#could that be a response to a song called hospital calling them liars?

[for-the-liar]

Hospital - The Used /// AMBULANCE - My Chemical Romance

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

you mentioned something a little while back about trauma anniversaries? would you be comfortable explaining what it means and what its about?

Sure thing. 

So.. trauma anniversaries are complicated, and vary from person to person, but the general idea is that when one experiences a traumatic event (or events, plural, centered around a specific time period), the brain/body stores that information and (as with other PTSD reactions) sometimes has an uncontrollable and unpredictable response to it. 

“Many trauma survivors experience challenging “anniversary reactions,”  which are defined as ‘unique set[s] of unsettling feelings, thoughts or memories that occur on the anniversary of a significant experience.’ When a survivor finds themselves in the midst of a trauma anniversary, they often are forced to re-live feelings from the traumatic event, causing symptoms like increased anxiety, depression, trouble sleeping, loss of appetite, nightmares, and irritable outbursts.”

Our bodies hold on to trauma in an effort to protect us, but sometimes those signals get mixed and bad feelings get tied to a time period, which is not particularly useful in most cases. 

This time of year makes me a bit wonky in general, with the changing of the seasons and the temperature drop, but October is also an anniversary for an event that changed my life and dramatically impacted my mental health... and I didn’t realize that it was affecting me until I was already deep in it this go round. 

I hate talking about it like this, because of the age old dichotomy of “it wasn’t that bad” and “it was bad enough and it’s affecting me”. I’m still working on accepting this stuff without falling into the mental trap that I’m “whining about nothing” and that “other people have it worse”. They do. Someone always does. But that doesn’t mean that the stuff that’s happened to me isn’t bad. 

I don’t know how much information you’re looking for, or if you’re asking about my experience specifically, but I’m still a bit off so what the hell. 

I already have issues with fall and the beginning of the school year for various reasons that I won’t go into. So this time of year is always tricky. But...

For those who don’t already know, five years and fifteen days ago, I called my grandmother and she told me she was going to kill herself. I was the only one home, I had just turned 23 years old two weeks beforehand, she had told me she was having a hard time affording some things, and I had offered to make her an appointment with a therapist and with a new primary care physician and to pay for it all so she could keep taking her medication. 

I called to ask her what day might work for an appointment so I could take the time off work, pick her up, take her to lunch, and then drive her to the appointment, and she told me she was going to kill herself. She told me she had been saving up her pills, and that’s why she hadn’t been taking them. She told me she had discussed it with my grandfather, and that he knew and was ok with it, and they were going through their belongings so there would be “less for him to deal with” once she was gone and that she was “surprised I hadn’t caught on sooner”. 

I kept her on the phone, kept her talking on my cell, and grabbed the home phone to start calling anyone I could think of. My mom, my dad, my aunt (with whom I had only reconciled five days before-- big misunderstanding, but still a lot), my mom’s cousin... no one would answer. 

By the time my mom got home, I had been on the phone with my grandmother for over an hour, mid panic attack, and I was hyperventilating so hard I couldn’t see and I couldn’t stand. Your limbs go all tingly when you don’t retain enough carbon dioxide, and I remember trying to walk to her and collapsing. I gasped out an explanation, my mom took the reins, and we were able to get in touch with my aunt and get the necessary medical professionals on hand to give my grandmother a psychiatric evaluation and put her on a 72 hour hold. 

We were at the hospital until nearly 4 in the morning before a nurse told us that they legally couldn’t release my grandmother because the doctor had mandated a three day safety hold, and that we should go home and get some rest. By the time we made it home, there was a message on our answering machine that a county examiner had released her and there was nothing more they could do. 

I found out later, much later, that she had never stopped taking her meds. She’d never said a word to my grandfather. She had no intention of killing herself. She wanted a reaction from me, and she got one. She called my cousins and told them I was a liar. She called family members who have never even met me and told them how awful I am, and that I make things up for attention.

I waited a little over a week to call her. I recorded the call, so that I’d have proof if I needed it. It’s still on my harddrive somewhere. Two plus hours of her calling me a liar, telling me that conversation never happened, telling me that she’s ashamed of me, that she hopes no one in their right mind ever loves me because I’m a monster, that she pities my friends and anyone who has the misfortune of knowing me because I’ll stab them in the back too as soon as I want some attention. The list goes on and on. 

That continued for a while. Whether or not it’s true, when someone you love tells you things over and over again, you can’t help but wonder. 

I started having dreams that she was hitting me, and that people were letting her do it. I started having dreams that I was in a loving, committed relationship but came home one day to a seething partner who had just gotten off the phone with her and realized I was a worthless liar, and of them, too, turning abusive. I started having dreams that I was alone at the bottom of a deep, dark hole, and no one could hear me or try to get me out. 

She decided one day that we were going to pretend nothing had ever happened, and I was forced to play along. All the while she’d still call and say awful things to me, then show up at family gathering like nothing was wrong. She’d say one thing to me, another to my family, and call me a liar to my face and behind my back. She kept telling friends and family that I was being abusive and manipulative to her. 

It hit the point that I truly, genuinely couldn’t remember what she had said in that initial call, and I worried I had made it all up. Gaslighting at it’s finest. 

It’s taken years to realize it, but every interaction I had with her following that date has been either abuse or manipulation. She spent months and months refusing to speak to me unless it was to tell me how horrible I am, then like flipping a switch one day I came home and there was a gift on my front porch from her. She’d ease up for a while, then suddenly be awful again. My entire life, she had always been the epitome of a perfect grandma... she’d take me on outings, buy me little gifts, bake with me at the holidays, sing songs with the grandkids, loved playing with us, we’d talk for hours on the phone, they came to dinner frequently. And now... it’s like a veil has been lifted and she’s unrecognizable.

I tried to maintain a relationship with her. She screamed at everyone at Easter a few years back that her silverware was more important to her than a relationship with me. I kept trying. She told a lawyer that my mom and I had “stolen her medical records” and were “forcing her to have medical procedures against her will”. I kept trying. She threatened to send a police officer to our house, accusing me of stealing. I kept trying. 

And finally, last fall, I called to wish her a happy birthday, she began a tangent, and I realized I was so tired. I asked her outright if she wanted a relationship with me. She told me she couldn’t be bothered to think about it. I haven’t spoken to her since. 

That one phone call cost me so, so much. I lost my relationship with my grandmother and my grandfather, by extension. Other family members have questioned if I’m lying to them, or if I made things up. I’ve questioned if I made things up. 

In the midst of all of this, my father also completely shifted and I don’t know why. He started picking fights with me, almost constantly. If I tried to change the subject, I was too stupid to have a discussion. If I stayed silent, I clearly knew I was wrong. If I said anything in reply, I was lying. He throws things, when he’s mad. He kicks things. He used to punch walls. My mom has since said to me that if she had any idea that he would turn into this person, she wouldn’t have married him. Sometimes he’s great, sometimes he’s awful. I never know which version I’ll be dealing with. 

I’ve spent nearly five straight years in therapy trying to deal with this. My original goal was not to hate my grandmother, or my father. It had to adapt to not hating myself because of what they said to me. 

So October is hard. Because October is when my mind and body unconsciously remember things changing. Relationships I’d always counted on turned abusive. Nothing I said or did was safe. It’s dangerous. 

I blew past the actual anniversary just feeling sort of... jittery. I’ve spent a few weeks feeling withdrawn and anxious and not knowing why. I had a noticeable uptick in old thought patterns and intrusive thoughts about self worth, self harm, etc. 

Whether or not it’s logical, whether or not it makes sense... my self preservation has locked onto this time of year as unsafe, and it falls into old patterns in an attempt at protection. Old patterns include anxiety, difficulty eating regularly, issues with self worth, withdrawing from others, emotions very close to the surface, and a few other things. 

And that’s where I’m at. 

I’m ok, and I’ll be ok. I’ve got some experience dealing with this under my belt now, and I still see my therapist regularly. I’m talking to her next week. At the moment, I’m just trying to take care of me however it makes sense, and not doing anything dangerous or dumb. 

So... that’s what I mean by trauma anniversary. 

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty-three “Dead end”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty-three of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter.

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

                   –––––––––––––––––––––––

- I hope that it will work, Mer… I have no other way anyway… hurry up… I have to find a source of funding, otherwise, I will have to delay or cancel the construction of the home…

.

Amelia has been in the corner of the living room on the phone with her manager for a few minutes.

I wait wisely letting my gaze stop on the elements near me in the room.

I came back to this apartment with a strange feeling: I didn’t feel like I was in my place yet. To belong to this place.

I was trying to find my markers and my automatisms alongside Amelia.

Her attitude was, however, a little more distant than before: she often avoided my gaze, isolated herself as soon as possible. As if she had a course of action in mind that she set out to apply. Maybe I was having ideas, or I was just more sensitive to the least of her reactions… the fact remains that a host of contrasting sensations mingled when I return as Amelia Shepherd’s bodyguard.

.

My eyes get lost around me when I suddenly make out o CD cover that calls out to me, placed near the player.

How could it be there?

I approach it automatically and my fingers slide on it.

I caress this piece of plastic with my fingertips and I recognize my handwriting on the sheet of paper that is used for cover.

I open the case, but no CD inside… would she have listened to it?

This disc was so special to me… which allowed me to not be overwhelmed at certain moments of my life… but by what miracle did I then have it in my hand?

- Ok, I got a text from Jackson, he’s going to spend the afternoon at the hospital with April, we will be able to go, I am reassured to know that April is surrounded, Amelia informs me, approaching me. I hope he will boost her, for her physiotherapy exercises…

I turn my back on her, still focused on my discovery.

I can see her presence on the side, her shadow growing near me.

- You can enlighten me… this CD… how come it is here?

- It was a surprise that I discovered when I finished unpacking the boxes from the chalet two days ago, she replies.

In her voice, a soft and calm tone calls out of me. Like a veil of tenderness.

And a suddenly more relaxed attitude which takes hold of her at the mention of the CD.

Almost an Amelia who metamorphoses before me.

- There was an envelope in one of them that I hadn’t paid attention to and that slipped to the bottom when I removed the clothes. There was a little post on it that said: "to keep some of this haven of peace"… signed by Rosie.

I smile while listening to Amelia’s explanation.

It looked like spitting Rosie.

She knew what this cd meant to me… she thought having it with me would be more useful than being locked in a closet.

- I think that she had to undo one of the packages to add this disc before sending them… Amelia concludes.

- Yes, Rosie is full of resources, I add, keeping my smile. You… did you listen to it? I asked a little feverish. 

Amelia stares the plastic case, hesitates for a few seconds, then decides to answer me with a smile on her lips. Frank and spontaneous. 

One of the first I observe since our reunion.

A show that fascinates me.

- With a title like "Hunt’s symphony" how did you want me to resist… it’s a wonder this cd, I never tire of it for two days…

I remain silent listening to her answer. 

This cd indeed contained a series of titles sung by my parents, some songs that I had recorded myself with my father when I was still a teenager… and a song that I had written especially for him… a bit later…

- Your mother’s voice is overwhelming… I guess it’s your father accompanying her…

I nod while the echoes of the melodies of the cd echo in my head.

I am surprised that Amelia develops her impressions and does not immediately end this exchange, but I welcome her words carefully.

- You have a great voice too, but I already told you… I truly like the title "goodbye"… which seems to stand the test of your father’s death… but my favorite is the duo of your parents… it made me dream…

This song that she evokes, it allowed me to keep my head above the water.

To defeat my demons.

It was sacred to me… a song that we don’t touch and that I was unable to sing or even hum… this title has been repeated thousands of times, by many different artists, but for me, it was only my parents who were legitimate to sing it: two beings madly in love with each other… forever.

I would never know that for my part.

- Their cover is magnificent, we perceive all the love that emerges from both… I understand better when you told me about little things that allow us to keep in ourselves the people we love, to make them live and resonate inside us. Is it that song for you?

- You got it right… I weakly confirmed.

- It’s a great declaration of love to sing this song like this… they were really in love with each other… in love and happy…

She stares at me intensely at the end of her comment and our eyes remain connected for long seconds. At this moment, strangely, Amelia doesn’t dodge this silent exchange.

She stays focused and fixed on me.

The moment is destabilizing, I perceive electricity vibrating between us… my old reflexes are expressed again: this chemistry suddenly makes me uncomfortable and leads me to finally look away.

I clear my throat slightly to break the connection.

- Uh… are you ready… can we go?

She takes a few seconds, then sighs quickly confirming to me that she reluctantly goes to this meeting.

- Yes, let’s go, she says. Let it be behind me… I don’t like being trapped in a situation, having no choice but to ask for help… from the last person on my list…

She retrieves a leather jacket, which she quickly wears while tying a light scarf around her neck.

I imitate her and also put on a leather jacket over my suit, then grab my crash helmets and give her hers. Jackson is no longer available, I decided to take her on a motorcycle. This vehicle was also much more practical than a car to escape a possible chase.

We leave the apartment in a few minutes and find the motorbike parked a few steps down in the street.

- Can you remind me of the address, please? 

- Uh… you take the direction of Bellevue, the domain address should be indicated next…

I nod my head at her directions and help her fasten her crash helmet securely, as she struggles with the fastener.

I put my crash helmet on and put myself on the motorcycle first.

I take a hand from Amelia and help her sit behind me, stepping over the mount.

I give her a few seconds to find the ideal position, well wedged behind me, and I turn the key.

I turn my head slightly towards her to give her one last instruction before I start.

- Above all, you hold me well, in all circumstances…

She does not answer but supports my request when I feel her arms tighten tightly and her hands cross against my stomach.

.

Thirty-five-minute drive later, we arrive near Bellevue and I notice a sign effectively designating a domain.

Amelia points her finger at me and tells me in a loud voice behind me: "it’s over there!".

I then scrupulously follow the other signs and after a few minutes, we enter a large paved alley, bordered by plane trees: it thus leads to an immense wrought-iron portal, beyond which there is an imposing building… a castle…

I have to stop in front of the closed gate. 

Amelia gets off the motorcycle and removes her crash helmet while approaching a case that looks like an intercom.

- Does he know you were coming? I ask, letting my voice carry beyond the helmet and worrying that entry will be denied. 

- No… I preferred not to warn him to prevent it from lasting too long… I have no desire to get stuck here for several hours.

She presses a button unlaid in the case and a female voice eventually rises.

- Yes, hello, can you announce and indicate the subject of your visit?

The question is of a rather surprising formality which makes me smile slightly.

- Hello, I’m Amelia Shepherd, I’m coming to see Alex Karev.

- Do you have an appointment?

- Yes, he is waiting for me…

Amelia’s response is pronounced without hesitation and proves effective when we perceive the portal to open gradually.

- I didn’t know you were such a good liar.

- It’s not quite a lie, since the time he makes it easy for me… she says while putting on her crash helmet and sitting again behind me.

I restart at low speed and enter the domain.

We drive for a few meters before I cut off contact, in front of the large castle door in front of us.

We both get off the bike and take off our helmets. I rid Amelia of this accessory which I place on the motorbike and she hastens to move her head vigorously to replace her hair.

A creak awakens behind us and I turn my head: a silhouette takes shape in the doorway… a male silhouette descending the steps to meet us.

And a face that I recognize immediately.

- Amelia, what a pleasure to see you! He announces with enthusiasm.

Amelia faces him quickly and gives him a big smile… an attitude the complete opposite of what I had observed during the evening for her foundation where she had done everything to avoid him.

But I’m not fooled: I know she is playing a role right now.

She did not come here for pleasure but forced to finance her project.

- Hello Alex, excuse me, I come to see you without warning, but I wanted to speak with you on a very important… and an urgent subject…

- There is no problem, he says with a smile. I have no particular constraints and my parents are traveling… besides, I was expecting a bit of your coming, I think I know what you want to talk to me about, I had a few comments…

I perceive Amelia tense up near me, uncomfortable by understanding that Alex has a very precise idea of the purpose of her visit.

I remain surprised to hear him say that he still lives in this domain with his family: he was however at least 35 years old. But apparently in families of this stature, the blood ties are different and dissipate less quickly: an inheritance and a fortune to be managed seem to give rise to certain duties.

- By the way, I heard the sad news that your friend April had a serious accident, I hope everything is fine? He inquires in a soft and compassionate voice.

- She is recovering slowly, but she is in good hands, thank you for caring, Amelia answers weakly, looking down.

A presence is suddenly guessed behind the host of the house: a young woman, dressed in a strict suit.

- Sir, are you sure I should leave you? My service should not end in two hours, she announces shyly, a little embarrassed.

- Yes, Marie, as I just told you, take your afternoon. I don’t need you anymore… he confirms without looking at the one who turns out to be a housekeeper.

- Alright sir, see you tomorrow.

She advances a little more, nods respectfully, and joins a small car, parked a few meters away.

I feel a piercing look at me and quickly notice that Alex is watching me intensely.

- We weren’t introduced, I believe, he says, holding out a hand.

I shake his hand firmly while perceiving the voice of Amelia by our side.

- Alex, I present to you… Jackson. He’s a musician friend, he kindly wanted to drive me to your house, because my driver is sick.

I listen to Amelia’s words, a little surprised that she doesn’t reveal my true identity, but I don’t let anything show through.

She was probably afraid that Alex would recognize me…

He indeed stares at me intensely as if he was studying each feature of my face precisely. 

But he ends up turning his face and tearing his hand away from mine, addressing Amelia again.

- I suggest you come in, Amelia… Jackson, you can park your motorcycle in the garage, there are threatening clouds coming. I think it would be more prudent.

I take a look at the sky and note that it has largely darkened, raising fears of an impending storm.

- Thank you very much, my motorcycle will appreciate, I answer with a weak smile to reduce the tension that I perceived between us.

- I’m going to open it from the inside, it’s the brown door that you see 100 meters in front of you.

- Alright, thank you, I answer politely.

- Amelia, please, come in, he says placing a hand behind Amelia’s back and guiding her up the stairs.

I take a last look at Amelia who is looking for my eyes before turning around one last time: I read in this look all the weariness that already inhabits her… she was forcing herself to ask for his help.

I place my hands on the handlebars of the motorcycle, helmet in hand and the other hanging on the handlebars, and advance to the section of the domain indicated by Alex.

The door opening is engaged, I hear behind me: I can see the brown door rise and gradually reveal a car body.

I turn around towards the entrance of the castle but it is a closed-door that already faces me whereas Alex and Amelia entered inside.

I arrive at the entrance to the garage, the automatic door is completely raised from now on.

.

I take a few steps in the place that has just been revealed to me while guiding my motorbike: the surface of the room impresses me directly. It’s not just a garage, it’s almost a whole ground floor full of cars.

I go a little further and scan the different vehicles around me, lit by several neon lights installed on the ceiling: Rolls Royces, vintage cars, Porsches, legendary American cars, 4x4…

I try to find a place for my motorcycle and find the ideal place in a corner at the back of the room, facing me. I push my motorcycle carefully, sneaking between a Rolls Royce and an old Cadillac, then set it aside by operation the kickstand. 

I can’t help but quickly glance at all these cares with sparkling bodies again, giving me a quick tour of the different models almost installed here on display.

Questions are promptly asked during my contemplation.

What does life in an environment of this nature look like? 

An everyday life where you can have everything you want, where everything is accessible?

Do we still only have dreams?

Is that enough to be happy?

Experience had shown me the opposite: all the artists I had encountered, some of whom could, in the same way, afford everything they wanted, were mostly tortured, neurotic, and alone… deeply alone.

I instinctively think of my parents, of my conversation with Amelia a few hours earlier at the apartment: happiness is not just a garage full of luxury cars… happiness is as simple as sharing a song…

I didn’t know Alex and yet I was sure of one thing: this man had everything he wanted, but he lacked the most important… what it takes to be happy.

My thoughts fade when my attention suddenly stops on a vehicle.

The front bumper is damaged and spots of color intrigue me.

I kneel and distinguish shiny traces on the body… my piqued curiosity, I slide my finger there.

The sensation allows me to define more precisely the substance: it is not painting, it is more fluid than a chemical component… sliding easily on my finger and dressing it in a bright red color…

My heart suddenly accelerates by identifying this liquid on my skin…

I lean a little more, to observe the license plate as if by reflex.

But I’m going wrong: this plate is quite usual with a series of numbers and letters.

And yet… I keep this disturbing intuition in the back of my mind.

Something suddenly strikes me when the elements making up the registration number do not seem perfectly straight and aligned to me.

I touch the piece of metal, nothing abnormal… although, by scrutinizing the metal plate a little more precisely, I discern two very distinct shades of white: the one near the edges is less vivid, more beige than white.

My fingers roam the expanse of metal and I surprisingly perceive an edged revealing itself under my skin as a junction.

An edge.

My fingers grip it and so I detach with surprise the license place. It is a magnetic section that can be applied and removed just as easily.

I watch the object in my hand in disbelief: a removable license plate, this is not something common on the market…

I feel the tension increase in me and I end up looking down again at what this plate hid: what appears before my eyes, doesn’t surprise me, but confirms all the suspicions that were beginning to be expressed deep inside me. 

Because of no letters or numbers on the real plate of this car… of this matt black 4x4… just a sign, a symbol that I have long looked for in the streets of Seattle… which I recognized with horror on the evening of Amelia’s concert.

It is there in a few inches from my eyes: this mysterious Ferry Boat which has haunted me for many weeks.

.

Amelia…

A name that invades my mind… that repeats itself with the rhythm of my heartbeat and the intensity of my pulsations.

Without knowing it, I just lead her straight into the nets of our worst enemy…

I have to find her as soon as possible.

A click sounds as I sit up, ready to pounce, and the darkness suddenly surrounds me.

No more light in the room and a metallic noise echoes simultaneously.

My eyes are destabilized by the sudden darkness and I lose the space of a few seconds my bearings.

I groped my way along against the cars to head for the door.

This metallic noise… it seems familiar to me and I realize that it corresponds to the mechanism of the door. But this time, it marks the closing of the garage entrance…

An adrenaline rush spreads throughout my body and mobilizes all my senses in a fraction of a second. My vision quickly adapts to the low light and I note with fright that the door is already half-closed.

I move as fast as I can, in a fight against the mechanics.

I slide on the hood of a car to gain ground, but I watch helplessly the rapid descent from the entrance to the garage.

I’m just a few steps away, I run without paying attention to the shocks against my legs as I hit vehicles. My heart is pounding under the intense effort and tension that assail me. I finally reach this automatic door… but only a handful of free centimeters, too little for me to sneak…

.

A deaf clatter rises after a few seconds.

The entrance just closed completely in front of me.

.

I am trapped in this garage.

The fault of my lack of speed.

The fault after a few seconds of hesitation and reflection… very useless. I can only blame myself. And the tension turns into nervousness against myself… then into sharp and guilty anxiety.

Amelia is only a few meters away and yet I can’t reach her.

.

Here I am stuck… in an impossible situation…

Like the ultimate twit to a bad disaster movie.

What’s worse for a bodyguard than being away from the one he must protect…

What could be worse for me than being helpless, facing this closed door, being fully aware from now on that Amelia is in the greatest danger.

One of my fists violently hits this metal wall in front of me.

A deaf sound pierces the silence that surrounds me.

.

Behind this gate.

In the castle.

What is going on?

Does he intend to harm her?

Is she safe and sound? Injured? Sequestered?

.

Because Amelia is alone…

.

Not with Alex Karev, heir, and privileged donor of the singer’s foundation.

.

But with the man who has been harassing her for months.

.

The author of the threats, destabilizations which have marked these last months.

.

The crazy who inscribed this veil of terror and anguish that now dresses the singer’s face and eyes.

.

The monster, responsible for the dramas that clouded her life…

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Thank you for reading. Have a great week 💛

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @heroeseverafter zome! I wanted to do a play on Lilo and Stitch (with obvious cast above!) and for once only one member of the big three appears here. The amazing @mabbofu on twitter made spot illustrations/line breaks for this!

Summary: Eri didn’t know what to make of the red monster tearing through her trash, only that he looked as lonely as she felt.

…

…

…

…

“We’re going to be late.” Eri looked away from the car window to the front seat, where her mom was glaring at her dad. Arms crossed, jaw jutting out slightly, she was the picture of irritation. “Again.”

 Outside, the rain fell, quietly tapping on the glass. It sounded like a song and Eri swayed in time with it. There were few things she looked forward to more than dance class, though she still wasn’t good at it. Maybe she could practice with her brothers. Or, rather, brother—Izuku was a terrible dancer, worse than her.

 Her dad smiled at her mom playfully, looking at her over his spectacles. “Didn’t you hear? It’s in fashion?”

 Eri giggled. Even her mom couldn’t help but crack a smile. Almost nothing could stand up to her dad’s jokes. Looking at her through the rear-view mirror, he winked.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that!” her mom warned, but the fire was gone from her tone. Sighing, she fiddled with the radio, flipping through the channels.  “Next time, we leave when I say so, okay?”

 “Roger!” Her dad mock saluted.

 “Roger!” Eri chirped, following suit.

 “You two…” Sighing, her mom turned off the radio and looked back at her. “Honey, why don’t you practice the song they’re teaching you? What was it again?”

 “Aloha o…” Eri frowned, fumbling over the last sound. “Ow?”

 “Ow?” Her mom chuckled. “Well, you are learning three languages. Maybe your brothers can help you with it? I’m not all that good.”

 “It’s easy.” Her dad hummed the song softly. “It’s a beautiful song. Let’s sing it together, Eri! One, Two, Thr—”

 -x-

“—ee is the answer.”

 Eri blinked. The window she was staring through was her classroom, the voice her teacher’s. Any sound of shattering glass, of a horn blaring or tires screeching were all in her head. Unconsciously, her hand touched her forehead on the scar that was barely visible through her long hair.

 She was safe. That was a memory and she was safe. Her stomach flipflopped, and she forced back bitter vomit that wormed its way up her throat.

 Turning back to the front of the classroom, she eyed her first-grade teacher. Mr. Toshinori, looking as frail as ever, coughed into his elbow. It sounded like he was hacking up a lung. Every part of him looked like he should be in the hospital. Finished, he straightened up and smiled feebly. “What do you think will happen if you add two and two?”

 “Mr. Toshinori, don’t you think you should quit being a teacher?” From the front row, Eri’s classmate Mertle asked, not bothering to raise her hand. She flipped her red hair with a hand. “You’re dying.”

 “I’m not—” He hunched over as he coughed again.

 BRINNGGGG!

 Interrupting him, the bell chimed a second time, letting them know that school was over. A dozen chairs scraped against the floor as students immediately leaped to their feet.

 Struggling to maintain some semblance of control, Mr. Toshinori said, “Guys, I know this is our last day of class, but don’t forget—”

 It was too late, half the class had already stampeded to the exit, into the waiting hands of their parents. Eri felt bad for him.

 “Hey.”

 Eri tore her eyes away from her sad teacher. Mertle stood beside her, arms crossed, a sneer on her face. Looking down at her, she raised a brow, “You heard the bell right?”

 Her friends stood behind her, identical snobbish looks on their faces. “Right?” they echoed.

 Eri nodded. “Y-yes.”  

 “You spend all day staring outside. At least you’re not deaf, and just a space case.” Mertle pushed up her glasses. “Why’d you drop out of dance class? Is it cause you suck?”

 Dance class. Eri bit her cheek. “I…”

 Let’s sing together.

 “What’s going on here?” As though sensing her distress, Mr. Toshinori came over, a disapproving frown on his face. “Mertle, are you—”

 “I’m just cheering her up!” Mertle snapped back, flipping her hair and walking away. “The weirdo doesn’t talk otherwise.”

 “Mertle! Detention!” Mr. Toshinori sighed, shaking his head before crouching down in front of Eri. Giving her a gentle smile, he asked, “Are you okay?”

 She didn’t know the answer to that question anymore. Eri nodded her head.

 “If you need anything, you can talk to me.” He rubbed her head. “I know it must be hard these days, but I’m here for you.”

 The door swung open with a loud bang and her older brother Izuku stood at the entrance, panting. “Eri!” he jogged to her table, glancing up at the clock. “I’m sorry I’m late!” He bowed his head once. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

 “I-it’s okay,” Eri mumbled, shaking her hands in front of her. Sweat dripped down her brother’s forehead and her shoulders sunk. Every day, after school, he ran to her classroom. Izuku didn’t join any clubs, didn’t hang out with his friends, just made a beeline straight to her.

 She wasn’t worth it.

 “Any faster, my boy, and you should be on the track team.” Mr. Toshinori chuckled, resting a hand on Izuku’s shoulder.

 “M-m-mr. Toshinori!” Izuku’s eyes grew wide as he stared up at the teacher. Flustered, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not that fast. Just…”

 “You weren’t that late today.” Mr. Toshinori squeezed his shoulder, his voice gentling. “And I said before, I don’t mind waiting.”

 “That’s fine! I’ve got this.” Izuku pumped his hands, giving Eri a bright smile. “Right?”

 She nodded in response and his smile dimmed a notch.

 -x-

 Eri blinked awake, her throat parched as she stared up at the dark ceiling. Outside, the leaves rustled as a cool night breeze blew through them, crickets chirping restlessly as the hour wore on. Water, she thought. Her tongue felt like sand in her mouth. She glanced at the table next to her bed. Usually, her mom would have put a glass there, would have brushed back her bangs before kissing her goodnight.

 She wiped her eyes. Slipping out of bed, Eri quietly padded out of her room. To her left, at the end of the long hallway, was a locked door. Her parents’ room. Mirio had shut it when she came back from the hospital, locking it tight. We can deal with it later, he’d said.

 She heard the word Never. The door had only opened once, before the cremation, and Mirio had gone in alone. Izuku had read her a story while they waited downstairs, his eyes sliding away by the end of every paragraph. Eri couldn’t remember what the story was. Maybe he’d never finished it.

 No, she didn’t need to go there. What she needed was water and that was downstairs. Eri turned to her right, toward the stairs. The floorboards creaked lightly with every step. Her brothers’ bedroom lights stayed off.

 “What did he….”

 “Just…”

 At the top of the stairs, Eri froze as she heard voices. Quickly, she sat down on the stairs, slowly lowering herself down the steps until she could hear them better. In the living room, Mirio sat on the couch, hands clasped, jaw resting on his knuckles as he thought about it. Izuku paced back and forth as though the answers could be found if he walked enough.

 “They’ll just take us?” Izuku asked, his hands curled into fists. “They’ll separate us?”

 “If I can’t prove that I’m taking good care of you, yes.” Mirio raked a hand through his hair. “Money’s a little tight because of all the bills, so they’re concerned.”

 “But…that’s just unfair!” Izuku stopped walking, his arms at his side. “I…what if I get a job too?” His expression brightened. “I can get a job after school and-and-and I can go to work after I graduate!”

 “No!” Mirio sprang to his feet and Eri shivered. She’d never seen her brother look so angry. Even Izuku took a step backward. Calming down, he smiled and grabbed Izuku’s hands, carefully uncurling his fists. “You can’t daydream while on the job, you know? And how’re you going to finish all your homework when you’re working.”

 “But—”

 “It’ll be fine,” Mirio interrupted, his smile even brighter as he pulled Izuku close and hugged him tight. “Look, tomorrow I’m starting a new job, a nice one down by the beach. And Nejire and Tamaki said they’d help out as much as they can. So don’t you worry about money, unless you want to be like Scrooge.”

 “But—”

 As though to prove his point, Mirio quacked.

 “O-okay.” Izuku relaxed slightly.

 “And you’re going to university.” Mirio pulled back, brushing Izuku’s hair out of his face. “It’d be a crime to keep the greatest mind out of university.”

 Izuku bit his lip. “You didn’t get to go.”

 “Yet.” Mirio bopped him on the nose, winking. “I’m just delaying it a little, that’s all.”

 “You will go, okay?” Izuku pressed, a determined expression on his face. “After me, right?”

 “As long as I can use your notes.” Mirio chuckled. “Now, let’s go to bed; you’ve got school tomorrow and I can’t be late for my first day.”

 Eri scrambled backwards, trying to keep out of sight, but the stairs creaked at that moment. Immediately, her brothers looked behind them, up at the stairs.

 “Eri!” Mirio’s eyes widened before he gave her the same reassuring smile. “What’s up?”

 “E-e-eri?” Izuku had always been the worst liar.

 Getting up, she weakly waved. “Water,” she mumbled.

 “Water! Got it!” Izuku ran to the kitchen.

 “Careful not to spill!” Mirio called out, heading up the stairs toward her. “Let’s go to your room to wait for him, okay?”

 She nodded, grabbing her brother’s hand. It was warm. This close, she could see the bags under his eyes, the lines on his face. He never looked so tired, so old before. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t have to take care of her, if she lived away.

 As she slipped back into bed, Mirio carefully tucked her blanket around her. “Still kinda chilly, isn’t it? Maybe we’ll get Christmas in July!” He sat on the edge of her bed, his hand gently brushing the bangs away from her eyes. Did their mom do that for him too? “You okay, Eri?”

 “Yeah,” she mumbled.

 “Got your water!” Izuku stumbled in. Coming to a stop next to her head, he offered her the glass. “Did you have a bad dream?”

 “No,” she answered truthfully, sitting up to drink. Her mouth still felt parched. Maybe the thirst would never go away.

 “You know what we haven’t done in a long time? Singing lullabies!” Mirio took the glass from her and set on the side table. Imploringly, he leaned forward and asked, “Do you want to sing with us, Eri?”

 “No,” she answered immediately.

 Mirio’s expression tightened but he kept his smile up. “Alright then, we’ll sing instead. Close your eyes.”

 -x-

 Eri rocked her feet back and forth as she sat at the kitchen table. It would be another hour till dinner, another hour till Mirio came back from the beach. Beside her, Izuku poured over sheets of paper, filling line after line with tiny, cramped writing. His homework was much harder than hers. And longer.

 Outside, something metallic rattled. Eri looked at the kitchen window curiously, but from here she couldn’t see anything. Izuku hadn’t noticed, muttering under his breath something about sins and triangles. Sneaking a glance at him, Eri slipped off her chair and headed to the backdoor.

 Opening it a crack, she peeked outside. There was a concrete slab, a grassy hill, two trashcans—

 A trashcan rattled and Eri jumped. Was it a mongoose? A monster? Staring at it, she waited, but the can didn’t move. It only rattled every now and then, as though someone was rolling around in it. Behind her, Izuku was still concentrating on his homework. She didn’t want to bother him; it was time she fought monsters on her own. Gathering her courage, Eri slipped outside.

 “Hello?” she called out as she got closer, clasping her hands together nervously. “Are you a monster?”

 The trashcan fell over in response and she tried not to shriek as she jumped back. For a second, nothing happened, and then this big red thing crawled out. Eri stared. What was it, a dog? A cat? It was a big, furry animal, with four legs and long antenna sticking out of its forehead. Looking a little dizzy, it shook its head and coughed. Clouds of black smoke escaped its lips.

 It had to be a monster. A fire monster. It looked her, with big, unblinking eyes, before returning to the garbage. Tearing apart the bag with its claws, it nosed through the refuse.

 Eri stared. It was a hungry monster.

 -x-

 “Hey, are you here?” Eri whispered, sneaking out of the house with a plate of meat. This was what having a pet was like, she imagined. Every day without fail, the red monster would come to sniff through their trash. Izuku was always busy with homework and Eri finished hers early, so she snuck out to feed him.

 The second she set down the plate, he reappeared. When she backed away, he crept closer, sniffing the plate suspiciously before wolfing down everything on the plate. And almost the plate itself, but when she’d chased him away, he got the picture. He was a smart monster.

 So smart that he wouldn’t let her pet him. Eri frowned. This wasn’t at all like having a pet. All she did was feed him. Like right now. As she put down the plate, the monster poked his head out of a bush.

 “Arrwhhh?” he growled.

 “Can I touch you?” she asked hopefully.

 The monster hissed, shaking his head. His long, floppy ears whipped back and forth.

 Shoulders slumped, she walked back to the back door and sat on the ground. Deeming it safe, the monster jumped out of the bushes and rushed to the plate. He gave a happy grunt at the sight before immediately devouring everything in front of him.

 Smoke rings still escaped is mouth every now and then. Maybe one day there’d be fire too. Eri glanced at the distant shape of the volcano. Her mom (and her heart hurt at the thought) used to point at it, calling it by the names of her native tongue. Kazan. “Bakugou.”

 Before she could say anything else, the monster’s ears straightened and he looked at her. He grunted.

 She wasn’t sure what to make of that, only he looked a bit happier. Eri tried again, ���Bakugou?”

 The monster looked at her again, grunting once more. Was that his name? She nodded. “I’m Eri.”

 “E-ry,” the monster, Bakugou, repeated.

 “Can I pet you?” she asked, holding out her hand.

 True to form, he ignored her and finished devouring his meal.

 -x-

 “Oh no.” Izuku paled as he rifled through his backpack. Hastily, he pulled everything out: loose sheets of paper, textbooks, a gumwrapper. Turning his bag upside down, he shook it twice but nothing else came out. “Oh noooooo.”

 Eri tore her eyes away from the window. The trashcans hadn’t rattled yet; Bakugou hadn’t arrived yet. “Something wrong?”

“My homework.” He slumped on the kitchen table and bemoaned, “I left the math sheet in my locker.” Hands on his hair, he tugged on the curly tufts. “And it’s due tomorrow.”

 His teacher, Mr. Aizawa, was oddly strict and Eri gnawed her lip. “Are you in trouble?”

 “Yeah.” He banged his head on the table once more before sitting up suddenly. “Iida!”

 “Iida?” Eri cocked her head. She vaguely remembered meeting her brother’s friends. He was the tall, serious one, the one who smiled stiffly.

 “I can get a copy from him.” Jumping to his feet, Izuku dashed to the door and swung it open. Slipping into his shoes, he dashed out. The door barely closed before he ran back in in. “Eri.”

 “Y-yes!” She ran to the door.

 “Is it okay if I leave you alone? It’s just for ten minutes, okay?” Izuku looked at her beseechingly.

 “T-that’s fine.” Eri nodded her head eagerly. Any other answer and he’d stay behind; she’d already caused him enough trouble with adding to the list. “Good luck.”

 “Thank you!” Izuku hugged her tightly and then he was off again, the door banging shut.

 The house quiet. Eri looked behind her. The lights were on in the kitchen and living room, but nowhere else. Now that she thought about it, it was the first time she’d been left alone. She padded quietly to the kitchen, turn on the water, and filled a glass. Maybe she should turn on the tv; she didn’t like how quiet it was.

 Outside, the trash cans rattled and Eri jumped. Leaning on the sink, she peeked outside to find the red monster outside. He growled, hungry, and she lowered herself to the kitchen floor. She’d almost forgotten it was time to feed him; she wasn’t entirely alone then.

 She wasn’t alone. Eri glanced at the front door. Izuku wouldn’t be back for a while. It couldn’t hurt to let him in, just for a little, would it? No one had to know. Opening the side door, Eri stared at the expectant Bakugou. He growled at her once but did little else. Hesitantly, she suggested, “Come in.”

 Bakugou didn’t move, only giving her a dubious look.

 “The foods inside,” she added, stepping back.

 He gave her a second look. As his stomach grumbled, he reluctantly got on his feet and crawled over. At the threshold, he hesitated. His belly rumbled once more, and he trotted in.

 Eri sighed with relief and followed him to the kitchen. Now inside, all of his reluctance was gone and Bakugou was investigating everything in the house, especially the knives for some reason. He opened every cupboard, poked his nose into every shelf, and Eri winced as spoons and pots fell out in his wake.

 “You can’t do that,” she reprimanded, picking up the fallen cutlery.

 If Bakugou was listening, he didn’t react. Instead, he swung open the fridge, far stronger than his appearance suggested. “Food!” he uttered, the word barely recognizable.

 “You can’t—”

 “Eri!”

 “Are you okay?”

 Eri dropped the pans with a huge clang as she heard not just Izuku’s voice, but Mirio’s as well. He was home early. Really early. It hadn’t even been five minutes since Izuku had left. “H-here,” she replied back, running to the fridge. Trying to grab Bakugou, she whispered, “You have to go!”

 He dropped an egg on her head.

 “Don’t be scared, but we have a guest today! From Social Services!” Mirio said. There was a thud as something fell, followed by the sound of footsteps.

 She paled. That was even worse than just her brothers. “You really have to go!” Jumping up and down, she managed to grab Bakugou’s foot. As she yanked him, she fell backwards with a soft groan.

 Bakugou reacted quickly by pulling his leg free and scrambling up the counter. He hissed at her, smoke escaping his mouth again, and she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined the flicker of fire this time. Before she could get on her feet, Mirio and Izuku were standing at the kitchen entrance.

 “As you can see.” Mirio gestured. “She’s…” He trailed off, his eyes widening as he took in the mess. “Uh…”

 “What happened?” Izuku gasped.

 “Kids are kids?” Mirio suggested, laughing nervously.

 Behind him, the tall, reedy man adjusted his glasses. “I see.”

 “What do you see?” Izuku asked, still staring at the mess. “And what is that?”

 Bakugou didn’t take kindly to being gawked at. He ran along the counter and Eri wasn’t sure if he was trying to escape or attack her brother. Either way, if he leapt out of the kitchen, the rest of their house would be as messy as this room. Chasing Bakguou, she grabbed him as he leapt off the counter. An entirely unwanted action, he struggled in her arms, trying to escape.

 “You can’t!” she said, tightening her grip. Panicking when he didn’t relent, Eri glanced at her brothers. What was she supposed to do now? Before she could think about it, she started humming. By now, she had forgotten the words to the song, but the tune, the tune was still there.

 Slowly, Bakugou relaxed in her grip.

 “We heard pets are great for theraphy,” Mirio quickly explained, pulling the social worker away. “Still training him though.”

 “Yep, training, definitely training,” Izuku chimed in, propelling the stranger forward by pushing on his back.

 As they headed to the entrance, Eri slumped to the floor. Letting go of Bakugou, she sighed. That wasn’t good. Her brothers would be in even more trouble now. And it was all her fault.

 “Arawww,” Bakugou growled, sounding almost friendly.

 “It’s okay.” She held out a hand. “You’re a problem but I’m one too.”

 Bakugou stepped forward, sniffing her hand. Approving, he sat down and arched his head toward her. Did that mean she could pet him? Hesitantly, Eri laid a hand on his fur. He pushed his head further into her hand, giving her an impatient bark. Excited now, she petted him. His fur was softer than she’d expected. There was a rumbling sound, almost like purring, and when she glanced at his face, there was something like a contented smile on his face.

 “Eri.”

 At the sound of her brothers, Bakugou dashed to the other side of the kitchen and watched them warily. She looked up to find Mirio and Izuku standing at the kitchen entrance, their eyes wide.

 “Eri, you’re smiling,” Mirio whispered.

 She patted her mouth. Her lips were up and oh, she was smiling. Before she could say anything, four sets of arms were around her, bodies colliding as both her brothers hugged her.

 “I was worried you’d never smile,” Izuku mumbled, crying.

 “I’m so glad.” Mirio kissed the side of her head.

 Eri couldn’t help it—surrounded by all this love, she broke into tears and clung to them. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault—”

 “It’s not!” Izuku snapped. “Nothing is.”

 “But Mom and Dad—”

 “You’re fine, Eri, don’t blame yourself.”

 “And that guy—”

 Mirio pulled back and wiped her tears with his thumb. “It’ll be fine. I can deal with him. Don’t worry about it.”

 Bakugou growled and Eri glanced at him. Gathering her courage, she asked, “C-can he stay?”

 “Him?” Mirio stared at him for a long moment before bursting into a smile. “Sure, but we’re going to have to housetrain him.” He gestured at the room. “Can’t have this happen again, right?”

 Eri nodded vigorously. “Y-yes. I’ll teach him, I will! He can be good.”

 “What is he?” Izuku asked, taking a photo with his phone. He started to scroll through the internet, mumbling under his breath about different breeds of dogs and cats.

 A monster, Eri knew, but she kept silent. Whatever he was, he was going to be family now.  

[heymeowmao]

Idol Room w/ Got7 (190521)

- Youngjae and Jackson during the intro song, I- 

- Jackson/BamBam: Who sang this song? // Hyungdon just talks over them XD (Pentagon Hui, good job!!)

- Jinyoung - He Is Psychometric’s Kiss Scene - YG/MK: screams/squeals ; BB: Oh, you kiss with your eyes open? ; JB: RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD??!? / JS: Very good.

BB: Wow, what are you doing, in a hospital? To a sick person?? MCs jump on the train: What are you doing? To a patient??? JY: I’m sorry

JY: I practiced the scene with Jackson a lot MC: Oh, with Jackson? /thinks/ WITH JACKSON?!

JY/JS: /goes for it/ JB: THEY’RE REALLY GOING FOR IT?!

JY: /ends up laugh-spitting on Jackson/

Jus2 - JB’s trying to explain why the unit is called “Jus2″ and Hyungdon just- “Could you sweep aside your (hair) curtain?”

Yugyeom: - Maknae on Top - YG messes with JY and JS a lot bc he “likes their reactions” - Connection King: Friends w/ Chef Lee Yeonbok bc they were in the Jungle together, says he could bring his members to Chef’s house but never had. JB is especially salty about this - Connection King: Brings up ‘97 line, and how YG made friends w/ Jungkook right before BTS exploded into fame, insinuating YG only makes friends with those about to be famous. :p YG names Youngjae (yaass) as the one to look out for in 2019 (Even though JB wanted to be picked, bc Jus2 is still on tour... Poor JB) - If you could invite Jungkook or JB to the Chef’s house, who would you pick?  YG: Of course, JB-hyung. (Only) BC I’ve known him longer... ~ JB’s cute “It’s okay” to Jackson when he was standing by the wall :)

Jackson, about walking around Beijing: Yeah, some people recognize me MC: You can’t walk, can you? (bc there are too many people) JS: I can walk... (bc I have two legs)

BamBam - Fan-meeting tour gathered 15k people, brand model for 6 different brands JS: When we go to Thailand, BB’s everywhere: on the streets, shopping malls, airport... MC: Then, when BB arrives at the airport, it must be crazy JS: There are 8 thousand people. If there aren’t then BB doesn’t leave the plane XD

JB has a hard time explaining “Eclipse”, rolls into a ball: “I don’t even know if I’m doing well or not, right now...”

NICE CHOREO.

At the “I won’t let go of this light called you” part, Jinyoung grabs on to JB like this :’)

After they keep failing at the stop-go dance: JY: Do we HAVE to do this corner?

29:03 - 47:02 - Leader Games (BB and JB fight for the Leader Crown)

[HOLD UP! 32:20 - JB is holding that blindfold, but we didn’t see the scene. We were deprived of prime JJP content, right there. OTL ]

BB’s proposition: I’ll make it fun and let anyone eat what they want JB’s proposition: I’ll allow a 25,000W allowance for every meal

Mark - BB; After today’s schedule, let’s go eat beef Bam - JB; We have a schedule everyday, so there’s no other time to eat (picks the luxury meal over no meal) Yugyeom - BB; I always play around at the broadcast stations anyway, but let’s make it fun Jackson - JB; Since he’s always been the leader, he has a sense of responsibility and I have trust in him. I think he’ll protect us well ♥ Youngjae - BB; I want to prove he’s a liar (fix his lying habits) JB - JB; If it were me, I’d write my own name At 3:3, the tie-breaking vote was Jinyoung’s, in favor of JB. :’) (JY has such a gratifying smile on his face, knowing this last vote was his) Jinyoung - JB; A leader is a leader forever. JB, Hwaiting JB instantly knew it was JY’s and went to give him a hug and handshake.

MC: Then, that means BB voted for JB? BB: Yeah, I did. MC: Wow, and JB voted for himself?? JB: oTL

47:03 - 49:25 - JB proves how much he can fit in his mouth

49:50 - 50:01 - Cute JinGyeom Moment -  JY: You've started talking a lot more after being in Jus2. It's nice. YG: Right? :) I'm excited. It's been so long since the 7 of us were together, that's why. JY: (So cute, our Gyeom-ie =^^=) 

50:08 - 57:52 - Flying Toast

Ending Fairy Yugyeom~~

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God- Chapter 4

***Sometimes staying away is the easiest move. Keeping a safe distance, especially for Emerson and Dean Winchester. So, when the Maklen twins come home again, they don’t anticipate the feelings that Emerson will get having to see him again. When tragedy strikes, the Winchester brothers and the Maklen twins are forced to face, not only their feelings, but each other. In a story about pain, family, abandonment, and desire, the couples have to decide if survival, without love, is enough.***

Warnings: Angst, violence, death, mutual pinning, age difference, language

Chapter Four

“I manage a smile the first time I see him, and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told. So I hold my breath cause I’m thinking any minute now he’s gonna call me on it.” - Shane Koyczan

-9 Hours After-

The Earth was quiet. It was almost eerie, alien. The Winchester brothers stepped off the boat first on to the dock. They wanted to test it to make sure it was sound, so the girl’s wouldn’t fall into the ocean. Pieces were broken from when the earth shook. The dock splintered, as if it’d been hit by an angry fist. Sam lifted Pheli off the boat, effortlessly, pulling her against his chest. “You look cute.” He whispered to her through his surgical mask. She hit his chest playfully in response.

Dean offered a rubber gloved hand to Emerson. She could see the crinkles around his eyes from where he was grinning widely under his mask, but there was something else. His pupils were dilated and his eyebrows seemed locked in position. He was afraid.

Emerson rested her gloved hand in Deans and let him pull her up onto the dock. “Where are we going?” She asked him quietly.

“I have some supplies at the house, then I thought we could check the hospital and see about your mom.”

Pheli turned at that and met Emerson’s eyes. Their mother. They were going to let her go. It was already decided. What was the likelihood that she was still alive strapped to the machine that was breathing for her? What was the likelihood that anyone survived? In the wake of the explosion, would it even be safe to travel downtown to find out?

Dean squeezed Emersons hand. She hadn’t noticed that she was gripping his fingers for dear life. She didn’t want to need his support, but he was strong, and his hand was warm within hers. “Come on.” He said. “Let’s get to the car, it’s not safe to be out here even with the precautions.”

She pulled her hand from his and adjusted her hat, even though her skin was still covered. She could feel the heat from the sun baking down on them, and her skin was starting to sweat under the rain jacket.

“I feel like a baked potato.” Pheli complained as Sam zipped her jacked up to her chin.

“Better safe than sorry.” He said, poking her nose through the mask.

Ophelia was meant for drama, and Emerson had always thought that. Growing up, Pheli was always dressing up, and doing performances for the family. She would sit her sister and their mother down and do a dramatic reenactment, or a song and dance. The older she got, the more drama was involved in their regular life. She would cry over boys, and romanticize the smallest moments.

She wasn’t being dramatic then, though. Emerson felt that the baked potato metaphor was unsettlingly fitting. The ground seemed to be steaming; most of the red rain was gone from the ground, evaporated into blood red clouds that floated threateningly above them.

“Thank God.” Dean whispered as the four reached the car. “My baby is okay.” He ran his fingers along the car with a relieved smile.

Emerson rolled her eyes as he unlocked the car. Her vision was fuzzy along the edges. “Dean I’m not sure these masks are working.” She exhaled slowly, eyeing Pheli as Sam helped her into the car. “You feeling okay?”

“A little woozy.” She admitted.

“Me, too.”

“Alright, lets book it.” Dean said quickly, sliding into the driver’s seat.

The sisters laced their fingers together in the backseat. Emerson rubbed small circles on the back of Pheli’s hand. Their eyes flickered out the window as they watched the town they grew up in fly by in a blur of color. “Oh my god.” Pheli whispered, her hand going to her mouth.

Everything looked like it’d been picked up and shook. Buildings had collapsed, some still on fire. The flames licked up toward to the sky. Cars had crashed into each other, causing Dean to slow the Impala for fear of a collision. Bodies were lying in the street. “Christ.” Dean whispered. His back was tense under his flannel. Emerson wanted to reach out and touch him, but she refrained. It wasn’t their way, after all. “Fuck.” He stopped the car.

“What?”  Emerson asked, scooting into the middle seat so she could get a view of the street. There was a large light pole that had fallen in the road. There was no way around. “Shit.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “We are going to have to walk.” There was oil in the street from the car wrecks. Fire. It was dangerous to stay, but they had no idea if they would survive the walk back to the houses. The girls were already feeling a light headed from the toxin in the air, and they’d barely been outside.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Sam promised, his hand on Pheli’s thigh. He was reaching around from the front seat.

She nodded. She believed him. She didn’t have any other choice.

“Dean, the gas…”

“I know.” He said sharply before letting out a sigh. “I have supplies at the house. All Dad’s old military shit. I think he may have some masks. We just have to get there.” He turned, meeting Emerson’s eyes. “We will have to hustle.” He turned to Phel. “Can you do that?”

Both girls nodded. They knew the only answer was yes. They had to move, or they would die, and the latter wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be.

-7 Years Before-

“What in God’s name are you doing here?”

Dean leaned against the doorway wearing a black button up lazily tucked into a pair of slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a cigarette was in between his teeth. He held a single rose in his fingers. “Homecoming, Em.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Emerson stared at him blankly. Fucking Ophelia! I’m going to kill her.

“Shit, put your murder eyes away.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“You’re too old for high school homecoming.”

“Probably right, but Sammy needs a wingman.” He offered her the rose with his best smile.

All it did was piss her off. She reached up and pulled the cigarette from his lips and broke it. “I’m not going anywhere with you if you have cigarette mouth. It’s disgusting.”

“Why do you care what my mouth tastes like?” He taunted with a smirk, clearly loving getting a reaction out of her.

“I don’t care.” She snapped before turning to walk back inside.

“So, you gonna change?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to him. She was wearing a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. She was so distracted by him showing up that she didn’t even realize. “No. I’m not going to homecoming.”

“Yes you are!” Pheli said from the top of the stairs.

“Oh I don’t want to hear it from you!” Emerson snapped at her sister who quickly disappeared back into her bedroom.  She turned on her heels and her chest brushed against Dean’s.  

“I don’t want to go either, by the way.” He said quietly.

“Cool.” She said. She didn’t back away from him. “So why are you trying to go?”

He shrugged. “I put on a shirt.”

“Right.” Emerson snorted.

“Just come with me, Em.”

“Why should I, Dean?”

“Because you want to.” He said sheepishly with a mischievous grin.

“I don’t.”

“You’re a liar.” He grinned widely. “Fine. Come because it’ll be fun. We can watch Sammy and Ophelia be all squirmy and awkward. It’ll be great.”

Emerson opened her mouth to argue more, but she pressed it shut. She knew she should go to be there for her sister. It was her first date with Sam. Her eyes met Deans green ones. He was grinning. He already knew he won. “Fine, but this isn’t a date. We are going for our siblings.”

“Yup. Totally.” He chucked low. “I don’t date anyway, Em.” He shrugged.

“Right.”

****

Dean was surprised by how nice Emerson cleaned up. She took a step on the top of the stairs and Ophelia cleared her throat, maybe to signal Sam to look at her, or perhaps to signal Dean to look at her sister.

He wasn’t blind, he knew Emerson was beautiful. Both Maklen sisters were often the talk of the school, and even though he was long graduated, he wouldn’t forget the look of the other seniors when the two blonde twins walked into the school on the first day of their freshman year. They were beautiful and typically attached at the hip. Sam had begged him to take Emerson to the dance.

“Please, Dean. You owe me!”

“For what, pray tell?”

“Two words: pink panties.”

“Alright, you got it. I’ll take the cranky sister to the dance.” Truth be told, he would’ve taken her anyway. She was hot and mysterious, but more than anything Sam asked him. He couldn’t say no to his brother.

“Thank you.” Sam exhaled.

“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Yes.” Dean laughed. “You actually are.” He grabbed his brother and ruffled his hair. “Little Sammy! Don’t forget to pack condoms.”

“What? No way!” His face was bright red and hot.

Dean laughed and let him go. “Go in with confidence, my man. It makes a world of difference.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair to fix it. “Is that what you’re going to do with Emerson?”

The older brother shrugged and flipped his lighter in his hands. “It won’t be like that.”

“Why not? If it works with all the other girls.”

“Well first of all, she’s sixteen.” He said, flicking Sam’s forehead. “Second of all, I don’t know. She’s not like other girls.” He shrugged noncommittally.

Her hair had a subtle wave to it as it spilled down her shoulders. Her dress was simple, maroon, and strapless, showing off her smooth collarbones and flawless shoulders. It hit her mid-thigh, and for once she wore combat boots. His eyes landed on her full lips, which were painted a nude color. More than anything, though, she looked fucking annoyed.

“You look amazing.” Sam gushed at Pheli. She was wearing a pink dress that hugged her curves. It had a shimmer to it, and the straps crisscrossed across her chest. She wore a pair of silver heels that caught the light. She put a lot of work into her appearance, and Sam noticed.

“Thank you.” She blushed, red creeping up her neck. “You look handsome too.” She took his hand, and he offered her a corsage. “Wow! It’s stunning. Did you pick it out yourself?”

Dean turned to Emerson and grinned. “Wow, you clean up nice.”

“I know.” She forced a wicked grin.

“You look nice, too, Dean.” He said in a girly voice. “Wow, thanks Em. You’re a peach.”

“Was that supposed to be me?” She laughed.

“I think it was a spot on interpretation.”

“I guess.” She rolled her eyes, but took his arm when he offered it. “Okay love birds, let’s get this thing over with.”

The dance was impressive, but no one should’ve been surprised. Pheli was on the planning committee. The gymnasium at the high school was transformed by twinkle lights, and clear balloons covering the floor. Everything was low light and sparkling. It felt like they were inside of a glittering snow globe just waiting to be shaken.

“You out did yourself, kiddo.” Dean glanced at Ophelia. She smiled widely, knowing that any compliment given from him was one to cherish.

“Sam let’s go get our picture taken!” She squealed, pulling his hand. The couple disappeared into the crowd to go get a professional photograph taken.

“She’s intense.” Dean commented.

“That’s an understatement.”

He glanced at her. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“What? Like punch?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Emerson raised an eyebrow. He put a hand on her lower back to lead her through the crowd.

He got them both a glass of punch and to her surprise he didn’t pull out a flask. They walked away from the table and took a seat. She took the glass from him and eagerly and took a sip. She made a face. “This is so watered down.” She laughed.

“Yeah, I never liked dances.” He agreed with a laugh. “They always felt lame and forced.”

“Pheli loves them, and I love watching her love them. Ya know? Even if I hate them.”

“Don’t teenage girls usually love dances?”

“That’s a stereotype.” Emerson raised an eyebrow.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, guess it is.”

Emerson picked at her nails uncomfortably, and Dean couldn’t stop staring at her. The way her blonde waves fell in her face. The focus of the deep brown of her eyes. The way her bottom lip moved as she let out her breath. He pleaned in. “Okay, one time offer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Want to dance?”

She almost spit her drink. Was Dean Winchester seriously asking her to dance? “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Going once… going twice…”

“Fuck you.” She went to fold her arms across her chest in protest, but instead he grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

She was so surprised that she was easily pulled on to the dance floor. He spun her around effortlessly, her hair whipping around her. The song was faced paced, and she was surprised by his dance moves. He wasn’t grinding against her leg, he was actually dancing. His hand was pressed to her lower back and he lead her around the dance floor. “How did you learn this?” She asked, breathlessly as he pulled her against him.

“Mom.” He said with a shrug. “She loved to dance, and Dad had two left feet.”

“You’re actually pretty good.” She laughed as he spun her out and back in again.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Maybe I’m not what you think I am.” He asked as he pulled her a little closer, his eyes meeting hers intensely.

Maybe he wasn’t. It hadn’t ever occurred to her that the guy next door could be more than he appeared. The song changed to a slower one and she started to pull away, but his grip tightened on her. “Just a little longer.” He murmured, and she wasn’t really sure if she was intended to hear it, not really, so she didn’t comment on it.

They swayed slowly together to the rhythm of the music. She let her body relax against him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “This doesn’t last forever.” He commented quietly.

The song? She knew that, but somehow she didn’t think that was what he meant. “What doesn’t?”

“High school.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I know.”

“It sucked for me, too.” He laughed breathlessly. “But it really is just a blink and it’s over.”

She knew that, but there was comfort in hearing it from someone who lived through it. From someone who wasn’t like Pheli, who often cried at the thought of high school ending.

“Not everyone is Sam and Ophelia.” Dean commented, as if he could read her mind.

“That’s the truth.” She pulled away to look at him. “Why aren’t you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know... real?”

He shrugged. “When people think you’re one thing, sometimes it’s just easier to live up to it. I’d always rather be underestimated. Then you can surprise them, and you never let anyone down.”

Emerson pressed her lips together. Part of her wanted to kiss him, but then she remembered that she didn’t kiss guys like Dean Winchester. She didn’t kiss guys period. She was thinking, again, despite what she was witnessing, that he was one thing. That he was bad, but people are more complicated than that. More than anyone she should know that. “Want to get some air?” She asked him instead.

“Sure.” He shrugged, dropping her hand to walk outside.

She somehow felt empty, without having him touching her. They pushed out into the cool Autumn night. His back was pressed against the brick of the school as he pulled out a cigarette. He held it between his lips and lit it, inhaling the smoke. His eyes fluttered closed, his face relaxing.

“Why do you do that?”

He shrugged, opening a single eye to look at her. “Part of me has always known I’m going to die young. May as well help it along. Should smoke two at once.” He laughed, letting out a gray breath.

She eyed the cigarette, glowing orange in the night air. “That’s tragic, Dean. You know that, right? Life isn’t about dying. It isn’t about getting to the finish line.”

He turned his body to look at her, his expression serious. “Of course it is, Em.”

They weren’t like Sam and Ophelia. Wrapped up in bliss and possibilities. Flowers and butterfly kisses. Emerson and Dean were snark, longing looks, and inhaled smoke despite the fact that it fucking hurt. They stood in the dark behind the school, listening to the muffled pulse of music through the wall into the gymnasium. There were people that went to dances and fell in love under the twinkling lights, and then there was Dean Winchester. He wasn’t the guy to fall in love with. He was dangerous. He had bad habits and little to no respect for himself. But he also danced with his mom and looked out for his little brother, and the way he looked at Emerson through the smoke in the darkness made her question everything she knew. Maybe that’s what relationships were all about. Questions and answers.

Emerson grabbed the cigarette from him and stepped an inch away from him. “I refuse to believe that you are living just to die. What is the point? If you don’t have something to live for, Dean, it’s time to find one. You think you’re worthless, but the only thing making you worthless is you.”

His eyes flickered to the cigarette with his mouth opened. Her words hit him like a bullet to the chest. He half expected her to stomp out the burning embers, but instead she brought it to her lips and took a deep breath in, sucking the smoke into her lungs, her eyes never leaving his.

-9 Hours After-

They were running, dodging flames, cars, fallen trees, dead bodies... Emerson bent over in a coughing fit. Even through the surgical mask the air was too much. The toxin and the smell of burning flesh had almost completely blinded her. Everything was fuzzy. She had only been pulled forward by Ophelia, who was being almost drug by Sam. They jumped over a fallen woman, and Emerson released Pheli’s hand. She doubled over, coughing into her mask.

It was worse than that first cigarette. She coughed so much she almost threw up. It had lessened the impact of her statement to Dean, turns out Ophelia wasn’t the only Maklen girl who had a flare for the dramatic.

“Em!” Ophelia turned back when she felt her sister release her grasp. “Dean!”

He turned and muttered a curse under his breath. He turned on his heels and ran to Emerson, effortlessly scooping her up. His arm went under the bend of her legs and behind her back. “I got you.” He told her, holding her against his chest. “Keep going! I’ve got her!” He yelled to his brother and Pheli.  

Emerson looked up at Dean weakly. She was coughing more, her throat burning. She tasted pennies in her mouth. “Dean.” She whispered between coughs. Her lips were wet under the mask.

“You’ve got it. Just hold on a little longer, Em. We are almost there. We don’t live just to die, remember?” He asked quietly, wiping a tear from her eye. “So you aren’t dying today. I won’t fucking lose you. Not now.”

—————

Chapter Five

Get caught up!

[keprambles]

Panic! At The Disco: This Is Gospel [OFFICIAL VIDEO] This video is important to me for a few reasons: Here is a long personal...

[badassbellarke]

Who does Bonnie murder?

That is the big question people are asking.

First of all, I AM LIVING FOR THIS SEASON AND THE MYSTERY. It is so juicy because there are a lot of separate story-lines and questions floating around between our core characters, as opposed to the previous seasons where everybody was working together to get away/cover up murder.

Suspect - Bonnie freaking Winterbottom.

Let’s get right to it. As a whole, I’d say this character is quite unknown in comparison to the Keating four and Annalise herself. What do we know about her, really? The ‘what’ usually leads to the ‘why’ and the ‘whom’. 

Well, we know she is an attorney of law. 

We know she is a killer. In fact, one could argue that she has had her hands in every single murder on this show thus far and is by far the most responsible. She has not killed every single person herself but she has been involved or in the know about them all. Frank, too. 

We also know she has a history of mental illness. To what extent I don’t know if that has been shared (I have a terrible memory?) but we do know as an audience that she is very unstable. We have witnessed it many, many times. She acts with impulse and without regret.... possibly a sociopath? 

She was sexually assaulted and abused by her father, and raped by his acquaintances whom he set up. Which, no doubt, caused a lot of trauma and contributed to her mental instability. 

Her father had been in prison her adult life and was later murdered by Frank.

She is a compulsive liar. Annalise is supposed to be her best friend and most trusted ally, however Bonnie has lied to her a countless amount of times straight to her face without any guilt. Not to mention that she had an affair with Annalise’s husband without remorse, too. 

She has an estranged sister who is presumably troubled.

She gave birth to a baby boy when she was fifteen years old and remembers the entire experience, but said she never saw her son after birth. He was later kidnapped from the hospital by Bonnie’s sister. 

She manipulates people and uses them, especially her boyfriends or partners. She has a problem with intimacy. 

My question is, what is her motive? What is her gain?

Victim - John / Jane Doe.

We know that the person killed cannot be any of these people: Laurel (she is seen grabbing Christopher from Bonnie after Bonnie murders John Doe), Michaela (she finds Bonnie in the bathroom covered in blood after the murder), Annalise (she is dancing at the wedding reception when Frank approaches her to confess what has happened), Frank (he finds Annalise at the reception afterward), Asher (Connor finds him outside the reception having *relations* with Mrs. Walsh), or Connor (he is at the reception waiting for Oliver to make a toast). 

That leaves Oliver, Nate, Gabriel, or Bonnie’s sister Julie. 

Who can it be? Whose death left Annalise broken on her apartment floor? 

I have my fingers pointed towards Nate Lahey, Oliver, and Bonnie’s sister.

Oliver Hampton. 

Why would Bonnie want to kill Oliver? Well, that is the easiest part of my theory. Oliver is a hacker and we know that he was investigating Gabriel and trying to figure out what Frank had to do with him. 

If Gabriel is Bonnie’s son then it is possible that Oliver figured it out and was going to tell somebody, possibly Gabriel himself. Oliver has a guilty conscience and always wants to do what his moral compass says, especially after the Simon incidents last season with him almost dying and then being deported. Oliver is done with the lies and schemes. 

This could have conflicted with Bonnie’s long term agenda of keeping her son a secret, and maybe she snapped. Maybe she kills Oliver to simply keep him quiet. All the other people that are in the know such as Frank, Annalise, Nate, and Laurel are all excellent secret keepers, Bonnie wouldn’t worry about them, but Oliver? 

And let’s be honest, killing Oly off directly after he finally married Connor would be in perfect Shonda Rhymes fashion. She loves a tragic story. 

(I HATE THIS THEORY SO MUCH ILY OLIVER HAMPTON-WALSH PLEASE BE SAFE)

Nate Lahey

The only reason I am typing his name is because of how Annalise reacted to the news  and how she crumbled onto her floor once she returned home. She was devastated. And we all know she is in love with Mr. Nathaniel Lahey Jr. 

Also, he was looking deep into Gabriel’s past trying to figure out who he was and who Bonnie’s child is, which might have compromised things. He might have found out something he shouldn’t have known such as particular DNA evidence pertaining to Bonnie, or her sister. 

The only thing I can’t wrap my brain around though is how Bonnie could have managed murdering a guy twice her size by suffocating him like shown. You would think that Nate can fight back hard enough to get away from someone of her size, especially at a crowded party not very far away. So unless Frank was her accomplice and somehow subdued Nate, it doesn’t seem logical that she could kill him, especially without being hurt in the process. He carries a gun. 

But who else’s death would upset Annalise to such a degree? 

And why else would Bonnie have his cell phone after the murder had taken place? Michaela calls his phone and Bonnie takes it out of her purse to silence it and send it to voicemail. 

Either Nate helped her commit murder and his cell phone fell out of his pocket, which for an Officer is highly unlikely and goes against his better judgement, or he himself was murdered. 

Julie Winterbottom

In the bathroom scene at the wedding reception when Michaela confronts Bonnie, Bonnie seems jolted and out of character. Her responses to Michaela almost sound rehearsed and impersonal, and it is the same when Laurel walks in to grab Christopher. The Bonnie we have come to know has a lot of love and affection for Christopher and Laurel, too, and she is generally a bit warmer to them. This Bonnie appears uncomfortable and secretive. This Bonnie appears... different. Unhinged. Snapped. 

Annalise says to Frank in the latest episode, “I’m worried about Bonnie. She isn’t herself when she is around her sister, I’ve seen it.” 

Did Bonnie snap and kill her sister? 

Bonnie’s sister did after all kidnap her song all those years ago, and she confessed to burying him in the woods alive. Certainly enough motive for Bonnie to want her dead. 

Let’s face it, Bonnie and her sister do not have a good relationship in general. Julie even admits that it has been a DECADE since they have seen each other and she was very hostile about it. Julie is an ex addict and alcoholic from the looks of things, and Bonnie couldn’t deal with it any longer so she separated herself. The only reason why she decided to see Julie again was because she wanted to know the truth about her son, and what she learned I believe sent her over the edge. 

Her sister not only kidnapping but also killing her baby is devastating... I could see that being traumatic enough for her to break. And Bonnie is a very spiteful character, we even witness this as she attempts to call the police and report her sister for having an unregistered firearm. Frank says to her, “you’d regret this tomorrow” but I’m not sure that she would have. 

Bonnie wants revenge.

Who did you think she killed? x

[dumbledearme]

chapter six—under the clock tower

~~ read Swan Song here ~~

As Dr. Whale pushes the gurney where Flynn's unconscious body lies, two of the nurses try to hold me back. I fight my way through them, under protest, because there's no way they're going to keep me away from him. Whale checks his pupils with a lantern and then he looks over his shoulders and calls me forward. The nurses stop struggling with me.

"What happened? Did he fall?" Dr. Whale asks me when I approach. I brace myself trying not to look at how white Flynn's skin has turned.

"He ate this." From my coat's pocket, I pull a little plastic bag where I put the bitten apple tart my mom fed my boyfriend, and I say the unimaginable truth: "I think it's poisoned."

Dr. Whale looks skeptical. He turns his attention back to Flynn and checks his throat, much like I did back at the house. "His airway is clear," he tells the nurses and me. "Was there vomit? Any convulsions? Disorientation?"

The questions come very fast, demanding a level of clear head that I don't have right now. "He took a bite of this and then he just collapsed," I say waving the tart in front of Whale. I have to stop myself because I can't say what I want to say—that my mother is to blame, that she did this to him.

I don't know why I'm so sure she did it, but I am. The look in her eyes, the previous conversation, her wanting to know how much I cared about Flynn, the comments about not wanting to be like her mother when she was doing exactly what she hated her mother for—killing the daughter's boyfriend.

"The boy is showing no symptoms that would suggest neurotoxin, so whatever's going on," Dr. Whale takes the apple tart from me, probably so I'll stop waving it in front of his face, "this is not the culprit."

I guess I shouldn't be so mad at Whale; it's not his fault he doesn't understand what is going on before his eyes. The curse is pushing him to search for a reasonable explanation to a magical problem.

"He's going to be okay, though, right?" I say when it dawns on me that perhaps Whale can't fix Flynn, can't fix magic.

"I don't know. Right now we just need to stabilize him because he's slipping away. Is there anything else that you can remember? Any little detail?"

My mother poisoned him.

"I already told you everything," I say.

Dr. Whale seems frustrated when he looks away from me. He asks one of the nurses to show me the waiting area. This time I don't fight them.

She's there. Regina rises from one of the chairs when I come out of the patient room and makes her way toward me. I feel something boiling inside of me, a feeling I'm not used to—hatred.

I hate her.

"Hannah," she says. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?"

That's when I snap. I grab each of her arms and I shove her with every bit of strength I can conjure. Regina is thrown backwards and her head hits the hospital wall. Some people gasp and stop to stare at me. I know I must look insane to them, hitting my mother and all, but I have ceased to care.

She did this. She is responsible for all of this. She is the Evil Queen. She's cursed this entire town and now she's killing Flynn.

Yes, I will hurt her.

"Hannah!" Regina shouts. "What the hell—" she stops when she looks at my face. Her eyes widen like she can't quite comprehend what she's seeing, but I know she can identify hatred. She created it.

"You did this!" I accuse. "You poisoned him like you did Snow White! You are killing him because he wanted me to know the truth! That you're a monster!" My voice has never sounded so alien to my ears. I can't recognize it, probably because I've never felt such rage before. It's makes me shake where I stand.

Regina's eyes also become unrecognizable to me, three times wider than usual and filled with horror as she finally realizes that I'm on to her, that I know everything, and that there is nothing she can do to stop this.

"It's true, isn't it?" I say. "All of it."

Regina has to look away from me when she confirms it. I feel as if someone is ironing my chest. I shove her again.

"You wake him up!"

"I can't!" she shouts, trying to unleash herself from me.

The innocent bystanders look uncomfortable like they're too afraid to intervene.

I feel dizzy. What does she mean she can't? She is the Evil Queen. She cursed this town. She poisoned an apple tart. She can do anything. "Don't you have magic?"

Regina looks me up and down like she still can't quite believe we're having this conversation so out in the open. For all that's worth, I can't either. "That was the last of it," she tells me.

I back away from her like I've been slapped. Oh, God, I can't breathe. Oh God. Oh God. "So what?" I swallow hard, trying to stop myself from sobbing. "What do I do? Tell me what to do! Tell me. How do I save him?"

Regina sighs like she's giving up on the pretense of years. "You need help," she says and the way she says it makes me think she's willing to provide that help. I don't understand that. She did this. Why would she help me now?

Unless she underestimated what she is willing to do for me.

Which puts a great counterweight on what she is willing to do to me.

Mr. Gold welcomes us into his shop with a, "Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?" but I don't have time for his bullshit chitchat today.

I go straight to the point. "I need your help."

"Indeed you do, Miss Mills. It seems a most tragic ailment has befallen your young friend." He turns his eyes on Regina. "I told you magic comes with a price. From the look on your daughter's face, the price has been her affection."

"Hannah shouldn't have to pay it," Regina answers softly.

"No, you're paying it, dear," Gold tells her. "It's her affection for you that has been broken, not for the boy."

No time.

"Enough," I say. "Can you help us or not?"

"Of course," he grins. "You are in luck, Miss Mills. For true love is the only magic powerful enough to transcend realms and break any curse. Something our dear queen always forgets. Now, I happen to have bottled some."

"You did?" Regina sounds outraged, like she can't believe the nerve in this guy.

"Oh, yes," says Gold. "From—"

"—strands of my parents hairs," I finish for him, remembering what the book has taught me. Both Gold and Regina gap at me. "You made the most powerful potion in all the realm. And when you created the Dark Curse you placed a single drop in the parchment so that would be the means to breaking it."

Gold is smiling. "Just a little safety valve," he says.

Regina still stares at me. "How the hell do you know all that?"

I ignore her. "I don't care about your stupid curse," I tell Gold. "All I care about is saving Flynn."

"Which is why you should be very thankful I didn't use all the potion. I saved some. For a rainy day."

Well, Gold, it's storming like a bitch.

"Where is it?"

He thinks about it. "Where it is, isn't the problem. Getting it is what should worry you."

"Enough riddles," Regina says, annoyed. "What do we do?"

"You do nothing, dearie," he tells her. "It has to be Miss Mills."

"She's my daughter. I want to help her."

"All due respect, but she's not. It has to be her. She's the product of the magic. She must be the one to find it."

I remember Jefferson words: You have to find it on your own. It needs to be found by someone like you.

"Where is this magic?" I ask him.

Gold still faces Regina. "Tell me, Your Majesty, is our friend still in the basement?"

I glance at her; Regina is grimacing in disgust. "Oh, you twisted little imp," she mutters. "You hid it with her?"

"Oh, no, no, not with her. In her." I can tell Gold is having a blast with all of this. Makes me want to punch him in the face. "I knew you couldn't resist bringing her over."

"What are you talking about?" I demand. "Who is 'her'?"

"Someone you should be prepared for." From behind the counter, he brings out a large and long, wooden box and sets it before me. It looks very old; definitely not from around this world. "Where you're going, you're gonna need this." He opens the lift revealing what's inside.

I can't believe my eyes. "Is that—?"

Mr. Gold nods. "Your father's sword."

"Hannah, I'm sorry," Regina says to me when we are turning the corner toward Granny's. I glance at her. She does look sorry. But she's a liar and a murderer so I guess I don't much care. "I thought… I didn't know he meant this much to you. Or rather I convinced myself he didn't."

"Oh, so if he didn't, this would be okay?" I snarl because that's all I can do to stop myself from shoving her again.

Regina looks hurt. Good. I'm glad. When she tries to say something else, I interrupt telling her to wait for me here and head inside. Granny redirects me to August's rented room. I basically fly upstairs and when I find the right door I slam my first on it several times.

"August!" I call out. "Open up! I know you're in there! Granny didn't see you leave! Come on, open the door!"

The answer comes in a low grunt. "I can't."

I frown. He can't? What is going on?

Deciding I don't have time for this, I kick the door open. It hurts my leg a bit, but it gets the job done. I storm inside the room and find August lying stiffly in bed. His entire body, with the exception of his head, has turned to wood.

"Oh no," I mutter, rushing to his bedside. "August."

"Hannah," he whispers although speaking seems to cause him pain.

"What do I do? How do I stop this?" I ask, desolated.

"Break… the… curse…"

I shake my head. "I still don't know how. Look, August… Something's happened to Flynn. And to save him… I need your help."

Tired eyes meet mine. "No… you… don't…"

My mouth drops open. His neck! It's turning to wood, too. It's reaching his face. "August…"

"You can save… Flynn…" he tells me as his face starts to harden. "You… can save… all of—" And then it happens. August is gone. I'm left with an inanimate wood puppet.

And then I do cry. I cry because I never felt so desperate, so alone. I thought I could have August's help to save Flynn and then Flynn's help to save August. It never occurred to me that I could lose both of them at the same time.

I glance out the window. Dusk has settled. June 15th. My birthday. This isn't a good start.

I get out of there quickly. Back out on the streets, Regina waits for me where I left her. I can't believe I feel sort of relived to see her there. Like her presence means that I'm not alone when, if it wasn't for her, none of this would be happening.

She takes me to the library without any further attempts to conversation. It is close at this hour, of course, but as mayor Regina has the skeleton key of the city. I've never been to the library at night—it's kind of creepy. Things look abandoned, like maybe someone left in a hurry. Behind the front desk, a poster on the wall advertises the book categories: general works, psychology and philosophy, religion and mythology, social sciences, languages, natural sciences and math, applied sciences and technology, arts and recreation, literature, geography and history. Even in the dark, I wouldn't need this to guide me—I know this place like the back of my hand.

Or at least I think I do, because Regina walks past the front desk straight to the mirrored wall in the back. I follow in silence wondering what else can possibly happen. Regina didn't exactly tell me what it is that we're doing here and part of me is too afraid to ask. She places her bare hand against the mirrored wall. With a loud clank, the whole thing starts to move, opening up and revealing a hidden double door behind it.

Holy cow. Is anything just what it looks like in Storybrooke?

Regina moves a crank that ignites the complicated set of gears locking the door. It makes a lot of noise as it opens. I'm not sure what I'm looking at, but I think it's an old-school elevator set.

"Get in," Regina orders me.

If she thinks I trust her, she's very much mistaken. "After you," I say.

She makes a face. "It's a two man job. The elevator's hand-operated. I have to stay up here and lower you down."

"Fine." I step up to her. "But first you're going to tell me exactly who I'm meeting down there."

"An old friend. Her punishment here was different than everyone else's. I trapped her," Regina says, studying my reaction, "in a different form."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who's down there?"

Regina takes a deep breath before answering. "Listen very carefully, Hannah, because this is what you're going to have to do."

Ten minutes later, she lowers me down in the elevator to the underground cave she calls a basement. It isn't, Regina explained to me, but rather an elaborated prison she created to keep the one who is, at the same time, her best friend and enemy—Maleficent. The name didn't scare me at first; I guess I was too ignorant to comprehend what Regina was telling me. But the next detail about Maleficent did give me pause.

A dragon.

She put a dragon under the Storybrooke Free Public Library.

During Regina's monologue, I wasn't entirely sure I understood what a dragon is in this instance. I imagined what everyone would have imagine, I suppose, but who could say that that's what I'm going to find down there? Regina showed me how to unsheathe Prince Charming's sword and gave me a quick tutorial on how to use it. Then she shoved me inside the elevator shaft.

So the "down there" turns out to be a long, dim corridor, semi-illuminated by torches on the walls. The stones under my feet crouch when I take an hesitant step forward. It smells like dirt in here and something else, something not so distinct—I think it might be fear.

At the end of the stone corridor, a wide clearing reveals itself to me. It's cold now, the rock formation keeping the warmth away. I don't see anything dangerous. I don't hear anything other than my own footsteps.

My heart is in my throat. The sword is heavy in my hands. I'm afraid to be caught with my guard down. I honestly still can't believe what I'm doing down here, on my birthday, except that part of me is aware that there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do to keep Flynn from dying.

And then I feel it, behind me, a shift in the air, like something enormous is breathing down my neck. The air turns warm and musty as I turn on my heels, and I realize that 'enormous' doesn't even begin to cover it. What I'm looking at is too great for words.

Yep, turns out the dragon in my mind and the dragon under the library are pretty the same. I've imagined it just right.

I back away in fright and almost fall backwards as the dragon rises to its full height (which I can't measure). Its mouth opens and it spits a great ball of fire into the ceiling. Immediately, the entire room starts to boil like I'm standing inside a frying pan.

And then something even weirder than fighting a dragon happens—it speaks to me.

Who are you?

I'm unsure as to where the voice comes from, because it has its mouth closed again, but I'm sure it's the dragon speaking because its great emerald eyes are focused on me. The voice isn't feminine or masculine—it's like a humming whisper I can't shake, speaking right into my ears.

"I—I—I'm Hannah," I stutter. "Hannah Mills."

The dragon moves closer, as if to sniff me, and I instinctively raise my father's sword in the air between us—a warning: do not come any closer. The dragon stops, eyeing the blade with curiosity. As it does that, I take a moment to digest its body, so great, so big, it's impossible for me to see the big picture while standing this close. In this dim light I cannot be sure, but I think its scaly skin has a purplish color. The wings on its back look a little shriveled up, as if the years spent under the earth have taken a toll.

Where did you get that sword?

"Mr. Gold—I mean, Rumpelstiltskin gave it to me." It comes to my mind that Regina told me very specifically that I should get in, kill the dragon, get the true-love potion and get out as fast as I could. However, now that I'm here, talking to it, I can't help thinking that perhaps that is the Evil Queen's way of handling things. And I'm not the Evil Queen. I'm not even her daughter.

The dragon makes another move, this time sideways, looking uncomfortable by the name I have evoked.

Then I know what you're here for. He sent you, didn't he? He sent you to retrieve it. I knew he would, sooner or later.

I force my breath to slow down. Somehow I don't feel threatened. Maleficent speaks to me instead of burning me to a crisp. I'm optimistic enough to believe that her inhuman form hasn't affected her judgement. Of course as Maleficent she isn't exactly a good person either, but I'm hopeful I have something she'd be willing to trade with the true-love potion.

The storybook gives me clue.

Don't do this. This curse. There are lines even we shouldn't cross. All power comes with a price. Enacting it will take a terrible toll. It'll leave an emptiness inside you. A void you will never be able to fill.

So be it.

Way back when, Maleficent warned Regina about the curse, but she wouldn't listen. Maybe in order to gain Maleficent's trust, I should prove to her that I'm willing to do just that.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

The dragon studies me. It doesn't seem to recognize anything special about me.

Should I?

"I'm the one who can break the curse," I tell her. "The Dark Curse."

Why you?

"I…" Now that's a question I don't have an answer for. "Rumpelstiltskin made it so."

Maleficent makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

Of course he did. He is always prepared, is he not?

There is a pause in which she evaluates me.

I assume the potion he had that wretched Charming slip inside me has something to do with it? Isn't that what you seek, little one?

I nod. "Yes. Please, if you could just—"

What? Give it to you?

I swallow hard. Her tone has changed. She sounds… challenging. "Yes, please."

Why would I do that?

I put my cards on the table. "Because when I brake the curse, you will be free, too. And I'm willing to bet you want your freedom maybe more than anyone else in this town."

Maleficent exhales and a thick wave of hot air blasts me. It makes my eyes water and my armpits sweat. And then she inhales deeply and I can't shake the frightening idea that she's trying to memorize my scent. Looking satisfied, the dragon gives me a warning, too.

Alright, Hannah Mills. I guess we have a deal. But you should know that once the Dark Curse is broken, reckoning shall come for your mother. I hope that's a price you're willing to pay.

I hear the Evil Queen's voice in my head: so be it.

Diplomacy.

Maybe in the fairy-tale world you have to kill your enemies to win your battles, but in this world, my world, nothing works like diplomacy.

I'm feeling extremely proud of myself as I head back to the elevator shaft, five minutes later, with the tiny little vial Maleficent, the dragon, has handed me (I rather not comment on where she took it from). The liquid inside is bright purple with sparks of gold. I'm not an expert in the matter, but its looks like pure magic to me.

I press the green button inside the elevator that warns Regina up there I'm ready to be pulled up. Not a moment later, the shaft starts to move. I feel energetic, alive, like nothing can stop me now from saving the boy I love. I did what I had to do. I'm owed something good in return—

With a bang, the elevator stops moving 4 feet from the opening to the library floor. I look up. "Mom?" I call out. "Mom, what was that? Mom?"

Someone looks down on me, but it's not Regina.

"Miss Mills," says Mr. Gold, "you got it?"

"What are you doing here?" I ask, finding the whole thing a bit odd. Where is Regina?

"I came to check on you," he answers simply. "And I'm glad I did. Regina's abandoned you. Sabotaged the elevator."

It feels like a slap in the face. Oh God. I should've known better. I should've… Well, I don't know what I should've done.

"What do I do?" I ask him, trying to keep my frustrated tears from spilling out. "Can you help me up?"

He shakes his head. "You can't possibly scale the wall and carry that," he points to the vial in my hand. Indeed, it looks extremely fragile. I don't know if I should risk it. "Toss is up," Mr. Gold suggests as if reading my mind. "Your boyfriend is going to be fine. I promise. But you have to trust me."

Not like I have a choice…

"Fine," I say, defeated. "But don't drop it."

Mr. Gold watches me attentively. I grip the vial, trying to aim and, praying to God nothing else will go wrong, I throw it up. It happens in slow motion. The vial goes up, up, up in the air, higher than the library floor and then starts to descend, just as slowly. Mr. Gold reaches out with both hands and catches it.

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Alright," I say, climbing the top of the elevator shaft and raising my hand to him. "Help me up." But Mr. Gold isn't looking down anymore. In fact, he's just left me here.

Son of a skunk.

This is the worst birthday ever.

I climb the shaft with a determination I'm not used to because now I have a much bigger purpose to reaching the top—a very well deserved punch in the face. It's easier than I expected it to be and in two minutes I'm in the library floor looking at Regina's who's tied to a simple chair, her mouth covered with tape.

"Mom!"

Oh, thank God she hasn't betrayed me again. I don't think I can stand it.

I hurry toward her and remove the tape with a swift move, like a band-aid.

"He tricked you," she says, unnecessarily; the skin around her mouth is turning red from the sting. I untie her as quickly as I can. "He manipulated all of this," she says, standing up. The fury in her voice is very Evil Queenish.

"He can't be that far," I say, "maybe we can reach—"

My cell phone rings, interrupting what I'm about to say. I pull it from my pocket and look at the screen. My heart skips a beat.

It's from the hospital.

I'm too late.

The atmosphere is so, so grim is pretty telling death has reach this hospital. It's an alien situation, not just for me, but for the lot of them, too, since death isn't something Storybrooke is familiar with, and since Graham hadn't been in the hospital when he died.

I'm greeted by Dr. Whale and Mother Superior, head nun of the Convent of the Sister of Saint Meissa, which is near the Storybrooke harbor. I used to go there when I was younger because the nuns keep a very nice garden and they always let me help water it, all the while telling me how to recognize the plants, the flowers and the vegetables. Her presence today, however, isn't comforting to me.

"We did everything we could," Dr. Whale answers my unasked question.

"I'm sorry, Hannah," Mother Superior says, "Mr. Rider's gone."

My mind only half registers their words. I'm not quite sure what it means. I came to save him, didn't I? I shoved my mother against the hospital wall, I carried my father's sword around, I had a talk with a dragon, I was tricked by Gold—for him, it was all for him.

Flynn.

Regina reaches out for me, but I wiggle out of her grasp. She's the last person who should be trying to comfort me right now. I haven't forgotten. She did this. She killed him.

Killed. Dead. He's dead, he's gone.

There's only one way to know that for sure; I have to see him.

I push past them ignoring their protests and enter the patient room where Flynn lies. Unsurprisingly—although it stills surprises me—he is immobile, white and there's a nurse disconnecting his heart monitor.

I don't understand. He is just a boy. So young. It's not fair.

And, yes, she was beyond hope, beyond saving. This was her end. When Prince Charming saw his beloved Snow White in her glass coffin he knew all that was left was to say goodbye.

And what about me? Us? I'll never get to hold his hand again. I'll never hear him laugh, or smell his neck, or have him kiss me. I'll never really get to know him.

He had to give her one last kiss.

I feel like my heart has stopped right along with his. Like it has quit me and I am still breathing just out of sheer stubbornness because I have no reason left to be alive. What is the point anymore? I lost the love of my life and I failed to break the curse.

It's morning now. The sun has risen. It dares to shine even though darkness has settled.

Unfair. So not fair.

I reach out and touch Flynn's hand. He already feels too cold when compared to what I am used to, to what he's been in life. There's a horrible ache in my chest, probably from the weight of my stupid, dead heart.

Time's up.

This is goodbye.

I bend in. My lips touch his one last time. A incessant thought crosses my brain—I love you, Flynn. I love you. I love you. I love you.

And when he did, true love proved more powerful than any curse. A pulse of pure love shuttered out and engulfed the land, waking up Snow White and bringing light to the darkness.

And then an unexpected breeze makes everyone in the hospital shiver. Regina, Dr. Whale and Mother Superior (who I had not realize had followed me into the room) turn to look at me like they can't believe what they're seeing, just as Flynn's eyes pop open and he gasps for the breath that has been denied him for the last few minutes.

Dark-green eyes meet mine. His lips move slight like he's trying to say something but still hasn't quite caught his breath. My heart starts beating again in my chest, so loud I'm convince everyone will hear it.

"You did it," Regina whispers from behind me, her voice in awe, but right now I don't care what she's saying or thinking. Nothing else matters to me but Flynn.

Because Flynn is alive. He is alive. He's come back to me. I'm not alone.

But Flynn's eyes aren't on me anymore (which I find a little offensive but okay). He's looking around the room, as he tries to sit up. I turn around to see what the hell is more interesting to him right now than me.

Regina, Whale, Mother Superior and the rest of the nurses are rounding us, their eyes set on me like they're seeing me for the first time in their lives. I can't fathom what it is that they're finding so capturing about me when the boy beside me has literally come back from the dead.

I open my mouth to speak, but Mother Superior beats me to it.

"That was true love's kiss," she says. "You broke the curse, Hannah."

...more powerful than any curse...

Undone by a simple kiss.

My mind is reeling. I feel as if I'm floating out to space, completely lost, grounded only by whatever connects me to Flynn and how I feel about him. I wonder if that's how Prince Charming felt when he kissed Snow White back to life.

"No, no, no!" Regina exclaims, as realization falls upon her. Everyone looks at her. For the first time ever, she looks positively frightened.

Mother Superior raises her chin and looks down on Regina with warning: "If I were you, Your Majesty, I'd find a place to hide."

The message is clear—we remember now and we're coming for you.

It reminds me of what Maleficent said before she gave me the vial containing the true-love potion.

Once the Dark Curse is broken, reckoning shall come for your mother.

She's probably more right than she thought.

Regina puts herself in front of me, calling my attention, so I have no choice but to look her in the eye. "Hannah," she says with tears in her brown eyes, "no matter what you think, no matter what happens or what anyone tells you, you are my daughter and I do love you."

It is a sentiment I'm familiar with, something I know she means, but that now, after everything, I cannot believe.

Everything has changed now and I can no longer be her daughter. I just know it.

Hannah Mills might have broken the curse, but the price is that she doesn't get to be Hannah Mills anymore.

I am changed.

I'm something else.

Something more.

Regina turns toward the door and runs out of the hospital like the devil is chasing her.

And now he will.

[december-girl06]

65 Questions You Aren’t Used To

I was tagged by one of the sweetest people I know @rafaelina-casillas <3 Thank you for being interested in my pretty dull personality.

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

No, I don’t believe that I live in some huge extravagant experiment and I don’t usually delve too deep into human existance itself.

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

Probably 4, I’ve been scared of the dark ever since I was little.

3. The person you would never want to meet?

One of the world’s dictators be it past, present or future.

4. What is your favorite word?

I don’t really have one.

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

A willow, I’ve always found it beautiful and I’ve heard that its a symbol of wisdom and adaptability.

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

“Ugh you look like a mess.”

7. What shirt are you wearing?

An ordinary white one.

8. What do you label yourself as?

A shy person.

9. Bright room or dark room?

Bright, dark rooms make me feel suffocated.

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

Browsing Twitter/Tumblr.

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

19-20 because i became more independent and came to live in the big city with my best friend.

12. Who told you they loved you last?

My mom probably but it was some time ago.

13. Your worst enemy?

Of course it’s my own self because I want to change but I’m the one who makes it difficult.

14. What is your current desktop picture?

This picture of my sweet baby Changkyun from MONSTA X <3

15. Do you like someone?

Romantically no.

16. The last song you listened to?

Ladies’ Code - My Flower

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

No one, bearing the responsibility for someone’s death will be too much for me.

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

Myself for being so lazy and unmotivated.

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

I don’t like the idea of having a slave.

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

Probably my long eyelashes.

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

I would want to be tall, moderately muscular and with dark hair and eyes. I would probably put on a suit and go to a business meeting just to find out what it’s like to have that infamous male confidence that impresses us women so much.

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

I have some talent for acting. I’ve been in a few plays and got pretty high praises from professional theatrical actors.

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

Falling down and smashing my teeth, I believe that it would be extremely painful so I wish I would never have to go through it.

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

Sybway has a sandwich called Italian B.M.T. with a few types of meats, vegetables & cheese so probably that.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

On MONSTA X merchandise.

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

Seoul, South Korea especially right now since MONSTA X is having a comeback next week.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be?

Moët & Chandon - champagne.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

No violence.

29. What is your favorite expletive?

Fuck!

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

My wallet because my documents & money are in it.

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

My father getting into a car crush, being in pain and struggling to do anything through the recovery process.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

Seoul, South Korea. The people I’m a fan of all live there.

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

My best friend’s favourite grandmother.

34. What was your last dream about?

I was sitting in a car talking to someone but I don’t remember who the person was or what our conversation was about.

35. Are you good at hiding your emotions? Like pretending to be happy while you want to cry?

Yes, I’m very good at it actually so if I do show my emotions that meants that I trust the other person a lot.

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

For just a few stitches yes but it was a long time ago.

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

A lot of times when I was little.

38. What is the color of your socks?

Blue.

39. What type of music do you like?

I listen to whatever song sounds good to me it doesn’t matter if it’s pop, hip-hop, rock, trap and so on.

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

Sunsets especially if I’m at the beach, the atmosphere is so peaceful and you can take a few moments to really appreciate the beauty of nature or just pretend that time has stopped.

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

Chocolate, I like everything with chocolate in it.

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

I don’t support a particular team.

43. Do you have any scars?

Yes, the most prominant one is near the corner of my right eye from when i fell on the edge of the bedside table when I was about 5.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

I want to be a baker or a chocolatier but that’s not going to happen soon.

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My anxiety, sometimes it drives me almost insane and it sucks.

46. Are you reliable?

I believe that I am yes.

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

Are you still so insecure in yourself?

48. Do you hold grudges?

Not really.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

A panda & a koala to create the ultimate cute fluffy lazy bear.

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

I avoid having such conversations so I can’t think of one.

51. Are you a good liar?

No because the people who know me well can figure me out right away.

52. How long could you go without talking?

If I’m by myself very long but if there are other people around me I hate being silent it makes the atmosphere awkward so in that case a few minutes.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style?

I had curled puffy hair for my high-school graduation and I absolutely hated it.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

One time and it was quite fun, I would like to try that out again.

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

I can but they’re very bad, I’m not good at accents.

56. What do you like on your toast?

Cheese or ham.

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

I have no idea, I haven’t drawn in ages.

58. What would be you dream car?

An Aston Martin.

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

Sometimes I play with the water but that happens extremely rarely.

60. Do you believe in aliens?

I believe that out there in the universe exist other creatures besides us yes but they’re definitely not green and how they’re depicted in the Hollywood movies.

61. Do you often read your horoscope?

No, I don’t care for horoscopes.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

S, the letter my name begins with.

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

Dragons because the fantasy novels I’ve read make them sound very cool and majestic.

64. What do you think about babies?

They’re super adorable, cute & sweet. I would love to have a baby some day.

65. If you could marry and live together forever with one of your crushes (doesn't matter whether fictional or a celebrity crush) who would that be?

Probably Alexander Skarsgard because he’s a talented, handsome, intelligent, funny man and wants to have a big family, he’s pretty much the whole package.

[linaofthemyscira]

Bad At Love

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Words: 1854

Prompt: I’ve never been good at requests, so here goes! Can you please and thank you write an imagine for Dick Grayson based off of the song “Bad at Love” by Halsey? Maybe angsty by referring to the reader’s past relationship experiences and Dick just hates watching the reader get hurt over and over again? (I am so so sorry if that’s long and confusing, you don’t have to do it if it’s too confusing)--Requested by @writing-yj

Warnings: angst and fluff together (flangst?? Is that what it’s called?) and language!!

A/n I really like this song so like YES! Also, I hope it’s not too clichéd cuz I’m a sucker for certain cliches in instances like these. I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

You and Dick had been living with each other for only 6 months, and your apartment was already getting cluttered with unnecessary items.

“Dick, it’s time we clean out our apartment. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s a mess!” You had told him.

“Okay, okay. I agree it is messy. We could clean some stuff out,” he looked around, scratching his head.

“No, we have to clean most of this stuff out. Most. Not some.” You placed your hands on your hips.

“Fine. Most,” he sighed.

Weeks passed and neither of you cleaned out your belongings from the apartment. Finally, you had one weekend off and took the time to start clearing things out. You started with old furniture, taking an old, worn down nightstand and putting it outside in the alley for someone to take. You also took an old armchair that was dusty and ratty and put it in the alley too, right next to the nightstand.

Next, you moved on to little trinkets and things you collected over the years. You grabbed a trash bag and began to fill it up with tiny papers with guys’ phone numbers, old calendars, pieces of origami and broken pencils. Everything that you no longer needed, dumped in the trash.

You then took all of the clothes you no longer wore and put them in a bag to donate to charity. It was better than just throwing them away, especially since you knew that someone out there needed clothes as much as you did.

Lastly, you took care of the miscellaneous items. You were rummaging around in your closet when your hand brushed a small box on the top shelf way in the back.

“What the…?” You mumbled. You took down the box and blew the dust off the top. Then, you turned to your bed and sat on it.

You opened the mysterious box slowly, unsure of what to expect, but once you fully took off the lid, you gasped. All the memories came flooding back and you dropped the box on the floor, some of the contents of the box falling out. Tears started rolling down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away in case Dick came into the room.

You picked up the box and the items that fell out and placed them on your mattress, sifting through them and beginning to let the tears fall shamelessly.

The first thing you picked up was a photo of you and your first boyfriend, smiling happily atop a mountain in the Appalachians. You recalled that day, how much fun you had and how carefree you were back in high school with him. It was all so fun, but it ended as quickly as it began.

Your boyfriend broke up with you because he felt that you weren’t paying attention to him, and it was true. Deep inside, when you were that teenager back in high school, you knew you were only dating him to say you had a boyfriend. You didn’t even love him. It was infatuation at best. Yet, it left you in tears and heartbreak.

You set the photo aside along with the tiny teddy bear that he had given you for your birthday. Next, you found a photo of your next boyfriend giving you a piggyback ride. You smiled fondly at the photo, remembering the day it was taken. It was your one year anniversary with him, and your mother had taken the picture. You fell in love with this one. He was good to you, treated you the way you were meant to be treated. You paid attention to him and cared about him, and even fell in love with him. Everybody thought you two would last...but it fell apart soon after your anniversary.

You broke up with him this time because he fell in love with another girl. He left you feeling broken and insecure, like you weren’t good enough. The break-up shattered your world, and you swore on that day that you would never date a guy again. They were snakes and liars, and it wasn’t worth the pain.

So you experimented a little, which is where your next relationship brought you.

You put the picture of you and your second boyfriend back in the box, along with the locket he gave you for your anniversary. Next, you came across a picture of you and your first girlfriend. She was from California, and she was amazing. She made you realize your true sexuality and helped you discover more about yourself than your past boyfriends ever could have. She was a free spirit, one with nature and it’s living beings. She was bubbly and lively and she was a singer who had a steady job at a restaurant. You thought it was meant to be...until you got a call from the ER.

You didn’t know she was taking it until you rushed to the hospital, desperate for her to be okay. “She OD’d,” the doctor had told you. She was gone. Another relationship shat on by the universe.

You put her photo back in your box and picked up a new one. Sure, you had fun with your first girlfriend, but the next one that came along was a guy again.

You held out for a long time though, since, by this one, you had trust issues. But he wasn’t willing to let you go that easily. He came back to you over and over until you told him that you would go out with him. Once you started dating him, it took off and it was the best. He was everything you could have ever asked for and more. Personally, you thought he was the one. You thought you two would last forever.

Then you met Dick.

And everything changed.

Suddenly, your boyfriend at the time (who you dated for 2 and a half years) wasn’t everything you wanted. He seemed insignificant compared to Dick. You and Dick started off as friends first after you accidentally smacked into him while he was chasing a perp on foot and you were running into your work building. After that, it was clear that you were truly meant to be with him.

But you were with someone else. And he had a relationship that “complicated”. The timing just wasn’t right. So you stayed friends for a quite a while until you couldn’t take it anymore. You remembered that night all too well.

“I’m sorry, Tyler, but I can’t keep pretending that I’m in love with you anymore! I’m sorry.” You cried.

“I—I can’t believe you, Y/N! I thought this was real! I thought we were going to be together for the rest of our lives! Hell, I even bought a fucking engagement ring. I’m just—I don’t even know what to say.” Tyler rubbed his temples. When Tyler mentioned the engagement ring, you gasped. You had no idea he was going to propose.

“You...you were going to propose?” You asked.

“I was. But I guess that’s not happening anymore,” he scoffed. Both of you stood in an awkward silence for a couple of minutes before he broke it.

“Who is he?” He asked.

“Who is who?” You asked back.

“He. The guy you’re leaving me for. Who is he?” Tyler asked. You gasped at Tyler in shock. How did he know? You didn’t even tell him about Dick. You sighed and sat on the couch solemnly.

“He’s a police officer. From Blüdhaven,” you said, “How—how did you know?”

“Please, Y/N. I can tell that someone else came into the picture. I was that person before,” Tyler laughed wryly.

“Which person? The one who came into the picture or the one who fell in love with the new person?” You asked.

“I’ll let you figure that out.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ty...I’m so sorry. I wish that this didn’t happen,” you started silently crying.

“But it did. It’s okay. He better be worth it though,” Tyler told you.

“I hope he is too,” you muttered.

That night, you packed some of your belongings and slept at Dick’s apartment, telling him what happened as soon as you arrived.

And, since then, you’ve been with Dick. It felt like it happened just yesterday, but it was only a year ago.

You smiled sadly at the photo as you placed it back into the box with the other little gifts your past boyfriends (and girlfriend) gave you. You began crying again at all of the emotions that bubbled up from going through memory lane.

“I’m bad at love,” you sniffled and wiped your eyes.

Dick heard you from the living room and decided to investigate, worried that you had hurt yourself or something.

“Y/N? He called as approached the room. When he saw you crying, an alarm went off in his head and he immediately rushed to your side.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked you with concern. You tried to speak, but all you could do was sob and sniffle. Dick brought you in for a hug to calm you down, caressing your hair and pressing soft kisses to your forehead for comfort. Eventually, you stopped crying and slowed your breathing down enough to form a sentence.

“Dick...I’m bad at love. I think you should leave now while you have the chance,” You sighed.

“What? No, Y/N, don’t think that.” He gave you his puppy eyes as you looked down ashamedly, “Hey...hey. Look at me.” Dick brought his hand to your cheek to tilt your face up so you could look at him clearly.

“You’re not bad at love. I know you’ve had a rough romantic past, but that doesn’t mean you’re bad at love.” He told you.

“Dick--” you started.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m gonna stay right by your side to love you...to protect you....and to cherish you forever and ever,” He continued while pressing kisses on your cheeks.

“The last time someone told me that, he left me.” You sniffled.

“Well, I’m here to stay. I hate seeing you broken like this, so...I vow that I’ll be by your side and I’ll love you. No matter what. Okay?” He said. You nodded in response and offered a small smile.

“There’s that smile I know and love! Come on, show me those teeth,” Dick beamed at you. You rolled your eyes and bared your teeth at your boyfriend, but not in a smiling manner.

“Hey! Not like that!” he backed up. You laughed at Dick as he stood up, knocking over the box onto the floor again. Though, this time, you paid no attention to it. Dick laughed with you and launched himself at you, pinning you to the bed and hovering above you.

You giggled beneath him, feeling much better now that he was around. Dick caught you off guard when he suddenly placed his lips on yours.

Somehow, you knew that this time, you wouldn’t be left feeling battered and heartbroken. You finally felt secure, and it was the best feeling in the world.

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[origetlopez]

DISCLAIMER: Triggering themes below. Content delves into issues of sexual assault and suicide. If these subject matters are unsettling for you, please please please please do not proceed with reading. Thank you. 9 Years Ago — Post Gymnastic’s Injury “Siempre serás mi hermana.” Marisol said when she started to get up from the edge of the hospital bed. Her smile had a way of shimmering brighter than light itself, and positivity radiated from her like the warmth of the sun. Even amidst the cold reality that Orianna’s future was in complete disarray, it was her little sister who gave her the slightest glimmer of hope. She was the only one thus far who consoled Ori since the accident and the surgery, or at least, attempt it. There wasn't any wonder why her sister was the jewel of the Lopez family. Her kindness shined as much as her beauty did. She was innocent and sweet, yet so incredibly brilliant in every way. She was a promising young woman in the making. Orianna never showed her twinge of jealousy about her little sister’s perfection out loud, but she admired Marisol for it as well. Especially in a time like this. Marisol was the only family member that Orianna felt close to, and her little sister praised her when no one else would. Orianna was never going to be enough for their father or mother, but she would be enough for Mari. It was her encouragement that Orianna was able to recover after her accident. She may have lost her shot at the Olympics for good, but at least she still had her little sister with her every step of the way. 6 Years Ago — Sophomore Year at USC; Night of the Party “Come on, Ori! You should come out tonight, you’re always studying!” Marisol said with a pout afterward. As if that pout would make her cute after pointing out Orianna’s lack of social interaction on the USC campus. The eldest Lopez sister turned her head in Marisol’s direction with narrowing eyes. “Don’t think for a second that pout makes you cute for saying that,” She said, continuing, “…and I go out!” Orianna defended, even if that wasn’t entirely true. Since the accident, Orianna still had a lot on her mind, including school. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be here. The only reason she enjoyed living near campus was so that she didn’t have to live at home. However, their parents were still nearby, , of course, . Their father lingering not too far to make sure his money that was spent on their education was put to good use. All this education, and for what, the hopes of getting a semi-decent job to please their father? It is not that Orianna did not want to go out, but she had a lot on her mind. Besides, she hung out with her sister’s friends a majority of the time. It was not a bad thing as the sisters were close in age. Ori had always been wrapped up in gymnastics, whereas Mari had freedom and became more of a social butterfly. As always, Marisol thrived. “So, come out tonight! You have no excuse not to!” Marisol argued, then used her cute sister charm once again as she came and wrapped her arms around her big sister’s shoulders. Clinging onto her and squeezing her tightly while adding, “Plus, I need mi hermana with me to celebrate my new single life!” On that special mention, Ori did a slight roll of her eyes. Not because she was annoyed with her sister, but because the mere mention of Marisol’s ex made her skin crawl. He was that stereotypical captain of the football team who was arrogant and controlling, yet his boyish looks and charm made most people blindsided by his true nature. He wasn’t a good guy as everyone believed him to be. Orianna saw the way she treated Marisol, and luckily, she helped get her sister out of that relationship before it went south. Still, the thought of him brought out the inner disgust in Ori before she laughed it off. “We celebrated that two nights ago. And as much as I love celebrating that fact — I also have a paper due.” That was a lie. Her paper wasn’t due for another week, but Orianna didn’t want to go out tonight. She needed an excuse, and the best way out of it was to use their father. At least that was something that Marisol couldn’t argue against. She knew how their father was, “I need to focus. Otherwise, our father will have another reason to be disappointed.” Patting her sister’s arm to let go of her, Marisol gave a sigh and another pout, only this time more defeated. Ori had won the battle against going out. “Tell me how the party is! And be safe!” Orianna emphasized one more time, getting an annoyed I will as a response. Orianna didn’t know it back then, but that was the last time she was going to see that glimmer of hope from her sister. That glowing warmth, or that sun-filled smile. The moment Marisol walked out that door, she was gone for good. Still 6 Years Ago — Post Party, Day Later “Mari! Get your ass up! You’re gonna be late!” Orianna shouted from the other side of the door. It wasn’t like her little sister be cooped up in her room for a day. Unless maybe she was sick. Even then, Marisol would put on a whole show on the couch. Making sure Orianna saw a display of her lack of wellness. Marisol also rarely missed class, and it was completely unusual. The unsettling feeling that something was wrong began to build in Ori’s stomach. At the same time, she continued to act as an older sister would in this scenario. “I’m coming in there. You better be dying or rushing to get ready!” Orianna announced as she opened the door to her sister’s room, setting eyes on her for the first time since she left for the party. Her sister was still in the same cute outfit that she wore to the party the other night. The only difference was that it looked tattered and worn. Almost like it had been through the wringer. Her makeup smeared, and she almost laid on her bed as stiff as a cold body. For a second, Ori thought she could have sworn that she wasn’t breathing if it hadn’t been for the soft choking back of tears that happened a few seconds after Orianna barged in. The look of a teasing older sister immediately fell from Ori’s face as she became scared and confused at the sight of Marisol. “Mari,” Orianna said with a rising alarm, moving to her sister’s bedside. Her hand came to the top of her head delicately. Almost afraid if she pressed too hard, she would smoosh a flower. Her other hand just barely touched Mari’s arm when her little sister shook and shivered at the feeling. Never would Orianna expect her sister to react that way to a loving touch from a family member. The reaction encouraged Orianna to continuously be gentle as she investigated what was wrong with her. “What happened?” Ori asked, and there was a distant, lost look in Mari’s eyes. It was dark in them, and they grew darker as her broken lips uttered every women's worst nightmare. 5 Years Ago — Apartment “You can’t ask me or Mari to go back there! He is still at that school! They’re sitting on their asses doing absolutely nothing while he is still winning them goddamn trophies and being their poster boy!” Orianna voiced loudly into her phone against her father as she approached the apartment door. She worried less about struggling with the bags in her hands and more about making a point to her father. “Look, Mari already dropped out. I plan to do the same—“ The moment she said those words, Ori could hear her father’s voice rising on the other end. Her mother was in the background, attempting to calm him down, but there was no use. At this point, Orianna had failed her father for the second time. Leaving school because of what happened to Marisol was not a good enough reason. Meanwhile, someone had to take care of Mari. She wasn’t herself anymore. “Cuuurrrkshhhh oh no, I think we’re breaking up! Gotta go, bye!” Orianna obnoxiously pretended that the call was being disrupted before abruptly disconnecting on them. Her frustration had the better of her, and she didn’t want to deal with her father trying to control the situation. Orianna dropped the bags near the counter and kicked closed the door. With a heavy sigh, she put her phone down on the counter. In that brief pause, Orianna heard the music playing in the background. It was just as loud and annoying as the phone call had been, and Ori needed just a moment of peace. At least to clear her head from all of the thoughts running inside of it. “Mari! I’m back ... can you turn that down, please?” She said with a heavy sigh as she started to relocate the bags to the kitchen. There was no response. “Mari! Turn it down!” She called out again when she set the bags down once more, this time on the kitchen table. She tucked her ebony hair behind her ear, starting to sort through and organize the groceries when she saw it. Another one. Social media hate, staring at her from an open laptop. Ever since Mari accused him, she received bullying messages, calling her a liar. All defending his honor and not caring how he violated her sister’s. It pissed Ori off even more than she already was. She was about to shout again when suddenly, the song that had been blasting in the background was repeating itself, leading Ori to pause. “Mari?” She called out again, this time taking her hands out of the bags completely, her head and eyes turned in the direction of the hallway leading to the bathroom where the noise was coming from. Orianna couldn’t begin to explain it. Only that at that moment, she had this unease come over her like a tidal wave. Her movements seemed so slow, worrying about what she might find again when she came across her sister this time. The vibe itself felt so off, almost eerie, as she neared the bathroom door. It was completely shut, but there was nothing but the sound of the music blasting inside. When she finally reached the door, Ori pressed her ear against the side of it to listen to other sounds apart from the music. There was nothing. No water-running, no sound of a toothbrush swishing against that perfect smile, no hairdryer-blowing against the same ebony hair. A dead silence hid in the noise. Orianna didn’t ask one more time for her sister. This time her hand, twisted the doorknob and gently pushed the door open. Marisol lay in the bathroom tub. A deep slit from the wrist and up the middle of her forearm on both arms. The red-stained water barely reached the top of the tub. Orianna went into two different modes: action and panic. First, Ori focused on getting her sister out of the bathtub. Then, trying to get her to wake up. A mix of tears and fear at the little response she was getting. At a time like that, it is hard to think about the right things to do. “Mari? Oh my god, Mari no, no.” Orianna began, her brown eyes filling with the realization of the truth in front of her before her heart and mind could comprehend it. She squeezed her sister close to her. Uncaring that her clothes were getting soaked from the red-stained water and blood pooled on the floor. Her hands tried to stop it against Marisol’s wrists, but it was no use. The reality was sinking in, and Ori was at a loss. Her head pulled up, and she started screaming for help. Not that anyone could hear her pain over the music, and by then, it was already too late. Orianna had always been too late. 5 Years Ago — Vegas Bound “Don’t blame yourself,” They said, “…you have to let it go.” Shortly after the funeral, everyone was asking Orianna when she would return to school, or life basically. For everyone else, it seemed so easy. All of their friends, minus Leti continued to carry on. He continued to succeed at school. Meanwhile, Orianna was stuck. No urge to go back. No will to continue on the hopeful path that her sister inspired her to have. Orianna wanted to get away from everything, and everyone. There was no more hope for her here. Marisol was supposed to be the promising young woman. Though within months, she was forgotten by most. Orianna didn’t want to be that. She needed to make something of herself so That is when Orianna took her sabbatical. She packed her things and moved to Las Vegas. She was twenty years old. Marisol was eighteen when she took her life. Call it survivors guilt, but if Orianna had only gone with her that night, maybe things would be different. It was up to Orianna to do something with her life. To prove her worth, to make an impact in some way, to make noise when others refused to listen and to stand for something. It wouldn’t be done perfectly, though it would be done her way. Orianna forced herself to take the leap and become stronger, not just for herself, but for Marisol too. “Siempre serás mi hermana.” Ori said one last time at her sister's gravesite before leaving for Las Vegas. She left behind a bouquet of red roses for her. It would now be Orianna's turn to become the promising young woman for the both of them.

[lezliefaithwade]

Faith, Hope & Charity

At Vatican City, I overheard two American tourists with distinctly southern dialects discussing the beggars asking tourists for change.

“You’d think they would do something about it,” the man said to the woman, who nodded in agreement while admiring her recently purchased crucifix.

Visitors waiting for their designated museum times can sit in the square or stroll through any one of a dozen souvenir shops that sell religious artifacts for exorbitant amounts of money. Things that generally sell on Kijiji or Amazon for next to nothing are priced three or four times higher in the square. And these tourists beside me had opted to give their money to thieves in suites rather than beggars in rags. Interesting. I have to assume they were religious; hence, why the crucifix? True, it could have been a gift for someone else, but even so, it seemed so biblical, me sitting at the Vatican beside two reasonably well-dressed people who were loudly condemning the poor.

I’m not against people with a belief. I’ve known some incredibly kind Christians and some indecent ones too. I’ve dated Jews, Greek Orthodox, Coptics, atheists, and agnostics. Sometimes I meet people who tell me they’re spiritual, and I take that to mean that they believe in a higher power but not an organized religion. The thing about organized religion is how desperate they are to recruit you. I’ve made the mistake a few times of accompanying a friend or boyfriend to their church or temple of choice only to be cross-examined at “friendship hour” afterwards.

“Don’t forget to sign the registry” “Be sure to leave your e-mail?” “How did you like the service?” “

I’m always so tempted to say, “I didn’t like the service at all. I thought the little speech in the middle was boring as hell. In the theatre, you’d never be able to get away with so little effort.” In fact, during a few of those boring lectures, I’ve actually wondered what it would be like to review them. Can a person be a homily critic?

Last Sunday at St. Thomas Episcopalian, Reverend Porter spoke on the story of the Good Samaritan in what can only be described as a futile effort to instill any empathy whatsoever. His monotone delivery showed no sign of excitement or interest in the very subject of which he spoke, and his overuse of gesticulation could be better served as choirmaster. I highly recommend any churchgoer avoid this Liturgical season until Easter, when things will hopefully become a bit livelier.

I’ve often made the mistake of expecting more from those who claim to believe. After all, the general consensus (and I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here) is that someone who follows the word of God is most likely going to practice kindness, love, compassion, forgiveness, and understanding.  It’s like a person who boasts of being a great chef and then serves you store-bought pasta with a lumpy Béchamel. “I don’t wish to offend,” you might say, “But do you really expect me to swallow this crap?” If Catholic school taught me anything, it was how rarely one saw the word of God put into practice. Not that everyone was mean, but the “Do unto others…” doctrine wasn’t generously applied. Sadly, more often than not, I’ve often been disappointed by those who claim to be followers of Christ. I think, if Jesus were around today, He’d be disappointed too. Sometimes I imagine Christ with a Twitter account and millions of followers towards whom He’d constantly have to correct in a never-ending stream of tweets like:

“I cannot be held responsible for everything the prophets said,” or “I didn’t even know Leviticus.”

People who have no religious beliefs whatsoever can also be surprisingly horrible. I’m always slightly taken aback when they denounce religion taking the stance that this makes them somehow better than everyone else. I’m easily tricked into thinking they are, then let down when they behave just as badly. These are the people who fight for climate control while driving an SUV. They’re firmly against bullying, then bully you when you disagree with them. I kind of subscribe to the whole: Let he without sin cast the first stone. As advice goes, it’s pretty good.

My belief system runs somewhere between Spiritual Deism with a side of Christianity and a strong desire to be Jewish.  My Jewish boyfriend for seven years reminded me of what it meant to be part of a family, something I always wanted.  I looked forward to Friday Shabbat dinners where we’d gather over brisket and discuss important issues like the colour of the car Bernie was going to buy.

“It’s red.” He’d nonchalantly say while savouring the dinner.

“Red?” his Mother would announce. Fork down, dinner halted. “You’re not a red car sort of guy.”

“What does that mean?” Bernie would ask, oblivious to where this was going.

“You’re a blue car or a gold car-- not red. You’re brother here; he’s a red car driver. Mr. Flashy. Mr. Look-at-Me. But you…you’re definitely not red.”

“I can be flashy!”

“Never!”

“Sure, I can.”

“Not going to happen.”

“There are plenty of times when I’ve been flashy.”

“Name one?”

“Aunt Zelda’s birthday party?”

“Aunt Zelda’s birthday party? What are you talking about?”

“I did that impersonation of Lenny Bruce.”

“Oy vey. Shut up and eat your brisket. And tomorrow, change the colour of your car.”

My first husband’s father, Ezzat, was completely the opposite. A proud Egyptian, he’d grill me over dinner with questions like, “Do I or do I not ALWAYS ask you about your father?” to which I’d cautiously reply, “Well…I wouldn’t say always.” The next thing I knew, I was being called a liar, and he’d refuse to cross the threshold of my home. Once, while I was still suffering from dry sockets after having my wisdom teeth removed, he blended lamb, lentils and carrots together in what can only be described as vomit. It was a lovely gesture, but he was deeply offended when I couldn’t drink/eat it. I offended him a lot. Looking back on old journals, it strikes me now that no fiancé in the history of the world was more disliked. At night I’d pray, “Dear God, what have I done to make everyone hate me?” And all I heard back was, “Who’s everyone?”

Christian or not, it isn’t easy being a good person. When people run a stop sign, then give me the finger when I honk, I’m apoplectic, ruminating all day on what an asshole they are. If someone cheats me or slights me or makes me the subject of a lie, I brood and stew, giving away too much power to those who wish to hurt me. I aspire to be most like my father, who was always kind and courteous. Walking down the street in his later years, he would say hello to everyone and mean it. He was genuinely interested in people. I was grateful that he didn’t seem to notice women blanch when he called them “dear” or, after exchanging pleasantries, would leave someone with a “God bless you.” As his dementia grew worse, he appeared to become more and more beatific. Whether playing monopoly or eating a sandwich, he relished every moment accepting his fate with grace. As I sat beside his hospital bed and watched him pass from this world to the next, I believed he was embraced by something.

I think about my friends who have been oppressed yet still find the ability to forgive, celebrating at Baptist churches with a kind of joy I rarely see anywhere. I have learned a lot from my Black friends, and colleagues about what it means to be, if not Christian, then Christian like. I’m humbled by the love I’ve received when I probably didn’t deserve it.  

Hollywood would have you believe that Christians are either assholes or saints, and regardless of which category you fall into, you’ll suffer in the end. The assholes are hoisted on their own petard, and the saints are martyred.  I have a famous writer friend in L.A. who once said to me, “It was easier to come out as gay than Christian in Los Angeles.”

When I was seven, I saw the movie Song of Bernadette based on the true story of a young girl visited by the Virgin Mary. As a result of her miraculous visitations, Bernadette is rewarded with tuberculosis of the bone, suffers terrible pain and eventually dies—all while being persecuted by a nun who is jealous of her visions. At seven, I put two and two together. If that’s what happens to you when you’re humble and devout, then count me out. The last thing I wanted was for God or Mary or Angels to appear before me. And it wasn’t just Bernadette. Saint Afra, Saint Aggripina, Saint Basilissa, Saint Cecilia, Saint Dymphna, Saint Eurosia, Saint Susanna, Saint Juthwara, Saint Noyala, and Saint Winifred were all decapitated for their faith. To make matters worse, Faith was my middle name. What was my Mother thinking when she saddled me with a Christian moniker?  From what I could tell, since the basis of sainthood appeared to be suffering under horrible circumstances, I was eager to abandon the idea of being good altogether.  As long as I had a little larceny in me, I could stave off being burned at the stake or decapitated.  When misbehaving, my Mother would ask, “Why are you so bad?” And I would answer, “So I don’t become a saint.” I could see no situation in which becoming pious was worth it.

Back in the Vatican museum, I stood beneath the Sistine Chapel ceiling with hordes of other tourists feeling a bit like I was in purgatory waiting for judgment. Guards constantly chastised us to be quiet as we craned our necks to catch a glimpse of God. “There’s so much nudity,” I heard someone say, “God doesn’t look like that.” I was tempted to say, “It’s not a photograph. It’s an interpretation.” But I wisely kept my mouth shut. As I stared at the Delphic Sibyl, I remembered the legend: …born between man and goddess, daughter of sea monsters and an immortal nymph; she became a wandering voice that brought to the ears of men tidings of the future wrapped in dark riddles. It sounds like Sibyl might be pretty busy these days. Finally herded outside, most of the people around me had already put Michelangelo’s frescos out of mind. It was just one more thing to cross off their bucket list. Instead, their attention was now on the line-up at the Vatican pizzeria where for 10 Euros you could have a slice with cheese. 2 more Euros, and you could have water add an extra Euro and you could have it blessed.

As my time to visit St. Peter’s Basilica drew near, I lined up like a good little pilgrim to enter the “Holy Door” and passed into the atrium. I didn’t feel the presence of God there, just tourists who couldn’t resist a good selfie in front of the Pieta. Michelangelo’s sculpture masterpiece conveys the sorrow of the Virgin Mary, her right hand clutching her dead son while her left-hand falls limp at her side, resigned. I was contemplating the gesture when the woman beside me asked her friend,

“What do you suppose it means?”.

“Maybe she dropped her cellphone,” her companion quipped, and they laughed. It echoed shrilly through the chamber like hyenas. I sometimes feel the same way about women as I do about Christians. I expect them to be better and disappointed when they aren’t. I’m sure they feel the same way about me.

[acabloe]

Soon Goodbye, Now Love: chapter four

chapter one 

chapter two

chapter three

new ppl who r just seeing this it’s a guardian angel A/U find pt 1 n two  here ☟

Ao3   ff.net

tw’s: swearing, mentions on depression

still based on this song lol

a/n: is It copyright if I include lines word for word from the movies also is it weird lol too late. 

Chapter four: Make a Wave

Chloe had sat awake all night at her kitchen counter where she had a clear view of the living room and the small sleeping girl on her couch. Paranoia had led to the performance of unnecessary extra work while she waited with a small bath of coffee and her laptop, constantly visually and audibly aware of the situation if anything arose. 

Certain that she would be able to leave her job four or five hours early the next day because of the extra labor, she thought of what the girl- Beca, would do after carrying out the medial plans Chloe had made. They were, now that she thought about it, of a very impractical a nature and it had only just dawned on her how unrealistic they were. Granted, Beca seemed like she wasn’t completely hopeless. Although Chloe was not sure if she believed everything about her story, she knew that the girl wasn’t without resources; She said she’d lived in the city beforehand and she had to have paid some money to travel all the way from Massachusetts to New York.  She considered maybe meeting her again after work since she would be getting off so early, but she was still wary of the entire situation and how rash she was being. The thought that she had so expeditiously befriended this stranger she had found wandering alone in the middle of a field with no shoes or clothes and a long and kind-of gap-filled story was making her brain hurt.

After an extremely uneventful evening, the early hours of the morning dawned and Chloe threw together a small breakfast for herself and began to prepare for the day ahead. She found an old Barden school-sweatshirt in her closet to give to Beca and a pair of trainers she no longer wore, assuming for the time being that the girl truly didn’t own a pair of shoes.

After a brief interval of hesitation, she gently nudged her sleeping guest and murmured a cheerful greeting upon the girl’s stirring. Beca dressed in her newly-cleaned clothes, ate the cereal Chloe gave her in groggy gratitude and at the turn of the hour just as Chloe had promised, they left for the city in her red 90′s Nissan pulsar. 

 The conversation shared hitherto had been sparse and for the most part admitted on Chloe’s initiative, but after ten still fairly uneasy minutes of driving, Chloe found herself want of a more social reciprocity from her apologetic and rather acquiescent companion. 

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?” Chloe glanced at the girl who was gloomily hunched in on herself, eyes flickering over the passing architectural and natural parade of suburban New York.

“Sure.” She shifted and smiled faintly in response. 

“Do you care what I play? I have a Sia CD in the glovebox there.” Beca dutifully withdrew the black and white cased CD and handed it to Chloe. 

“I didn’t even know they made CD’s anymore.” The jesting comment was thrown quietly but it had not gone unnoticed. Chloe chuckled as she placed the disc in the thin slot of the dashboard.

“She’s a comedian! Well, well, well, a real spokesperson for our generation, aren’t you? Don’t appliance-shame me­, this car is too old for an AUX chord.”

“If you say so, grandma.” Chloe was enjoying this new-found charismatic confidence of the stranger she had only met a few hours ago. As the first song began she hummed along to the all-too familiar melody. She had maintained a sort of comfortable fondness for the artist, as her acapella group had sung a few of her songs in concert when they had been together and listening to the album made her feel melancholic, but peaceful. Even though she didn’t really keep in touch with the girls, she still held them all very dear and her sense of pride for everything they had done together was still running strong. 

“Do you sing?” Beca’s voice was soft and monotone as though she didn’t want to ask the question.

“Funny you should ask, I used to sing in college. I mean, I don’t make a habit of boasting, but our acapella group performed at the Kennedy center with one of the songs on this album!” She smiled through recollection.

“Your A Capella group? oh my God, you are old…that’s nice though, I guess. Congrats.”

“See? I’m a cool grandma.” She increased the volume on the controls and instinctively jumped into the harmonies. The conversation dwindled yet again and she struggled desperately for another topic of conversation.

“Do you?” In Chloe’s side-view she saw Beca’s head turn toward her in confusion.

“Huh?” 

“Do you sing?” 

“Oh. Haha. In your dreams.” Her laugh resonated in a somewhat forced manner as if the subject had affected a sore spot and she became sullen within seconds, returning to the window. This unusual air made Chloe question whether Beca’s statement was true, and if it was perhaps more of a self-deprecating comment. After the first song ended and the second followed suit, Chloe’s doubts were confirmed (admittedly to her delight) as Beca quietly began humming the melody underneath Chloe’s higher intervals. A few words through she softly joined in with the lyrics and Chloe was taken aback by a pleasing (if a little rough) voice, harmonizing in absolute-pitch beneath her own. Their tones blended well, and though Beca was singing softly and with little motivation, their phrasing synced well, Chloe thought. They sung past the chorus and as the bridge began, she addressed Beca with amusement and determination.

“You Can sing! You liar!” 

“Dude, shut up. Just ‘cause I do doesn’t mean I can.”

“What the hell? Your voice is great! You know this song so well, it’s actually almost like you’re singing the arrangement we did for the president.” Chloe smiled when she observed she was making Beca blush. 

“Wait, you’re in the Bellas? Wow. I um…I saw that performance online actually. It’s, like, viral, you know that, right? Also, ever since that David Guetta song I’ve been really into Sia.”

“Oh, God, yeah of course I know, that perforamance almost got us disqualified. Wait, you know David Guetta?”

“Dude, I fucking love David Guetta. Titanium?”

“What a a BOP! Are you kidding me?” 

The last chorus came in and the two girls sang and with a litte more vitality than they had been doing so, especially Chloe. As the last chorus faded into the quiet between songs, Chloe was nearing the end of the highway and the toll booths signifying the entrance to the city could be seen on the horizon.

“So, where are you thinking I should drop you off?” 

“Oh, um…I guess the bank on 15th, if that’s cool? I can make my way from there.”

“Gotcha.” Chloe was unsure how to approach the next subject. 

“You know...if you need anything I’ll be there to help you get back on your feet? You can spend another few nights at my place until you have somewhere to go. Also, I can speak to that friend about the job, I think she’d really appreciate someone else at her café and I’m sure it pays well. Now that I think about it, she’s just around the corner from 15th, I’m going to be early for work anyways, I could introduce you two. If it’s too soon to think about work I totally understand.”

“No, yeah, um, wow, that’s so kind of you. I…I’ve already taken so much of your hospitality, um, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, you must think I’m so awful. I owe you so much, dude. If it’s not, like, encumbering you that would be so great.”

“Really, it’s nothing I swear. You’re a friend now, I’m here to help. Her name is Flo, she was in the Bella’s with me! She’s super sweet, I promise.”

-

Beca passionately inhaled the perfect euphoria of stepping inside Flo’s coffee shop. She had spent so much time in this building her last year on earth. Nothing had changed except for the fact her favorite latte was not on the large chalkboard Manu above the counter, which she didn’t blame Flo for; she doubted very many people ever ordered a sage latte. This recollection made her again dismal when she was reminded that not only Chloe had been made to forget her existence, but also the entire earth and all those she held near. 

The café was small but well and minimally decorated. The floor dipped into the ground as opposed to a raised platform and the ceiling was low with old, dark beams stretched across, between white plaster and strings of tiny warm white string-lights. The counter in the corner was short and littered with large glass bell-jars filled with assortment upon assortment of scones, muffins, donuts, cakes, and cookies. 

The tables surrounding Beca and Chloe were packed with well-dressed people sipping drinks and typing loudly on their laptops and as the two girls gingerly navigated through the labyrinth of perfumed hipsters. Beca finally spotted a very frazzled and frayed variation of her tiny happy friend busily flitting around the tiny kitchen and she smiled in excitement. They finally reached the counter and when Chloe shouted her name Flo turned with a disgruntled looked which quick turned to ease when she saw who had called. 

In Beca’s timeline, the Bella’s intimacy had grown only stronger after their acapella careers had come to a close. Most of them had lived together in some variations of two or three, and they met up often and spoke regularly. Beca had dwelled constantly while she was in the Higher City on whether, if in the universe that had come of Beca’s death, the Bellas had still stayed close or simply grown apart. She had immediately noticed when she met Chloe, how much more subdued and almost depressed the inner layer of personality had been. The thought of living a life away from some of the most amazing people she had ever met, and missing what had been such a huge part of her day-to-day was gut-wrenching to consider, she felt deeply guilty and sympathetic for Chloe.

As she watched the two of them converse, she noted that they still clearly maintained a pretty cordial, if a little formal, relationship with one another. They greeted each other familiarly and then Chloe pulled Beca forward for an introduction. 

“So, Flo, This is Beca! she just got here from Massachusetts and she’s looking for a job, I know you’re a little strapped here so I thought you could maybe use an extra hand and interview her? Or whatever you do when you hire someone in this industry?” Chloe passed her arm around Beca’s shoulders warmly.  Flo sighed and reached out her arms to Chloe in a gesture of gratitude. “You are my savior, Chloe. Work has been like an old man throwing dead-weights into basketball hoops. All these rich people care about is what kind of non-dairy, dairy product they ask for and if you do not get it right they ask for your manager. Which is me. Obviously. I would hire you right now if I had the time. I’m closing the register in fifteen minutes if you want to wait in the back? I’ll be right there.” She gestured to a small hallway in the back of the room and turned to return to her work. Chloe faced Beca with a grin. 

“So, I’m gonna leave you here, but here’s my number. Don’t hesitate if you need anything at all. I work about fifteen minutes walk from here. Text me, keep me updated. I’ll keep in touch, okay?” Chloe wrapped her arms around Beca and hugged her tightly. Beca was unsure how she could respond appropriately other than simply apologizing and thanking her profusely. So, that’s what she did, and then Chloe was gone, out the door and around the corner, bright red hair fluttering behind her in the bitter city wind. 

She had just made herself comfortable on the couch when Flo breezed through the door, still in her apron and lightly dusted with flour. Beca knew the moment she stepped in the café what she would have to do and say. She knew that Flo would sympathize and that she could trust her. Flo sat own at a desk adjacent to the couch and brought out a plaque with a few papers Beca assumed were applications, but Beca scooted to the edge of her seat and placed her palm on the wooden surface before Flo could speak.

“Flo, wait, um...just stop for a sec’...how do I do this? Okay, this is going to seem like a very odd request but can I hold your hand, just, for, like, a millisecond?” Flo’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but she complied hesitantly, reaching her hand to touch Beca’s.

“Um, sure. Do you want some water or something? Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, Yeah I’m fine, just...give me a second.” Beca took her hand and held it securely. She needed just the right amount of contact. She closed her eyes and within less than a split second, Flo withdrew her hand with a gasp.

“Beca Mitchel?! Bitch ass hoe, what are you doing here?!”

a/n: sorry this chapter took so long kids! If anyone cares, I was in New York with my chorus performing at carnegie hall, also if Anna wasn't there at the performance imma b hella pissed bc not only does she a) have an obligation to attend acapella and Choral performances, now that she holds the face of acapella in her palm, but she was also b) in NY at the time and I c) tweeted her twice.

[dwestfieldblog]

THERE IS NO SAFE WORD

ATEH MALKUTH, VE-GEBURAH, VE-GEDULLAH, LE-OLAHM...

Anybody who understands my music will never be unhappy again. Beethoven. That sounds like a cue for a song...and here it is...

Well, now we know the actual defined amount of stubborn dumb stupidity for sure in America. Over 70 million morons. Loved seeing Trump jr call on his dad to wage ‘Total war’ (A phrase Goebbels used in Berlin 1943 when the allies were approaching... and we know how that ended, go on Big Don, do the honourable thing for the first time in your foul life.) Junior also said ‘It’s time to clean up this mess and stop looking like a banana republic’. Why yes son, it is, so off you all pop. Daddy is busy implanting his loyalists in the Pentagon and already thinking of running in 2024 but by then he should either be in prison or in exile on a tiny freezing Scottish island with a one hole golf course where he can still cheat. Seems likely he, family and their backers are planning to make good use of their through the looking glass rabies crazed sheep and continue to destabilize America for the Kremlin. Loved that the orange psychopath tweeted early ‘I WON THIS ELECTION, BY A LOT!’ and watched as he demanded all votes be counted...and the more they were, the more he lost by. HILARIOUS.

And his call to arms to ‘Stand back and stand by’ to The Proud Boys, who are not far right Nazi thugs at all no sir. To misuse Hunter S Thompson’s genius for the hundredth time, I hope that this is where the wave (of populist filth Trump has been riding) finally breaks and rolls back. But over 70 million morons say different. The 80 million who voted for the other guy must be happy there are so many who can clean the streets and fill the shelves at food shops. Education needs to be improved in America and Britain next year, a ‘LOT’.

January 20th 2021...Celebrate with joy the end of a despotic douche bag...allow the world to feel lighter. Republicans, you should feel ashamed. America, this bastard has been undoing your Constitution like a prom queen’s girdle for a button mushroom quickie rape for four years and couldn’t have cared less about Covid and how many of you died...as he said ‘It is what it is’. So SAD!!!! Arf. Donald, you are and were nothing more than a spoiled five year old brat with as much empathy for humanity as a lizard. A banishing ritual will need to be performed in around the White House...call up the Native Indians, the witches and South Park and cleanse the area of astral poison. The swamp will be drained when the deranged incubus’s entire family of scheming wannabe aristocrats vacates for good.And don’t let him sit at a little table to pardon them and himself.Lowlifes...speaking of whom...

It has taken a lot to make me smile this year (what, you too huh?) but seeing Rudy Giuliani giving a press conference between a porn book store and a funeral parlour in a parking lot did it. The T family, Jared, Rudy, Pompeo, Paula White (the Unchristian millionaire), the slurring ‘star witness’ Melissa Carone, spokeswoman Kayleigh with her cute little cross and all the rest of those despicable liars must all be flushed down the drains, no second chances, repentance or absolution.And as for Dr Scott Atlas telling the American public to ‘rise up’ against the safety measures called for by the state against Covid...A doctor telling you to ignore the rule against large indoor gatherings etc. A doctor.RISE UP? 12 million cases in the US as of mid November...254 thousand dead. That number is rising fast. Good luck from keeping the world falling on you Atlas, Wonder what the orange one offered him to blab such stinking dung. Another doctor with a hypocritical oath.

The smug toad Steve Bannon on yet another shitestirring podcast,spoke about beheading virologist Dr Fauci and the Director of the FBI Christopher Wray...‘I’d put the heads on pikes, right. I’d put them at the two corners of the White House as a warning to federal bureaucrats, you either get with the programme or you are gone.’Twitter banned him outright (and how long did that take?) but the ever wonderful facebook didn’t think that advocating murder online like any other good fundamentalist was reason enough. They believe in the first amendment, hurrah for the robot Zuckerberg.Like? Dislike? Delete, good luck.

And meanwhile the EU budget, involving 673 billion pounds for Covid connected concerns has been blocked by the continuing charming behaviour of Hungary and Poland. And why would they do that at this time of dire need? Why, because the release of the funds is dependent upon the rule of actual law in each of the countries to which the money is allocated. They have some very naughty politicians there who are upset about this and the darlings have taken it personally. These men could well be directly responsible for hundreds of unnecessary deaths. Hungary’s PM Orban said the clause would ‘jeopardise trust’ between member states. Well pal, they already don’t trust you due to your actions in the last ten years over freedom of speech, assembly, judges etc etc.

The Polish ‘Justice’ minister said the clause was ‘...really an institutional political enslavement, a radical limitation of sovereignty’. Sounds like Nigel Farage.(btw, Love that he lost 10 thousand pounds betting on his golden mate to win the US Presidential election. Oh well, you can pick that up fast enough from taking the Euros you rail against eh? Got to relish the classic two faced double English standards he stoops so low to wave so high) Anyway, I digress, if it seems unfair to Poland and Hungary that they act more like actual democracies rather than extremist populist swine, perhaps they should also leave the EU and team up with Mother Russia and Uncle China.Again, Vladimir must be well pleased with how Europe and America are collapsing.

Belarus...the ‘police’ are beating up women, using stun grenades on unarmed pensioners and teens. These are not police and have nothing to do with any law other than that of the jungle. Lukashenko is their Trump, a man who always swore his country would be independent of Russia and then accepts 1.5 billion dollars in loans. Good luck with paying back the interest with your soul Alex, needs must when the Devil drives eh? Loved how those loyal to the dictator described the protestors as truants and transsexuals’. 150,000 of them? Seems a lot. But never mind, hired thugs and sadists are always easy to come by, whatever the country and whatever the year. Easy work and fun if you enjoy it, conscience free. Sure they are just trying to feed their families.

China wants a global QR Covid code, making tracking humans even easier via their brilliant technology. Let’s see who falls for that one, would you want yet more personal data known by those who created the virus and shot their own children? (For the record, I do not think Covid was taken over there and released by enemy agents and I certainly don’t think it was created by accident any more than the updated version will be.) Making a fortune out of others’ misfortune seems quite like disaster capitalism for communists.  Drug companies will be hoping the 19 virus will ‘mutate’ to 21 and 22 in order that we will all need annual vaccines.

Prague, on the anniversary of the Czechoslovakian Velvet Revolution on November 17th, 250,000 march against their PM, (an ex informer to the communists) who has been Premier for too many years...another rich businessman deep in corruption scandals, I loved his comment after witnessing the thousands that he didn’t ‘understand’ why they were doing it. That said, there were many protesting against the use of...face masks. Ok, by all means choose not to wear them. Then stay the hell away from everyone else until you are vaccinated and don’t you dare go to hospital when you fall ill. Deal?

Englerland...The manic baldhead liar Cummings has at last been kicked out of Downing Street and a fine and noble advisor he was to the PM eh? Herd immunity my arse. Seems possible he might work for Farrage and continue destroying the system from within. Fnord. God help us all, the ‘UK’ is hosting the United Nations Climate Change conference in November 2021 and taking the presidency of the G7 in January...with Boris at the helm? Nobody takes this blustering useless lying cretin seriously unless their jobs depend on him. Tory supporters, what does it take for you to see reason, how much evidence of unending failure? At very least replace the Chumocracy rampant in the government or Doom, damnation, despair, death and more doom will repeat.Nice to see we get the vaccine tested on us first...guinea pigs are safer for the rest of the world on an island...

Fascinated to see that 20m pounds were not available for poor children’s free school meals but 21 million in taxpayers’ money for a go between businessman to get PPE (piss poor excuse/personal protection equipment) for NHS staff, was. How much did the go between pocket? 55 thousand dead in UK, fifth in the world,so proud of the levels of national intelligence and Govermental planning. Brexit and Covid in a double whammy with the most incompetent and corrupt government in my lifetime. As John Lydon used to rant on a perfect loop;’ This is what you want, this is what you get’. Possibly I am abusing his actual meaning, sorry Johnny. No future for the UK...None for me anyway...

Was the UK and America’s snowflake nonsense, seeded with the birth of instagram, tik tok et al/ forums with young folk seeking approval from their peers and feeling important when they were ‘Liked’? A few years later in the (ha ha) real world, they are easily insulted by others who do not find them having much depth or value. Kids’, being ‘liked’ is not the same as being respected, or loved. Pretend alpha males, being feared is not respect either.

‘Since words contain both denotations (referents in the sensory-existential world) and connotations (emotional tones or rhetorical hooks) humans can be moved to action, even by words which have no real meaning or reference in actuality. This is the mechanism of demagoguery, advertising and much of organised religion’ RAW. It also explains why, in tandem with tones, symbols and an altered brain speed,directed Will can cause change in ‘realities’. The litany of ritual, the mantras of magick and images focused to fire with the Tantric arrow. Oops, missed again. Anyway...back to the negativity☺‘

...as population increases, wages fall but later prices increase....and the relation between them –is to be considered the index of revolutionary potential...and can be predicted as precisely as eclipses in astronomy’. Robert Anton Wilson, The Widow’s Son (Hilaritas Press) 1985.

Thanks to Covid, hundreds of thousands of businesses have collapsed; the jobless or part timers are unable to pay rent or feed their families...and receive little or no support from governments who have either pocketed their taxes or just given rewards and contracts to their friends. The overload stress levels and knock on effect on those who had the virus and still suffer -or those who could not get into hospital for treatment will be massive. Every populist knows there has never been a better time to manipulate the fear and anger of the masses. Demonstrations, riots and harsher laws will spread each creating their own chain reaction.Watch out for Nationalists pointing fingers, don’t buy their snake oil. Avoid giving groups like QAnon any of your energy, paranoia is a creepy way to live and a sleazy way to die.

Ten months of reading emails which come across like distress signals or suicide notes from friends or that scene in Interstellar when the son knows his father could be dead by the time the message gets through. BUT...‘Help may arrive invisibly and unexpectedly from unknown sources’. Be open to this. Be sensitive and attuned to quantum parallels, there is a reaction going on to all the uff and crud, sidestep, step to the side... Allwhere and all now. You don’t need to ‘believe’ this, just be aware, sense it.

TANA, ORPHEUS, ARADIA, LUCIFER (or Robin, Marian, Orfee, Bride, all ye gentry come from Side)...Protection and guides, projected archetypes created by our minds and evolved by themselves...

We, as a species, exist in a world in which exists a myriad of data points. Upon these matrices of points we superimpose a structure and the world makes sense to us. The pattern of the structure originates within our biological and sociological properties.Persinge and Lafreniere.1977.

The intelligence should direct the will. Aquinas. The light of the body is the eye; if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body will be full of light. Matt6:22.

Have tied the last five years together and I have a feeling my time in this country is coming to an end, give it seven months perhaps. Thank you for reading, hope some was entertaining...Withe much Love from Donkey Oti, and Onan the Barbarian, stay healthy, wishing you the best Christmas and 2021 possible, Ba-ra-ka, Et in Arcadia Ego . Love, always.                                

[westywrites]

The Orphan Experiments

Chapter 1

Time for a new multi-part story! Updates on this one will be every Wednesday and Friday similar to the last one. Once again, this is not the newest story in terms of how recently it was written, but it has, like the others, been under continual editing. I think this is one of my favourites because I really the characters.

I’m going to try out something new and put little excerpts from the chapter at the top above the Read-More and see how that works. 

Next

Excerpt: “Now I need to make sure you understand why exactly these kids live here instead of with other foster parents." Mr. Kleary nodded. "They are problem children, very troubled. They all have been kicked out of multiple homes and schools. They don't get along well with anyone and certainly not each other. What these children need is a heavy hand, do you understand?"

The house was large and foreboding; three stories high and very plain. The dull lawn and perfect off-white paint seemingly screamed that nothing good happens there. A young man with messy hair stood on the front porch, biting his lip. Shortly after he knocked the door was opened by a girl with curly black hair. She stared at him, deep brown eyes making quick judgments of the tie on his neck. The man smiled.

"Hello!" He bent a little to get more on eye level with the small girl. "My name is James Kleary, may I come in?" The girl said nothing in response. "I'm to be your new skills teacher here, it's very nice to meet you." The man put out his hand as if to shake the girl's. At this motion she flinched and ran up the stairs against the right wall of the entryway. Mr. Kleary stood awkwardly for a moment before calling out the name he had made note of before he came and bracing himself to meet the kind of woman he expected to run a place like this. A clattering of footsteps was heard from a room down the hall. A stout woman, easily in her fifties, hurried to the door; her face was kind as she invited him in. The lady led him down the hall and into a bright kitchen. The cheerful atmosphere contrasted to the rest of the house and did a great deal to ease Mr. Kleary's nerves.

"Okay, so here are m-" Mr. Kleary began to pull out his resume but was quickly interrupted by the lady.

"When can you start?" She was buzzing about, pulling things out of cupboards and putting things away, seemingly randomly.

"But you haven't even seen-”

"Doesn't matter! These children just need someone to put up with them for some time during the day. Lord knows I can't do it on my own all the time. The old skills teacher, he was tough but this batch is bad." She made a judgmental sound. "Those savages got the man in the hospital this time."

"Oh my," Mr. Kleary responded less to what the lady had said but more how she had said it. She talked about the children as if they weren't human beings. "I'll start immediately if you'll have me."

"Oh good, good! My name is Ms. Singer." She smiled tautly and extended a hand for him to shake. "I am the homeowner and head caretaker of the children here. I do all the cooking, cleaning and disciplining." She tossed a wooden spoon into the drawer and began to walk off. Mr. Kleary followed silently as Ms. Singer gave him a quick tour of the house. It had a simple layout with dull furniture and duller walls, just a standard four-bedroom home with three washrooms and a study. The children shared rooms; two girls in one and two boys in another. Ms. Singer lived in the master bedroom and the adjoining washroom was all hers. The final bedroom was small and unkempt with a tiny ensuite.

"This will be your room. You'll spend nights here but the rest of your time will be spent with the children." She pulled the door closed as they left. "You will teach in the study; history, English, math, all the usual subjects, taught following a strict curriculum. You will show up to meals on time, you will report any infractions to me immediately, no matter how minor. Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, definitely." He had zoned out entirely before they had even entered the bedroom. "Can I meet the kids now?"

“I suppose." The judgmental tone had crept back into Ms. Singer's voice. She led him to a living room where four kids were watching cartoons and looking bored. She stopped before she entered the room. "These are the kids. Now I need to make sure you understand why exactly these kids live here instead of with other foster parents." Mr. Kleary nodded. "They are problem children, very troubled. They all have been kicked out of multiple homes and schools. They don't get along well with anyone and certainly not each other. What these children need is a heavy hand, do you understand?"

"Loud and clear, Ms. Singer, or may I call you Andrea?" Mr. Kleary smiled.

"No, you may not." Her curt response made Mr. Kleary flinch a little. "These children need to learn respect so under no circumstances should they think of you or me as anything other than Ms. Singer and Mr. Kleary." She looked at him as though talking to one of the children of whom she thought so lowly. He nodded quickly. He was starting to doubt his choice in going to that house, but these children obviously needed someone who actually cared.

"The one in the corner, the little Mexican who answered the door when you knocked, her name is Rosa Falto, 10 years old, though she will not shut up about her birthday next week. She is a major flight risk, ran away from all the homes she's been in within the first few weeks. She’s scared of the world and incredibly shy but easily the most tolerable of the children. The girl laying on the floor is Willow Harrington, 12 years old. She is attention craving and overly emotional. She broke the nose and arm of the owner of her last home because he tried to comb out that Afro of hers. The ginger boy is Jacob O'Neil, 12 years old. He is a thief and a liar who lives to cause mischief. He was responsible for the prank that put their old skills teacher in the hospital. The little black boy is Tanner Cole, 11 years old. He claims to hate everyone and acts like it too. He is an angry child who will stay silent until it all comes out screaming." Ms. Singer gestured inside. "Now it's time for you to meet the devils."

The children all turned and watched silently as Mr. Kleary entered the room. He could tell by their faces that they had heard everything Ms. Singer had to say and that they had heard worse before. After an awkward moment of silence, the children went back to watching their cartoons and seemed to pretend that Mr. Kleary wasn't even there. Mr. Kleary shot a look back at the doorway, smiling and shooing Ms. Singer away. She sighed and left, her footsteps receding to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight Mr. Kleary sighed and plopped into an empty spot on the couch. The boys, on either side of him, looked shocked and kind of afraid.

"Man, she's got a stick up her ass, doesn't she?" Mr. Kleary said to Tanner. "A stick so far up it hits her brain!" The children laughed slightly in surprise, disbelief on their faces. Except for Rosa, she just stared with wide eyes.

It took a while but each of the children eventually came to enjoy Mr. Kleary's antics. He was the strangest and happiest adult any of them had ever met. He pulled pranks on them as often as they tried to pull any on him and his lessons were taught in badly sung songs or horribly drawn cartoons; he drove Ms. Singer up the walls. The children loved it and Mr. Kleary loved the children. He came to understand them as so much more than Ms. Singer had made them out to be. Rosa was brilliant, Tanner wanted to be an artist, Willow wanted to play hockey, Jacob was an aspiring stand-up comedian. Each of the children was able to shine and every time they did Mr. Kleary was filled with pride. His strange ways even seemed to brighten Ms. Singer at times and she began to give him some leeway with how he taught. Though this was partly because she knew he would ignore the rules anyway.

One day, rain and a boring history lesson had the children complaining and fidgeting in their seats; it gave Mr. Kleary an idea.

"Ms. Singer!" Mr. Kleary half shouted as he ran down the hall, the children staring after him in confusion. "Ms. Singer, I had an idea!"

"Good lord, Mr. Kleary how many times must I tell you not to run?" Ms. Singer stepped out of the kitchen, her polka dot broom in hand. "You are going to fall and break something."

"It's a dreadful day." Mr. Kleary was smiling and bouncing slightly as he talked; standing far too close to her.

"I guess..." A bit of worry crossed her face. "What is it that you want?"

"I want to go to the museum!" Mr. Kleary put a hand on her shoulder. "I have a friend who is in charge of the guided tours there. If I call her she can arrange something by the time we get there!"

"What does a dumb museum have to do with it being a dreadful day?" Tanner asked, alerting the adults that the children had snuck down the hall.

"Dreadful days are museum days, of course!" Mr. Kleary said it as if it were obvious. "Do you want to come, Ms. Singer? It'll be fun!" He continued to bounce slightly.

"No, thank you." She looked at her watch. "There's too much to be done around here." She turned back towards the kitchen. "Be safe and don't do anything stupid."

"She said yes!" Mr. Kleary was halfway up the stairs before he paused to look back at the children. "What are you waiting for? We're going to the museum!" The children ran after him.

"Hello and welcome to the Richardson Street Museum. We first opened our doors to the public in 1962 with only..." the tour guide droned on in an unenthused voice.

"Don't bother with the script, we won't be listening." Mr. Kleary smiled as he slid a small bottle back into his shoulder bag. "If you just lead us around and tell us some cool facts every once in awhile we'll be happy." And so it went on like that, the children ran ahead and pointed to cool things and the guide seemed much happier to say the things he found fascinating. Mr. Kleary ran about with the children at times, but mostly he followed along, walking and chatting with the tour guide. After close to three hours, the tour guide stopped Mr. Kleary for a second.

"Melissa, the guide coordinator, told me I should take you guys up to where we're storing the exhibit that's gonna be set up soon." The guide seemed excited. "Well, she said I could as a favour to you if your group was well behaved. It's really important that they don't touch anything up there."

"Of course. I promise you they'll be the best of any children you've ever seen." A smile grew on Mr. Kleary's face. When he called them, the kids quickly came over and stood attentively as Mr. Kleary explained where they were going. “Nothing there will be behind glass yet, so you have to be very careful not to touch it, okay?"

"What's the new exhibit about?" Jacob asked as the others nodded.

"It's about Native art and technology from before the Europeans came." The tour guide replied quietly. "You'll be the first to see it who doesn't work here." This was met with quiet excitement. The guide led them over to the back corner of the museum where there was a second, older styled elevator marked staff only. The guide put his arm out, blocking the door until everyone was in. He stepped in after them and pressed a button with no marking on it. Suddenly, something put Mr. Kleary's nerves on edge, something wasn't right. He looked to the children, they were all there. He looked back to the guide; when he wasn't looking the guide had pulled a mask of some sort over his mouth and nose. Mr. Kleary shouted for the children as he whipped around to face them, but before he could he fell to the floor and everything faded to black.