#fictional journal entries

[dem0nguy]

I love writing this stuff too much ya’ll.

Anyways here’s the second part <3

(Part one if you missed it :3)

This, is truly where things start to go downhill. Genuinely it doesn’t get any better from here. I sometimes catch myself wondering what a normal teenage experience would be like. Not one that involves supernatural paraphernalia…

I wrote this entry in two parts. One, I believe on my way to school. The second sometime after. I guess it doesn’t matter too much, when I wrote them. But, the more you know, the better.

9/23/19 - Part 1

Ok so, I’m honestly not entirely sure how to start this off. But today was, scary? Odd? Supernatural? I don’t know. To this day, it’s a difficult topic to explain.

I woke up to my alarm; excitement and anxiety buzzing in my chest. It was finally the first day of middle school. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted this day to be over as soon as possible, or start as quickly as possible.

So I got up, then nearly fell back down again. I felt a strange weight on my head and back, as if someone had strapped bricks to me in my sleep. Must be the anxiety. I thought, because really, what else could it be? Hell (literally) if I know.

So sluggishly, I walked to my bathroom. (me and my twin share it, his bedroom is connected through a door on the opposite side.) Opening my door I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Subsequently, I do a double take.

I thought I was dreaming, because I mean, who just wakes up with demon horns, wings, and a tail?? Not any normal person… probably. Unfortunately, we’re not very normal.

I must’ve stood there for a while, confused, panicking. My constant internal monologue was, “this has to be a dream, this has to be a dream, this has to be—“

“Adammm!” Conner called, knocking frantically. “Something is very, very wrong!”

I open the door for him, we both startle.

My brother, blonde haired, brown eyed. Had a halo, angel wings, and a demon tail? I guess it wasn’t really my place to find that specific detail odd, all of this was odd.

“Adam,” his voice became hushed, “are we both having a freaky dream together or is this real?”

I hesitate, “I don’t know… I don’t think we’re dreaming?”

“Then what the hell is going on??”

I shrugged, I mean, how do you even respond to this situation? What do we do? That’s a good question past me…

“Something must have caused this,” I start, “So if we find that maybe we find answers?”

“Right, but WHAT IN THE WORLD COULD’VE CAUSED THIS” He whisper-yells.

“I don’t know!!” I whisper-yell in return. It could’ve been anything really. Maybe we were cursed in our sleep? Maybe we actually were dreaming. Maybe it was—

“The necklaces…” I mumble, barely audible.

“What?” Conner asks.

From my pocket, I pull out the necklace. Instead of the red and blue swirl it had initially, it was gray. And dull. I’d kept it on me for good luck, like my Uncle Sam suggested. But apparently, it did the opposite. Still haven’t forgiven him for that.

Conner, wide eyed, runs back into his room. Holding up the necklace lying on his nightstand, the same gray dull color as mine.

He stares at the necklace with irritation, before throwing it on the ground. “I knew it! I knew there was something up with these things! I have no idea what our Uncle was planning, but it was clearly something!!”

“Maybe he didn’t know this would happen—“

“How can you really say that Adam, we both know how suspicious he was acting.”

I couldn’t argue with him, it made sense. But I didn’t want to believe Uncle Sam would purposefully do this. Sure he was a little suspicious at times, and not the most friendly. But that doesn’t mean he did something like this! Oh Angels I was so fucking naïve…

“Listen, whether he did this intentionally or not he probably has answers.” Conner says, as if he read my mind. “So let’s go find him.”

I slowly nodded, “Ok, yeah. But is he even still here?”

Conner scoffs, as if I should know the answer to that. “Of course he’s still here, do you really think Dad would let him leave this early?”

I hesitate, “No, I guess not…”

“Great let’s go.” Conner grabs my arm, dragging me towards the door.

“Conner! Wait—“ I jerk my arm free from his grasp, “What if someone sees us?”

Conner rolls his eyes, “Adam, it’s early in the morning, who would see us?”

Before I can respond Conner grabs my arm again, “Exactly, let’s go.”

He managed to drag me out the door. It was dark in the hallway, so even if someone had been there, they wouldn’t have seen us. So I guess Conner was right…

We hastily made our way to the guest room, where Uncle Sam was staying. Conner threw open the door, slamming it behind him. Our Uncle jolts awake.

“What… who’s in here?” He mumbles, before turning on the lamp beside his bed. He squints at us for a moment, before putting on his glasses. “Oh, you two.”

“What did you do to us?!” Conner shouts, too loudly for how early it was.

“Calm down kiddo.” Uncle Sam hops off his bed, cracking his back. “It wasn’t entirely my fault.”

Oh, so this was intentional. What’s that… three points for Conner?

“Change us back!!” Conner shouts again, stomping up to Uncle Sam in a poor attempt to intimidate him.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. But,” he picks up two black bracelets from his nightstand. “These should help you for now.” He holds them out to Conner, who scoffs.

“I don’t trust you.”

Uncle Sam shrugs, “If you’d rather go out looking how you do, I won’t stop you. It isn’t my job to look after you.”

Me and Conner share a glance, one of concern. But it seems we agree on the same thing, as Conner speaks, “Never mind, give us the bracelets.”

Our Uncle hands them over. Conner walks back to me, handing me one. I study the bracelet for a moment, it’s black, and uneven. It looks as though it’s made of a kind of rock, like obsidian. I slide the bracelet over my wrist, on my end, it doesn’t feel like anything happened. But Conner looks at me with surprise.

“Adam, you’re… normal again?”

I raised an eyebrow, but as he slid the bracelet over his wrist, I realized what he was saying. The bracelets, some way or another, hid our supernatural appearances.

“Just keep the bracelets on and you’ll be fine.” Uncle Sam says, sitting back on his bed. “Now get out, please.”

“Aren’t you gonna give us answers?” I get the courage to ask.

Uncle Sam chuckles, “Nope, again, not my job.”

“You can’t just leave us with this! We need answers.” Conner backs me up. (I will forever be grateful for my twin.) Spoiler, forever didn’t last very long.

“I can just leave you with this, actually.”

Conner huffs, becoming visibly annoyed.

“But I can point you in the right direction.” Our Uncle continues, “Mr. G, you know him. Family friend?”

Me and Conner both nod.

“Yeah, he works at West-East Middle. You might even have him as your teacher. Go ask him about it. He’ll give you answers.”

“You sure?” I ask hesitantly. I didn’t interact with Mr. G often, but he came over for holidays and dinner. Uncle Sam seemed to have an aversion to him. But he seemed like a nice person otherwise.

“Yeah, now leave.”

I think me and my brother both realized we weren’t getting any more out of him. So we did as he said and left the room.

Boy, was today going to be interesting…

(Next part :3)

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: After a sweet apology from Arthur your budding friendship grows! You have plans to meet Arthur outside of work for the first time, but must deal with some drama in your café first.

Content Warning: Mention of drinking, men being creepy, threats of violence.

Chapter 2: Headaches

Arthur's POV

It's been about a week since your social blunder at the café. You've been offering to go on hunting trips to avoid going into town. You would rather come face to face with a bear than make a fool of yourself in front of Y/N again. You kick yourself for being worried about his opinion of you in the first place. That shouldn't matter, why are you even thinking about it?

Luckily, you don't encounter any bears, but today's hunting trip with Charles was the most successful one you've had since you settled down in this spot. Everyone back at camp was elated. So elated that as the hearty deer stew was being served, bottles of whiskey and rum were opened and passed around the campfire with equal enthusiasm. You remember the women's tipsy giggles, and the men getting a little loud and rowdy, but not much else.

As you open your eyes you feel your head screaming in pain. You roll out of your cot, swallowing and forcing the rising bile back into your stomach. The morning light is blinding, you squint and shield your eyes as you exit your text. As your vision adjusts you can see everyone else feels just as miserable. There's a collective groan as the gang members each start working on their tasks for the day. You know you'll be absolutely useless until you nurse this headache, but the smell of the coffee over the fire almost makes you gag. The only thing you think you could stomach is the coffee from the café in town. You sigh, weighing your options, and decide you would do anything to make your head stop pounding, even if it means risking an awkward conversation. As you ride into town, you rehearse a long overdue apology in your mind.

Y/N's POV

A few slow, monotonous days pass by you. You find yourself watching the door to your café, silently willing it to open. Every time you hear that bell ring you get a small rush of excitement, but it's crushed every time you look up and see a regular's face.

Did I somehow scare him off? You replay your last interaction with Arthur over and over again in your mind. It wasn't the first time you had caught a customer staring at you, but it was one of those rare instances where you weren't mad about it. Small towns feel smaller the longer you stay in them, so new faces excite you. Maybe you got too excited. You begin to convince yourself that you were too forward, or he was just traveling through town, or is flat out avoiding you when you hear the bell above the door ring once again.

Expecting disappointment at this point, you can't keep your eyes from widening in surprise when you see Arthur in the doorway. He is fidgeting with his hat in his hands as he approaches the counter. He has dark circles under his eyes and squints slightly as he looks in your direction. Working in a coffee shop for so long has taught you to instantly recognize a hangover. You intentionally keep your voice at a lower tone and quieter than usual as you greet him, "Hey friend, welcome back. Rough night?"

"Very fun night from what little I can remember, just a rough morning," He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Listen, I just wanted to apologize for the other day."

"There's no need, really, you didn't do anything wrong-"

Before you can finish your sentence, Arthur interrupts you, "I was rude to you after you were kind to me and you didn't deserve that." He stares directly into your eyes, and you can see they're filled with sincerity, "I'm truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, and for rushing out the way I did."

You feel paralyzed by the weight of his stare, and you can see the guilt in his eyes. Even though you don't think he did anything warranting such a genuine gesture, you can tell he won't let it go until you accept his apology.

"Alright," You sigh, "All is forgiven."

The beginnings of a smile quickly shift into a wince of pain on Arthur's face. "I'd love to accurately express my gratitude but I think I might die if I don't get some coffee in me soon," He slides some change across the counter towards you, "And whatever you have on the menu today smells amazing, I'll have one of those too."

"Thank you! It's mini strawberry shortcakes today, now go sit down before you pass out or puke on my floors." You smirk, trying to ease some of the remaining tension.

Arthur lets out a small chuckle, "Good idea." He slowly walks over to his usual corner table.

As you prepare his order you think about how to handle Arthur. Based on how he's acted the past few times you've seen him, you come to the conclusion that you'll have to let him come to you, like a stray dog. Being too friendly too fast might scare him off again. You're also thankful that instead of letting one awkward conversation snuff out the sparks of a new friendship, you were both able to move past it.

Small talk comes easy to the two of you now. Arthur comes in nearly every day. You ask him questions about work and he gives you vague answers. He asks you about baking and why the décor in the café is so "unique" as he politely put it. About a month of these pleasantries go by. One day he asks you what you do when you're not working.

"I sometimes try to come up with new recipes for the menu! Or I go to estate sales for cups and furniture."

"That doesn't count, that's just more work!" A laugh escapes you as you realize he's right, "Come on, you've gotta have other things you like doing."

You shyly mention that you like to draw and document the insects and plants in the area.

His eyes widen and the corners of his mouth curl up in excitement, "No way! I have a journal that I draw in."

"Really? I'm surprised, hands like yours usually aren't holding pencils." You smirk at him, narrowing your eyes and hoping your snide comment might pry more information about his unspecified line of work out of him.

He simply laughs, "Ha! Explains why I'm not very good at it."

You roll your eyes at another failed attempt to learn more about his job. Is he avoiding the subject on purpose or just being dense? "Well if you ever want to share of see some of my art, my house is just a ten minute walk down the road. It's the little one with the wooden wind chimes."

Arthur seems taken aback by your invitation and takes a moment to respond, "I'd like that. When should I head over?"

"I close up shop at two and if I get through my cleaning fast enough I can probably be home by four. Does that sound good?"

"I'll have to run a quick errand but it shouldn't take too long." Arthur drains the last of his coffee and stands up, "I'll see you later, Y/N."

"See ya, Arthur!" You wave goodbye as he leaves. You can't help but smile to yourself as you clean off his table. You check your pocket watch and sigh, it's only ten.

The minutes sluggishly pass by you as your giddiness grows. You try your best to avoid checking the time in between each task, knowing that will only make the day go by even slower. You're washing plates behind the counter when two unfamiliar men stumble through your doors. Before you can greet them they walk right past your register and over towards one of your customer's tables. You follow their gaze and see they have their eyes locked on Eva, the eldest daughter of one of the local farmers. She comes here in the afternoons to read without having to worry about her rambunctious little brothers bothering her.

She's so engrossed in her book that she doesn't notice the men saunter over, about two steps closer than they should be. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as one of the men clumsily places a hand on the table, knocking over her cup and spilling coffee into her lap.

"Hey! Watch it-" Eva looks up from her book and sees just how close these men are. Her eyes widen as they lean over her.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing sitting here all alone?" The shorter man's words practically slosh out of his mouth. He tries to put a finger under her chin, but Eva slaps his hand away.

The taller man grabs her wrist. "That's no way to treat someone who's just being nice to you, missy." He hisses through gritted teeth.

You clear your throat and stand with your arms crossed over your chest, hiding your shaking hands, "Excuse me gentlemen, I don't take kindly to folks that harass my customers. I'll give you to the count of three to back away from her and get out."

The men glare menacingly at you, "Or what?"

"Or this pot of boiling coffee is gonna make it real easy for the law to identify your ugly mugs." The thugs glance at each other, and then back at you, "One. Two-"

"Fine." The taller man drops Eva's wrist and drags his companion out the door behind him without another word. The scent of whiskey lingers in the air behind them.

You let out a long exhale. You knew you wouldn't have been able to win that fight if things had escalated, but they didn't need to know that. "Eva, are you alright? Do you need me to walk you home"

"Oh I'll be alright," She stands up and tries to wring the coffee out of her dress, "Thanks for scarin' them off!" She gives you a big smile as she collects her things. You wrap up the remaining shortcakes and send her off with a treat for her troubles.

You check your pocket watch again and you're grateful to see it's finally two. You flip the sign on the door to "Closed" and rush through your closing tasks, quickly forgetting about the incident as your planned meeting with Arthur grows closer. You can't remember the last time you were this anxious to get home. You finish your chores in record time, lock your café doors, and begin walking home. You're so caught up in your excitement that you don't look around for insects to draw like you usually would, but you do notice the squirrels and rabbits in the surrounding forest are skittish. They seem to make much more noise than usual as you follow the trail through the woods.

As you unlock your front door and turn the handle, you hear a voice behind you.

"Look who's all alone now."

//

Thank you so much for reading! Forgive me for the long absence, April is a terribly busy month for me and I was also getting extremely burnt out from work. To be super real the only reason I was able to get this typed out and posted is because I got sick and couldn't get out of bed all day (lol). Tumblr is also being super weird and not letting me indent no matter how I type this out or where I copy and it paste from. Anyone else have this issue?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 coming soon!

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @photo1030

[fond-illusion]

I bear the weight of unspoken words - ones that desperately needed to be heard, but never found their voice. I am perpetually consumed by thoughts of you. So much so, I’ve deluded myself into believing that this collection might resolve any lingering anguish. If I am honest with myself, which you always urged me to be, I foolishly cling to the hope that these pages, instilled with memories, might one day reach you.

No, that is not entirely accurate.

Ultimately, I cannot bear the thought of forgetting. Father always told me these moments are few and precious, slipping through our fingers if we are not careful. Thus, I want to remember everything - the delicate dusting of freckles across the bridge of your nose, a tiny constellation only I have memorized; the small mole on your left shoulder, a mark I have traced countless times; even the veins that snake across your calloused hands, which I know better than my own. I wish to recall your entirety for as long as I can; not just fleeting moments that surface when something or another reminds me of you. Until the inevitable day when my tongue can no longer string together the syllables of your name. 

Please, too, remember me always.

copyright © 2024 by fond illusion.

[video-journal-machine]

🗡•Entry 1•🗡

╭ @ghostly-cervidae ♡‧₊˚

┆❝ heノhim ❞

┆⋆˚ 🎞️ ˖° bodily 21 | 16 in headspace

╰ ➤ ᥫ᭡ pinned post.

Hello to anyone watching! I'm Evbo, and this is my blog video journal machine.

I'm a fictive from pvp civilization, in the same system as @champion-evbo from parkour civilization

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـDNIﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

⚔️ If you frequently engage in

syscourse (im endo friendly)

⚔️ You are pro-israel

⚔️ Pro-ship or radqueer

⚔️ Bodily under 18 don't PM plz

⚔️ You seriously tell people "kys"

Just be nice and be civil and you're welcome here.

Pfp is by @/Normiree

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Signing Off⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[blithe-imperial-underling]

Encrypted Journal Entry: One standard year ago

It has been a dozen rotations since we arrived at this stinking puddle at the edge of the Outer Rim and I'm going to lose my mind if I don't keep a journal. As far as I have been able to tell, this rebel cell isn't associated with any of the other insurgent groups. They call themselves the Mynocks, and I'd rather be locked in a leaking airlock with a flock of actual mynocks than embedded with them. But this is where the Empire needs me, so here I am.

If I were to die out here, and by some miracle this datapad ended up in Commander Echo's hands, he'd recognize the encryption type I'm using as the one he taught me. I can't pull it off with the efficient elegance that he could, but it should hold up. Of course, if the commander did see this, he would also see the amateurish stories I've been writing as cover for time spent on the journal—at which point if I wasn't already dead, I'd keel over from embarrassment. Writing fiction is not my forte.

I know someone in this maladroit band of would-be heroes has already been snooping. I can tell by the sidelong glances and snickers as the other traitors pass me in the cramped tunnels we're holed up in. Good. As long as they think what I'm writing isn't worth their time, I'm succeeding.

Excerpt from Blithe's unencrypted decoy files

From somewhere just out of view, a man's voice broke the silence, pitched to be soothing. "This will only hurt a bit . . . at first."

Zekhee was not soothed.

She trembled as she strained against the straps that held her to the examination table, fear darkening the flawless skin of her lekku to a green like the deepest tendrils of the Typhonic Nebula. But it wasn't until her captor stepped into view that she began struggle in earnest.

A human man—a scientist in a lab black lab coat that contrasted sharply with the bright white of everything else around him—loomed over her, inspecting a glistening hypo-syringe with a practiced eye.

"Now, now. It wouldn't do for you to damage yourself prematurely," he said, motioning to the med droid with his free hand. It acknowledged the instruction with a stiff nod of its metal head, then tightened Zekhee's restraints until the straps bit into her with a bruising force that made her gasp for air.

"I have done nothing wrong. Please, sir . . . Who are you?" Zekhee begged in quavering, accented Basic, blinking away hot tears. "Is it something I know? I will tell you anything."

As unmoved as the droid that did his bidding, the man pulled on a face shield. His amber eyes flickered and the hint of an incongruously pleasant smile quirked the corners of his mouth as he studied her. The sheer wrongness of that smile silenced Zekhee's remaining protests like a slap, boiling them away with the heat of her terror.

"That's better," the scientist said mildly, placing one slim gloved hand against her forehead. "On the count of three, breathe in as deeply as you still can."

[a-casual-egg]

Morven is a shipper at heart

[fatimaamerbilal]

fatima aamer bilal, from all hunger is, is love.

[text id: my heart knew no name more furiously than yours.

a scripture that burns beneath my tongue.

the mere glimpse of you clogs my lungs as if the butterflies have deemed them their home

but when you leave my sight, i can’t bear the thought of it being forever.

oh, lord, how i am willing to embrace you until all the love in my being seeps into you.

[and i can’t bring my myself to imagine a world with you,

this world is pure agony without you.

this world is my grave.]

these hands, attached to my wrists, with no purpose other than to hold yours— weep.

my palms are heavy with the emptiness of your hands.

it was inevitable.

you could have marched towards me, parading your teeth like hands, tearing all the meaningless flesh apart, turning my ribs inside, and taking a bite out of my heart—

and i would have done nothing, not when i couldn’t look past your eyes.

so warm. even the sun yearns to bask in them.

sick. sick. sick. how i would have waited for you to take another bite. then another. another. devour me whole. all hunger is, is love.

and i hope you’re hungry, dear darling.

“you have always been like this?”

“no.” yes.

oh, how i would pray to get sick, so my mother would take care of me.]

[treehuggerthegreat]

whump inspiration/writing exercise

(A fictional writing exercise, this is NOT a vent post. This is me messing with my ocs)

TW: In depth description of depressive thoughts self doubt, domestic abuse, and passive suicidal ideation

I have friends now, I told myself once I had friends they’d be able to help me. I could get away or at least feel a little happier, but they can’t help. I can’t even ask them for help. Would they even care? What if I end up scaring away the one girl who has ever seen me. Why won’t anyone help me. Am I even worth saving? Is it even worth saving me if i can’t save myself?

I want to leave. I want to move out. But i can’t, can I? She could just… leave. But she doesn’t. She could leave me here with grandma. Yet she continues to suffocate me. There’s not enough from for me here anymore. What does she want?

Why does she hate me so much?

what did I

ever

do

to

deserve

this

Do I deserve this?

What if i just

let her

kill

me

Would any of my friends miss me?

But why would a friend miss a girl

when her own mother hated her enough

To

To kill her

…

would she really do that?

Would she kill me?

[epicmilly]

whenever i write dumb journal entries for school my writing seems so stiff 😭

i promise i can write really well when i care q-q

and yes, amilee is totally amy but i made her name fancier because yes.

[xtrablak674]

Singing my life with his words...

I am not sure what I expected, but I didn't expect that.

Trailers, I think they serve a purpose, in my personal opinion they can skew expectations, generate false anticipation and quite frankly spoil the story. I stopped watching them a few years ago. I mostly pick my films based on familiarity, or subject material and sometimes, well a lot of times seeing stills or gif sets of the film on Tumblr.

Hey I am a visual artist, pulling out stills of a film that feature its visual aesthetics is like crack to me, I just can't get enough! Recently I added more queer films to my diet, and albeit tonights Friday Night Movie's theme wasn't solely left to the gays, All of Us Strangers had been stalking me for weeks all over the Tumblr-verse, so I gave in and added it to the list along with The Marvels and The Color Purple, two other '23 films that kept @'ing me.

Part of my process in choosing my films is traditionally picking a theme or genre and trying to watch films from different decades just to mix it up a bit. These films were all from last year, so they only other thing I could use to distinguish them was their release dates, this placed All of Us, in the middle, right after Marvel's latest block-bluster. #YesThatWasShade

Having peeped that this was categorized as romance and fantasy, I was curious what made it fantasy. Once again IMDB had mis-labeled a film, this wasn't fantastical but a psychological thriller! #LeSigh Maybe I was way too close to the subject material and Andrew Scott clearly being my contemporary wasn't helping the matter at all.

Some of the details were different, albeit after my moms death I was raised as a single-child. I came from a one-parent home, not two. We didn't live in a house but an apartment. We were clearly not middle-class but living below the poverty level. Even with all of these differences I felt exposed in a way that wasn't remotely comfortable. How had this whyte man found out about my story and was now telling it on a stage for all the world to see? #😳

Metastatic breast cancer was the cause of death listed on her death certificate, not a car accident. I wasn't left alone in her bed while she left me for a Christmas party, but I discovered her dead in her bed, the couch in the living room four days before my eleventh birthday. Nine years later I buried my father, who was found by his parents rotting in his Harlem apartment, a reverse to the film where the dad went first followed by the mom.

Like the film they were joined in a way by both dying at approximately forty-four years of age. I rued the moment I would be the same age because like my parents, I thought I'd never live past it, but just like Adam I ultimately ended up being older than my parents than when they died. If I met them now, I guess I would be the one dispensing words of wisdom.

Unlike Adam I wasn't lonely, I have lived alone for nearly thirty years, and have had moments of loneliness, but like so many things that a multiple-orphan and an individual with intersectional identities, I had developed coping methods that were born when I was separated from my siblings at eleven and for the first time had to suffer the world on my own, navigate bullying and nasty taunts from other children. I had learned to have a rich internal emotional life, being my own best friend, and creating adventures in the simplest of things. I had become my own best company.

But like Adam I longed for connection, I longed for resolution around my dead parents. But unlike Adam I am not dead. That's my big reveal/spoiler these many paragraphs in to this essay/journal entry. I think everyone we encountered in that film was dead. #HolySixSenseBatman Delving into how I understood this is immaterial to how it still felt. His parents wanted him to move-on, which could be misconstrued as moving on with his life, but could also have been acknowledging that he was indeed dead and accepting it. The nuance of interpretations of what exactly is going on in the film is masterful, and the director never quite gives us a definitive answer.

Adam felt he wasn't particularly successful with anything in his life, still feeling the scars of his childhood bullying, taunting and the trauma of losing his parents at such a young age. I have mirrored this feeling about my own life, with the only difference that I have been more successful than my parents because I made it to the upper-middle class. #yea But like Adam I have always felt I am just passing-the-time, existing and muddling through.

Curiously the last real relationship I had was nearly twenty years ago, and also interesting was the fact that like Adam, Karl was my junior and like Harry was damaged in many ways, clearly not visible to the world around him, because even my best friend at the time thought he was the boy next door, literally mirroring the movie by his perceptions.

Isn't this why we watch films? Don't we see ourselves in the characters on the screens and sometimes wish we were them or living the lives they were living? Or sometimes what we see on screen is too close to reality and art imitates life in a ghastly manor. But then that means the director/writer has done his job right? Making you feel the pains, indecisions and joy of fictional characters is what a good film is about. But is it exciting to see yourself realized in a way that you wish wasn't you?

All of Us Strangers is a psychological thriller, clearly with aspects of drama and romance. As the reviews say it is haunting and heartbreaking. It is also something else that I am tired of in queer cinema, albeit as realistic as it is, specifically to my own journey, it once again paints queer-life as sad, aloof and unfulfilled.

Having dealt with dysthymia my entire adult life I guess this is in some ways true, but as I explored in a previous entry, I really want our queer movies to be more aspirational. I am not saying Red White & Royal Blue syrupy, but some middle place where we can be not-partnered, not have kids and not be dying or dead and be content with our lives. Is this asking too much?

[Photo Courtesy of All of Us Strangers via IMDB]

[dem0nguy]

(Previous Part :p)

It turns out some of my friends also had journals (or just took notes every now and then) around the same time I did. How do I know this? Well, I certainly didn’t steal from them. No, why would I do that? I just borrowed them for a bit.

Besides, looking at my friend’s perspectives gives us more context. I’ve never actually read these before, so this should be interesting.

This entry was from Brice’s diary;

9/25/19

I expected middle school to be different for the lot of us. More difficult than elementary school—(though, I always felt I was more than ready for it)—What I didn’t expect was the distance.

Me, Conner, Adam, and Lily had been best friends for years. I met the lot in fourth grade, when I moved to America from Britain. They had been friends long before that, and obviously, the two twins knew each other since they were born.

But recently, the two (or at least Conner) have seemed distant. They avoid us in the halls, at lunch, in class, after school—I’ve only received bland texts from Conner. Adam appears to be the more lenient, he still talks to us. Not often, but it seems he just doesn’t want to leave his brother alone.

I haven’t a clue of what could’ve gotten into them. There’s a possibility it’s just the new environment, or nerves. Or, it’s pressure. I know Conner is a very social person, but is he trying to distance himself from us? Would he rather find a different group?

No. If he were trying to do that then he’d be talking to other people. He won’t talk to anyone…

I asked Lily about this, she said Adam still talks with her regularly. Especially in English class, which they share. But he seems hesitant to hang out any time outside of that. Again, it’s as though he doesn’t want to leave Conner’s side.

I get that they’re twins and all, but the two have always been separate. They don’t copy each other, they don’t try to “act like twins.” Most people usually assume they’re just brothers. The two have a brotherly bond of course, always being there for each other when one needs it. (As well as going out of their way to annoy the other.) But they’ve never been like this.

Something must’ve happened to them, something that gave Adam the need to be around Conner as much as possible. What that is I’m still not sure. But I’m not willing to let them keep this secret forever. Me and Lily are their best friends, and we’re going to address them about it.

Huh, well this is interesting. I know Brice is a smart-ass but clearly he had good intuition. Even when he was younger. He seemed more worried about Conner than about me, which I suppose is fair. They were best friends.

Regardless, this will make a good segue into the next entry from my journal.

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: This first chapter is mostly just introductions and getting to know our main character! Also hinting at mutual attraction. The real plot starts soon 👀

Content Warning: internalized homophobia (sort of?)

Chapter 1: The Handsome Stranger

Y/N's POV

     You wake up before the roosters sleeping in the local farms can wake up the rest of the town. You used to rely on them to wake you up but after a couple of months rising before the sun, it became routine. As the owner of the only café in Valentine, part of your job is waking up before everyone else and having coffee ready for them by the time they roll out of bed and make their way to you, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they order. Coffee is 5 cents per cup, and for an extra 3 cents you add a fresh baked pastry to go with the drink. You bake a different pastry for each day of the week. On Saturdays you make mini strawberry shortcakes, on Mondays you make blueberry muffins, and on Tuesdays you make peach turnovers (your absolute favorite). Your little café is closed on Sundays, you won't get any business while everyone is at church anyways.

     Today is Saturday and you're feeling particularly nostalgic. You remember how you were surprised by the news of your beloved uncle's passing, and even more surprised by the amount of money he left you in his will. He never had children of his own so you were the closest thing he had to a son. As a child you spent your free afternoons helping him run his butchers shop. You only helped at the register since all the meat and blood made you squeamish.

     Along with his life savings you also inherited his mismatched collection of coffee mugs and tea cups. That's what inspired the name for your business; The Collector's Café. You scavenged every estate sale you came across for cups, silverware, plates, chairs, and tables. No two pieces of furniture or dishes were the same. You found a vacant building in a small growing town named Valentine. Full of cattle ranchers and folks with big dreams. You hoped to fuel those dreams with coffee. You spent the remainder of your inheritance on the deed to the building, an oven, a few French presses, and your first order of coffee beans and baking ingredients.

     Two years later, here you are, unlocking your doors at five a.m. Within minutes you're greeting your regulars, as tired as they are loyal, and getting started on their usual orders. It's the busiest day of the week but it passes by without incident. You close up shop at two in the afternoon and finish up with your cleaning and other closing tasks by four. During your walk home you take a short detour through the nearby woods to unwind. It's the middle of spring and the native wildflowers are in full bloom. However, it's not the flowers that catch your eye. Peering into the center of a bright orange flower, you find a ladybug.

     Growing up you were always the shortest boy in your class and more often than not you were teased for it, so you developed a soft spot for the small creatures that were overlooked (or squished) by others. You pull out your sketchbook from your worn leather satchel and begin to draw what you see. You usually save drawing for your day off, but the little creature in front of you is just too precious to leave undocumented.

     After you finish walking home you eat dinner and quickly fall into a comfortable sleep, knowing tomorrow is you day off.

     You spend your Sunday morning tending to the house chores you neglected throughout the week. In the afternoon you stock up on groceries and supplies for the café. You spend the rest of your free time out in the woods drawing every little insect you can find. Before you know it the sun begins to set and you know it's time to turn in for the night.

     The roosters begin to caw as you pull your first batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. As you unlock your doors and flip your sign to "OPEN" you can hear hooves and boots squelching through the muddy path through town. As the sun rises high enough to send warm beams of light through the windows, your usual group of regulars walk in, each greeting you with  a sleepy grunt or a gravely "Mornin',". Trailing at the end of the usual morning rush you see a new face. He walks in confidently but when you look into his eyes you can see something else, he looks lost. Maybe he's new in town?

     As he approaches the counter you try to make him feel welcome, "Good morning friend, welcome to The Collector's Café! It's not often I see a new face, especially this early, what's your name?"

     Shocked by your level of energy at such an early hour, the stranger takes a second to answer, "Arthur Morgan."

     "That's a fine name Mr. Morgan. I'm Y/N, nice to meet ya!" You smile as you take in the man's features. He's nearly six inches taller than you. Brown hair curls around the rim of his hat and back of his neck and matching stubble covers his jaw and chin. He has a strong nose that looks like it's been broken more than once, suntanned  skin, and the most piercing blue eyes you've ever seen. In the light coming in from the windows you can see they aren't just blue, they have a ring of green around the pupil that bleeds into the blue irises and for a split second you are drowning in them. You blink and remember you're supposed to be running a business. Clearing your throat, you ground yourself, "Now how can I help you?"

     Arthur's eyes wander from your face to the hand written menu propped up on the counter. "I'll have a coffee. Black."

     "Lovely choice, anything else?" You watch him narrow his eyes, still reading over the menu.

      After mulling it over in his mind, he replies, "Add one of them blueberry muffins too." He begins fishing out change from his pocket and drops eight cents into your hand.

     "Thank you Mr. Morgan! Go pick out a seat and I'll bring everything to your table in a moment."

     Arthur nods and begins looking around the eclectic café he finds himself in. He finds a seat in the back corner, a comfortable red chair next to a round oak table.

     You pull a still steaming muffin off the cooling rack and place it on a dainty plate decorated with ivy leaves around the rim. You fill a yellow mug from the freshest brewed batch of coffee and make your way over to Arthur, gently placing his order on the table in front of him. "There you are, holler at me if you need a refill!"

     "Thank you mister." He replies, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat.

     You think he might be a man of few words, or maybe just shy. You're already busy clearing tables as Arthur takes his first sip. You glance in his direction between each table, watching to see if he enjoys what you've made. New customers always make you feel a little nervous, the same nervousness you felt the day you opened your café. Thankfully, you see his eyes go wide as he takes a bite of the muffin, a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth. You let out a small sigh of relief and return to your work, feeling a swell of pride in your chest.

     You're washing cups behind the counter when Arthur gets up to leave. "Have a nice day!" You call as he heads out the door. He silently tips his hat towards you and then he's gone. When you go to clear the table he was sitting at you notice that not a drop of coffee is left in the mug, and there's hardly any crumbs on the plate. It always warms your heart knowing your customers enjoyed their treat.

     The rest of the day flies by you. As you drift off you find yourself wondering if you'll see the handsome stranger again.

Arthur's POV

     You wake up to the sounds of the rest of the gang starting their days. You groan as you sit up, not looking forward to the tasks that will be given to you as soon as you exit your tent. Hopefully it won't be too bad, you're still worn out from setting up camp. You only just settled in this spot outside of Valentine and Dutch said we should lay low for a while. You get dressed and get your hair semi-decent before stepping outside.

     Javier and Hosea are sitting by the fire drinking coffee. "Bout time you woke up," Hosea greets you as you sit down to join them, "Dutch has been looking for you."

     "Won't kill him to wait one more minute." You pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a large swig. Your face involuntarily contorts in disgust as you swallow and you promptly dump out the rest, thinking about how much better the coffee tasted at the café you discovered while exploring the town yesterday. You make a mental note to go back after finishing up with whatever Dutch has planned for you.

     Walking over to his tent you see Dutch open his arms, the day's first cigar between his teeth, "Arthur! There you are," He throws an arm around your shoulders, "Would you mind escorting our lovely ladies into town today? They will not quit pestering me about it and I think it's about time we started gathering some intel."

     "Sure, I'm up for babysitting." You smirk at your own remark, entertaining yourself as you often do with your sarcasm.

     Dutch laughs and pats you on the back, "That's my boy! Hear that ladies?" You hear a chorus of excited giggles and turn to see Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth practically skipping towards the wagon. You can't help but smile at their giddiness as they chat and sing the entire ride into town.

     After hitching the horses you all split up. Luckily you weren't given anything specific to do in town other than making sure the girls stay out of trouble and making sure they get home safe, so you head right to the café, eager to get your caffeine fix for the day.

     Pushing open the door you hear a small bell ring above your head. "Hey Mr. Morgan!" Y/N smiles at you as the smell of coffee and peaches washes over you, "Back for more already?"

     You chuckle at how formally he addresses you, "Hey Y/N, you can drop all the 'Mr. Morgan' nonsense, Arthur is just fine."

     "Oh, okay! Well what can I do for you, Arthur?" As you look down at the barista you notice his eyes are the same deep brown color as the coffee he serves, perfectly matching his hair. His skin, despite being freckled, is almost as pale as cream.

     "I'll have a black coffee please, and do you have any more of those muffins?" You peek into the display case but you don't see any.

     "I'm all out of muffins, but I do have peach turnovers!" You must have looked as disappointed as you felt, the barista quickly adds, "I promise these are just as good! They're actually my favorite."

     Since your mouth has been watering since you walked in, you cave in and decide to try one, "Alright alright I'm convinced," You slide eight cents across the counter but Y/N slides three cents back towards you. You raise an eyebrow at him, suddenly doubting your ability to count without coffee in your system.

     "Go sit down, breakfast is on me today." He winks at you and starts preparing your order.

     Shocked by his kindness, it takes you a moment to remember your manners, "Thanks Y/N." You make your way to the same corner table you sat at yesterday. The café is full of customers, all happily chatting with Y/N as he weaves between tables clearing dishes and refilling mugs. You're surprised at how quickly he has your order ready. The cup of coffee is steaming and it warms your face as you bring the mug to your lips. After drinking the dirt water the rest of the gang calls coffee for so many years, you forgot what good coffee tastes like. You take a bite of the peach turnover, it's somehow better than the muffin you had yesterday! As the flaky crust softly crunches between your teeth and you bite into the juicy sliced peaches inside, you can see why these are Y/N's favorite.

     You continue watching him as he works. Everyone that walks in gets greeted with the same warm smile and he seems to know exactly how everyone likes their coffee without having to ask. After the majority of folks finish their drinks and file out, Y/N picks up the cups and plates and returns to wipe each table off with a rag.  He places his left hand down on a particularly long table and bends forward slightly to wipe down the edge against the wall. Your eyes travel from his shoulders and down his back. You can't help but stare at his slender waist and how his jeans hug his hips.

     Suddenly, as if he can feel your eyes on him, Y/N stands up and snaps his head in your direction. You feel your cheeks flush warm with shame, you lower your eyes and quickly finish the last of your coffee. Y/N glides over to you, "Need a refill?" Despite being taller than him, you suddenly feel very small with how he's looking down at you in your chair. Is the smile on his face playful? You're too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to know for sure.

      "Ah, no thanks," You can't stand his stare any longer and abruptly stand up, "I think it's about time I head out." Avoiding meeting his eyes you quickly walk past him and towards he door.

     "Oh, alright. See you round Arthur." You feel Y/N's gaze follow you as you go. You walk back towards the wagon, trying to shake the image of the barista's blue jeans from your mind. The girls are already there waiting for you. You silently ready the horses and climb into the wagon.

     "What have you been up to, Arthur?" Tilly asks as she climbs into the back seat.

     "Not much, just had some actually decent coffee," Not wanting to think about how the rest of your morning went, you quickly change the subject, "Did y'all hear anything useful?"

     "Oh yes," Karen interjects, "We'll tell you all about it when we get back to camp."

     The ride back is quiet, the afternoon sun through the trees dappling your path in shade. Upon arriving, you quickly look for something to do and settle on chopping wood for tonight's fire, hoping no one bothers you during the meditative task.

     After dinner you retreat to your tent, tossing and turning restlessly in your cot, unable to take your mind off of how Y/N was looking at you earlier after he caught you staring. You thought he would have gotten upset with you, but you were met with a smile. You think you saw a hint of mischief in his eyes but you quickly convince yourself you imagined it.

     You fall asleep cursing yourself for eyeing him the same way you would eye a woman.

//

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing a fic and I can already tell I have a lot to learn. I'm open to constructive criticism, all I ask is that you're nice about it lol let me know what you think about it so far!

Chapter 2

Taglist: @photo1030

[in-dire-read]

[fond-illusion]

Humans are fragile creatures, so delicate and complex. Perhaps that is why I’ve always felt more at ease with animals and their inevitable deaths. People live in shades of gray, constantly navigating the uncertain spaces between. Animals, however, exist in stark black and white. They live, they suffer, they feel joy, but without the endless degrees of emotion we carry. Unburdened lives that simply are.

And for that, I envy them. 

copyright © 2024 by fond illusion

[malecius]

would you still love me if i posted journal entries i wrote when i had met my wife, and i was actively the worst person you’d ever met