ten years now, Noah. Doesn't help, it never fucking helped. Can't make it go away. I think I'm going to try to-"

"Stop it!" Noah interjected. "I don't want to hear that proposition shit again. It's nonsense, and you know it’s nonsense."

I felt strong enough to lift myself off the bathroom floor. I stumbled out of the stall and used the nearest sink for support. I looked at myself in the mirror. The man who looked back didn't look crazy. At least, not to me.

"I'm not delusional," I said. "I was there. I was fully there both times. It was real. I remember what it said."

"Listen," Noah responded, his voice noticeably calmer. "There's no one I care about more than you, Roger. Fucking kills me getting these phone calls though. Amy died twelve years ago. It hurt everyone, not just you. Think about her parents, think about her two brothers. Think about everyone who knew her at school, think about everyone else at the party who also could have done something. Hell, even I get nightmares about it."

I dug the phone into my ear. Guilt over the amount of stress I was likely putting on Noah ran through me. He never married, and I was the closest family that he had. And this is what I was doing to him.

"I know it's hard," he continued. "But this isn't just about you, don't forget that. You have a family now, and they need their father. You can't keep disappearing into some twisted fantasy world of self-despair. Amy is dead, and you need to move on. And you will move on. That much I promise you. Please don't go down this road. Amy wasn't for you. It’s best you don’t think about her. There is only pain for you there."

Click.

Noah's voice stopped coming through the phone.

Later that night, the bedroom was completely dark. I hadn’t let my eyes close since going to bed. They were well adjusted. I relaxed my neck and let my head roll to the side. The clock read 2:44 AM.

It was almost time.

Chelsea was asleep. At least of that, I could be sure. Somehow, I had managed to avoid explaining my absence during the play. We didn't speak a word about it, or anything else after leaving the school.

The truth is, she likely knew full well the reason. She was aware of the mental sickness that had controlled my mind for all the years of our marriage.

It wasn't fair. All this time, she was stuck between being the supporting wife of a sick man and living with the hurt that came with the knowledge that the source of his misery was longing for another woman. And it wasn't just any woman. She knew Amy well. They used to be best friends.

Chelsea had every right to be as upset as I was. More upset if anything. She was at the party that night as well. Her actions also indirectly led to the final outcome.

That night was just like the morning after the party, the first time Chelsea and I had shared a bed together. I had woken up and lay there beside her for some time as she slept. I remember mixed feelings towards how things had played out the night prior. I was already fantasizing that it would have been Amy who I had slept with instead.

I tried to take a mental photo of the scene. Separated by nearly twelve years, Chelsea and I lay together in bed before something terrible was about to happen. The first and last times were so similar in that way.

I rose and tiptoed towards the door.

Before I left the room, I momentarily considered looking back. I owed Chelsea that at least. Part of me genuinely loved her. She was the one who stayed up with me, running her hand through my hair on the countless, sleepless nights. She was the woman I made love to more than any other. She was the mother of my son.

But, the burden was too heavy. I listened for the click as the door closed behind me.

I wish I could have been as decisive as I passed Jeffrey's room. His door was open a crack, just as it always was. It made a long, high pitched creak as I nudged it forward.

Jeffrey was on his side, facing the wall on the far side of the room. His feet stretched outwards and rubbed together.

The sight of him made my knees buckle. I slid my hands upward on the door frame until they were straight above my shoulders.

For a long time, that room was where I would go to be alone. It was after Chelsea and I had bought that house, and before Jeffrey was born. I would often come to that room and stare out the window above his bed.

It was like a portal for me. When I looked outside, I could go back to the night where it all went wrong. Where I had blundered and not acted as I should have. I was too cowardly to pick up on the cues. I didn't take the girl I longed for. That decision was what had ultimately led me to where I was then.

I resisted the urge to go up and rub his shoulder one last time. The view from where I stood would have to suffice. I wish I had the courage to say the three words I held in my heart.

For the rest of the journey through the house, my mind alternated between trying to keep quiet and considering the possibility of turning back. There was still time to turn around. I could easily return to the bed where my wife slept and simply pretend the whole thing never happened. And maybe, I could work it all out. I could live happily ever after with the family I built.

But if I really wanted to go back to bed, I would have.

Atop the flight of old wooden stairs leading to the basement, I paused. I looked down at the black pit below. No amount of adjusting to the darkness would allow my eyes to make out the shapes down there. I flicked the light switch. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered before lighting the room up.

The grey concrete floor of the unfinished cellar was covered by a single yellow rug in the middle. Surrounding the rug was a collection of old furniture, sports equipment, partially opened boxes and of course - the mirror.

My breaths were short. Grinding my teeth, I took the first step down and nearly jumped when the old wooden board groaned. I had to force my legs to descend each of the next steps. With each one, the creak of the old staircase seemed to grow louder.

I reached the bottom and dead silence returned. I looked in every cranny, every shadow that was within my line of sight. There was nothing there.

My eyes told me that I was alone. And by all means, they should have been correct. However, it wasn’t the truth. And I knew that before I had made the decision to go down there in the first place.

My phone read 2:58 AM. Only two minutes remained.

I allowed myself a few more moments of illuminated silence before I reached for the light switch. When the basement was dark again, I felt my way to the yellow carpet and positioned myself squarely in front of the mirror. My body trembled profusely.

I raced through the possibilities again, trying to reassure myself. As if through my endless hours of deliberation, I did understand everything. As if it were possible for a man to think through the infinite numbers of factors, responses, and outcomes and have some idea of how things were going to play out.

The arrival was imminent. Before it came, I remembered Noah’s last words on the phone.

"There’s only pain for you there."

The reflection in the mirror changed. Breaking through the blackness was one white spot just above my shoulder.

I turned to look at where it appeared to be in the reflection. But there was only blackness. This was no surprise, I had tested it before. But back in the mirror, the reflection developed.

There were now two spots and another line running below them. The face was there, clearly. It radiated a bright white that hurt the eyes if looked at directly for too long. The outlines of the facial features pulsed. Their exact shape was always changing. The corners of the mouth pulled upwards into a shape resembling a smile.

The breaths came. I could feel the moist air on the nape of my neck. And then, it spoke. Its deep voice seemed to come from every direction in the darkness around me.

"Back again I see? I take this means that you've been intrigued by my proposition?"

I didn't answer. I hated hearing the thing talk. It knew me too well. It spoke with complete understanding of my reason for being in the basement that night.

"Shall we get started then?" it asked. "You know this is the last time I will come here. You must act tonight, or forever lose the opportunity."

"Lay the rules out for me one last time," I said.

I already knew the stipulations. But, I took comfort in hearing them again, as if I would have some brilliant flash of insight that would help me understand everything.

"One chance to go back. You cannot return here, and you cannot go backwards again. All outcomes are final."

"Tell me how it turned out for the others. What happened to the other people you’ve done this with?"

"You must decide now, Roger," it answered me abruptly. "I have no more patience for your concerns. I care only for your decision now."

My knuckles ached from gripping them so tightly. The eyes and mouth in the reflection slowly started to fade.

"Do it," I said. "Take me back."

The thing did as I commanded.

At first, it was all a blur. The darkness was gone, replaced by a range of opaque waves. They ran against each other, colours of all kinds shot out behind them. I heard the muffled sounds of conversation. My body felt lighter, newer.

One thing came through clearly. It was the audible voice of a young woman. I recognized it as Amy’s immediately. My vision started to clear shortly after. She was right there in front of me. She was eighteen years old, she was alive. Her image matched the one I had kept in my mind for all the years.

"Roger," Amy said. "Still working on the first beer?"

All my surroundings became clear. The faint outlines of the shapes around me sharpened. I could see the familiar glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Recognizable, young faces were leaning on my parents grey, leather couch in the living room.

Condensation from the beer can dripped onto my fingers. I looked down at my hands and saw that they were young. A visual scan of my body revealed the same. I looked eighteen again. I was eighteen again.

Amy put her hand over mine. I felt the comforting softness I had fantasized about for what had felt like an eternity. She pulled the beer from my hands, bringing it to her lips.

Everything was in perfect order. I was back at the party. The thing had done exactly as it said it would.

Amy finished the beer and set it on the table. All the while, her eyes were firmly fixed on mine.

"Looks like you have some catching up do," she said.

As I anticipated, she took a step forward. She slid her hand in a straight vertical line from my chest to my stomach. As she let it rest there, I tested my recollection.

Next, she will grab me by the collar.

Sure enough, her hands slid upwards towards my neck and grabbed the shirt. I said her next words along with her inside my head.

"Why don't you grab us another?" she asked.

The first time through, I hesitated before speaking. That I remember clearly. My unconfident former-self would wait at least five seconds before spitting out the word “okay”.

Not this time.

Blessed with the wisdom of seeing everything in hindsight, I spoke a new set of words. I said what I had been planning to say when all of this was a dream. A time when the situation I found myself in was nothing more than a distant fantasy, impossible to realize in the reality I thought I existed in.

"Maybe I'll do that," I said. "But I'll have to stop in my bedroom on the way back. Might be a little delay. Hope that's okay with you."

If they hadn’t already, the two timelines officially diverged after that. I hoped that would make it easier to let go of the old life I had abandoned. Nobody would get hurt tonight. It was just a matter of execution.

I smiled and pulled Amy's hand from my collar onto hers. I released, looking at her one more time before leaving the room. I wished that moment could have lasted forever.

Noah stood near the fridge, just as I remembered. He talked with some girls I hadn’t cared to remember. I grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him aside. My entrance caught him off guard.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Noah, I need your help," I said, reciting more lines from the mental-script in my head. "Remember how I told you about the Amy girl from my grade? I think I got her."

He bit his lower lip.

"I don't know little bro," he said. "I think you have the Chelsea girl all lined up. Don't try and bite off more than you can chew now."

"Yeah, but I've been secretly in love with Amy girl for like four years. You should see her, she's the hottest girl in my grade."

"I know,” he said, much to my surprise.

"You know who she is?"

"Yeah, I think I've seen her a few times."

"Then why are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"I just think you're being over-confident," he said. "You've known for days that you have this Chelsea lined up. Take the sure thing, don't fuck it up."

The conversation was already taking too long. I saw both Amy and the younger version of my former wife, Chelsea come into the front hall. They stopped there and started talking privately. Amy's eyes cheated over in my direction. Chelsea was listening to her, nodding. She also peeked over. Her eyes were jealous. It was a look that I knew too well.

In approximately two minutes, Amy was going to head down the other hall toward the bathroom. Or, as I was almost positive now, my bedroom.

The first time through, I had been so unsure where exactly she had gone. Or perhaps more accurately, I was uncertain of myself. Instead of following her, I took the easy way out. I settled for the sure thing. I approached Chelsea instead. All because I didn’t believe that what I wanted could possibly be attained.

That’s how it happened. That’s the way I fucked everything up.

Not this time.

I stared hard at Noah. His help was instrumental for this to work. My words were firmer than before.

"Listen, Noah. I'm going for this Amy girl. If it doesn't work, then fine, you can have her. I don’t give a damn."

He shook his head.

"I need you to do one thing for me," I continued. "If you don't see me for a little while, trust that means things went well. But please, please just do me one favour. Walk Chelsea home if that happens. Bang her if you want, I don't care. I’m sure you could probably get her if you wanted."

"I'm not taking any girl to bed tonight."

"Fine, then just walk her home. I need you to do that for me."

Noah looked like he was searching for his rebuttal. I didn't stick around for any further deliberation. That part of the sequence was complete.

Right on cue, Amy had left Chelsea standing alone and disappeared down the hallway. I grabbed two beers from the fridge and started in her direction.

I always imagined that the walk past Chelsea would have been the hardest part. I tried to make it easier on myself. I kept my eyes on the ground, the door, the ceiling or anywhere that wasn't her.

Only from my peripheral vision could I see the look on her face. I recognized that expression as well. More so, I detested it. It was the insecure, desperate longing that I had seen so many times before in our life together that no longer existed.

A few feet away, I caught the scent of Chelsea’s perfume. One more time, the thought of returning to my former life burrowed into my mind. I entertained the idea. Maybe I could still correct the sequence. Maybe I could somehow say and do the right things to converge the timelines. Perhaps I could recreate all the memories that we were supposed to make going forward.

I pushed the thought out of my head as quickly as I could. I passed Chelsea without giving her a glance. As I walked down the adjacent hallway, the burning sensation of her eyes into the back of my head eased with every step.

I didn’t bother checking the bathroom on the way to my destination.

I pushed the bedroom door open. A slender female figure was sprawled across my bed. The light from the hallway provided just enough brightness for me to see that Amy was smiling. It felt like a dream. But it wasn't. It was real.

I didn't offer her a drink. I set the beers down on the night table and leaned over. She wrapped her hands around the back of my neck and pulled me down to her. Our lips met and I slipped away. I never thought that doing something that seemed so evil on the surface could have ever felt so right.

Hours passed. When the sex finally ended, Amy didn't take long to fall asleep. The adrenaline still coursing through my veins wouldn't allow me to do the same.

From outside the bedroom door, I could hear the party had grown quieter.

Much like the last time I was awake in bed while the woman beside me slept, I got out of bed as gently as possible. I tiptoed towards the door and pressed my ear against it. I tried to see if I could hear Chelsea's voice in the remaining bits of conversation. It wasn't there.

I went over to the window to see if anyone was hanging around in my front yard. I was relieved to see two people there. Chelsea stood at the end of the driveway, shivering in the cold autumn air. Noah was coming up the driveway with a sweater to put around her.

They exchanged a few words before heading down the street in the other direction. Her house was only a few blocks away. Nowhere near downtown and certainly not close to wherever that piece-of-shit, Troy McAllen camped out that night.

As they rounded the corner and went out of sight, a thought occurred to me for the first time. And it scared me.

I wondered what it would be like going forward. Would I have to live the rest of my life with all the vivid memories of a timeline that no longer existed? I could still remember my old life with complete clarity.

As I returned to lie beside the girl I loved, I prayed. I prayed that with time, the old memories would fade away. Hopefully, I could seamlessly adjust and settle into this new life as a young man once more. The thought hung around until I fell asleep.

A strange sound woke me the next morning. The sun was starting to rise and faint beams of light were coming in through the window. When I came to my senses, I realized that I was alone in bed. It was not how I was expecting to wake.

I heard the sound of the TV from the living room. Shortly after, I heard Amy whimper. I shot up and ran in there as quickly as my tired legs would take me.

Amy sat hunched over, curled into a ball on the couch. Her head was pressed into her palms, her cheeks red.

She had the TV on. It was set to our local news station. Before I had a chance to ask what had happened, I heard the familiar voice. With only slight variation from before, he delivered his report.

Tragedy strikes close to home today. The body of eighteen-year-old Westmount resident, Chelsea Arcobello was found in a dumpster behind a bakery near the downtown core. The body shows signs of severe sexual assault and trauma around the neck. All evidence suggests she was strangled to death with a rope.

An anonymous tip was given to police this morning stating that screaming could be heard from the parking lot and a bald man could be seen running from the area shortly after. Police were on the scene within minutes and have since taken homeless man, Troy McAllen, into custody. Authorities are urging whoever called to step forward and provide more information.

The bald man's face came up onto the screen just as I heard the front door push open behind me.

Noah stepped in. His mouth was open wide as he took in long gasps of air. Clumps of hair stuck to his forehead where his sweat had dried. He looked up at us in horror. As if he thought it was impossible for us to be awake so early in the morning.

Blood dripped from the scratches on his face. From inside his half-unzipped jacket, I could see a piece of rope stained completely red.

"What's the matter, Roger?" he said.

"Where were you last night," I managed to spit out. "Didn't you walk Chelsea home and come back?"

"She’s gone, Roger. Chelsea wasn’t for you. It's best you don't think about her. There's only pain for you there."

J.D.