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glitterytidalwavedragon · 4 years ago

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Putting it Out There (A Biracial Child)

I’ve always wanted to address this, I just never knew where or how to. But, as I write, I see the influences come into play more and more (More so when I am writing my B.B fanfic and the Tourist), so I thought, now is a good time as any and this is the only account and platform I feel safe (maybe because I don’t have 200+ friends or followers here who know me outside of social media). I also feel as if this prospective of life isn’t given much attention or heard.

I, as some may know cause I had commented as such, am a biracial child. My father is a Caribbean Hispanic male and my mother of German and Italian descent.

This does not mean I have the best of both worlds. In fact, most of the times I feel alienated.

Born in the early 90′s, the song “Livin’ La Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin was every where. My mother would tell me that song was about me, now I was 5-6ish. I thought she referred to me liking cats, and trying to go out to perform a crap version of ‘Singing in the Rain’ along with the love for magic.

No, it wasn’t so innocent. It was straight up because of my skin tone. I looked like the girl the song was describing. I had no idea. Nor did I realize a silent war was raging in my family.

Growing up was...hard to say the least. It is even harder when you have racism on both sides pointing fingers at each other. On my mother’s side, my aunt and uncle wouldn’t allow me to visit unless it was a holiday to which there was pressure from the family. Out of spite, they would invite my much older siblings father over to cause a fight (The man did not celebrate christmas). Meanwhile my other aunt would tell me over and over again I was Italian. In the end, during these events I would end up alone and not know why.

Now lets turn to the other side of the family, my father’s. My first words had been Spanish. Yet, I lived with English speaking relatives... guess who stopped speaking Spanish for a long while. When visiting my family on his side, none of of my relatives would address me, only if they had to because my father was not around. These people knew how to speak English, very well even though they had moved from their native island. They just refused to speak to me. This sucked cause where it was 3 people on my mother’s side, it was 16 aunt’s and uncles on my fathers not counting the dozens of cousins I had. So, as the other family events, I ended up alone not knowing why.

The answer was rather simple but much to complicated for my child self. Both sides of my family was and still is completely racist. My white mother was near exiled for being with a man many would consider black (he considers himself Spanish and oddly doesn’t get the fascination on why his skin matters or makes me worry about him when he is stopped by cops...). I was the ‘mixed’ baby, a simple of her family’s shame.

My father’s side could not care what color my mother was, only that she was not Spanish. For those who don’t know, Spanish can be an array of color, its cool. But, she was no Spanish, did not speak Spanish and therefore my father was exiled by everyone but his own mother for many years (which is why we ended up in family events, my mama wanted to see her youngest grandchild by her baby boy). This meant being put at the back table, being openly mocked, and never told of big family events like babies or weddings.

This only lead to more fighting at home and in the end even my own siblings, alienated me. It was a pretty lonely experience.

This carried on to school and friendships. Elementary was not fun, but I felt the effects more in Jr. and High school. In elementary I was grouped with the other Spanish kids, because starting in late summer I had my Spanish tan on and therefore, I was not white to other white kids. But I did not speak Spanish. At one point I spoke gibberish to just to be able to hang with the Spanish kids at recess. It worked and I still don’t know how.

In Jr. ahhhh... at one point my family was making good money, which originally, it once took the income of five adults to keep us afloat, now it just took 2. My father and my grandpa (who I will talk about later). We moved to a ‘nicer’ neighborhood. In the early 2000′s that mean, a white neighborhood. Boy, did I stick out.

Now you might think “But you grew up in NYC, said you were from Brooklyn” well, here is a fun fact. Nothing is more segregated than NYC schools. The north did not do busing like the south did, so white schools stayed mostly white while schools in low income areas stayed mostly black or other minority races. I was a very tan child going into a white neighbor hood to a white school. Lets top it off that I played video games and Yu-Gi-Oh, HA!

I received hell. I had legit parents sneer at me, and girls asking me if I had sex because I was Spanish. A 12 year old, got hit on by 15 year olds because they thought my race made me easy. I was 12, all I wanted was to collect cards and play Pokemon on my stupid advance, I had no time for boys unless they were anime. But... someone (more than likely their parents) had set these ideas in their head on how Spanish people, more so girls, acted.

Then I realized, I really liked all things Gothic. A Spanish Goth.... it pains me to think about it. Everything from poser, to faker, and ‘trying to act white’ was laid on me. I could not wait for Jr. High to end. And when it did, a whole 180 happen.

I was no longer Spanish. I did not know why, just everyone referred to me as ‘the ONLY white girl’ in the school and that is not a joke. My school, was dubbed the worse in all of Brooklyn and shut down, which I believe it was dubbed that because of the 1% white population... I was the 1 after my second year when the other white kid (who was a boy people asked was my boyfriend) graduated. Now, in high school it wasn’t the kids who gave me hell. It was the teachers.

In fact, high school led me to meet others who were also feeling alienated. One of which I am very close to, a black man who is Jewish (adopted by a white couple) and gay. He did not where he belonged either. In the mid-00′s to be a black gay man living near the ghetto was dangerous. I can’t count how many times he had to hide who he was so he wouldn’t get shot. Nor could I count how many times my other friend coped with being a biracial black man who loved anime and being goth so much he was bullied for it when we weren’t together (who I ended up dating throughout high school).

Suddenly being labelled white get me an acceptance I was not expecting. I ended up being popular against my best efforts and people who I did not know knew me. At 15 I did not get what had changed, because no one had told me yet. No, I figured it out at 16, when I was placed in senior English because of my grades. My English teacher told me, I was white, in the worse why I could ever imagine.

My English teacher, a beautiful black woman who celebrated her African roots, gave an assignment one day. I was one out of five in a class of thirty who did it, because I did it in her class the day before. I played sports, so did half the other kids, I did not have time after school. This did not sit well with her, she was mad, which was an understatement. So, she turned to the class and said

“This is why our people end up in Jail or having babies to early. Because like black people don’t take education seriously.” Then called be out by name and continued “is why she will end up being successful, because white people know the importance of an education.”

First off, she was very racist towards EVERYONE, second I at 16, who was always called Spanish in school was now labelled white in front of everyone by an adult. I was both confused and terrified as my boyfriend who knew my family cared JACK SHIT about education looked ready to kill her. Luckily, he just walked out of class and waited for me as I was too studded to move.

I later asked him if he thought I was white, he admitted he did until he saw my father and called me biracial. For the first time in 16 years, I had been called biracial. Went home, did not tell anyone what happened, asked my mother if I was biracial and she said yes. To shorten this up, this was what life felt like,

At home, I had no race. Neither side welcomed me.

In school, I was told I was Spanish and had to fake my way in the Spanish group.

Jr High, I am now trying to distance myself from everyone as being Spanish makes me a target.

High School, I thought being Spanish would be a good thing. Now everyone is telling me I am white.

I had not idea who or what I was.

All I ever wanted was to be me. I wanted to understand why my family never got close to me, and I wanted friends who were friends because I was me.

It was like I was being ripped to pieces. I could be what others wanted or be no one at all. I had no idea what to do. If people at the new school found out I was Spanish, would I become a target again? I was allowed to freely play games, watch anime, and be my gothic self if I were white. But that also meant I could not hang out with my friends who lived in the Ghetto, shouldn’t like rap, R&B, and reggaetón or use the slang I grew up always using.

To be a Spanish person trying to be white

A white person trying to be black/another minority of color.

I had watched as the former got my friend (boyfriend at the time) kicked out of classrooms as he was compared to those involved in columbine shooting from teachers since he was different. Also the hell he received from other boys for cosplaying and playing anime based card games. At one point it was so rough he thought about dropping out and I begged him to stay along with his mother. I was so afraid of going through that again.

So I kept my mouth shut.

I took on the military standard of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. My father never came to the school because he worked so much so no one knew. Everyday, I just took what my English teacher said to be without any force back. When Obama was voted in, she told me I had no right to celebrate, that my people had JFK and that Obama was for all the minorities to celebrate. I fell into a dark hole of hating myself. My home life was awful and now school I had to pretend to be something I wasn’t comfortable with. I started ditching classes, got into more fights than I would care to admit, did some really shady stuff and began hurting myself.

The only joy I got was when I busted my ass grades wise and got out of school six months early. I did not have to go to school anymore and I could lock myself away to be no one but myself. It was lonely but I found company in books and my art. Through art I was allowed to be me and no one could take that away.

When I returned for Graduation I June, did I get the final laugh on that English bitch. My mother and father showed up, she asked if my father was a cab driver helping my mother as she had gone blind. I told her, rather happily, that was my father. She went from joy to sheer disgusts faster than you can blink. For years she kept talking about who ‘mix babies’ never got any where as their fathers were never around. Yet, despite me hardly showing up, I gradated top of my class, never had a baby nor was I ‘loose’ (In fact I feared sex as a teenager), and my mixed couple parents as she lovingly called it, were together.

She walked away from me and never said a word since.

But now school was over, college was starting. I still hadn’t figured out who I was. Was I white/Italian or Spanish. In college I learnt no one was going to tell me who I was anymore, nor did they care. At home, it was still a battle of the races. Finally, one of my cousins spoke up and declared I wasn’t Spanish as I knew nothing of the language. At home, my aunt and uncle decided I was Spanish and called me a ‘Spick’ as a joke. I did not take it as one and therefore I was called ‘uptight’.

My siblings also informed me, if I wanted free college to put down Spanish on everything unless it was the census. Then I should be white. Sometimes I still run into people who think I am one over the other. I had people come up to be speaking Spanish to be highly offended when I tell them I don’t speak the Language well. (I tried learning but it is hard when motivation is not there).

In recent years, I had someone at work tell me how they met a Spanish person, shockingly where my father works, and then described in detail my father and then tell me they thought he was illegal since he looked the type. All because they thought I was white... proud to say that person got fired for being racist.I did also inform them that was my father to their response was “you’re one of them”.

It never ends.

No, the reason why I haven’t been driven insane is because of my late grandpa. My grandpa was a man I adopted to be my grandfather. My biological grandfathers on both sides died long before I was born and the man I adopted was close to the family and acted like a father to my parents. He was a good man and the reason I had a childhood.

He once went through the same, Italian/Jewish, you wouldn’t think there would be a problem but when he was growing up that equaled Catholic/Jewish, to which he too was either pinned in the middle or rejected by both sides, this is the 1930′s-1940s. He gave me the best piece of advance ever.

To be myself.

That if I were myself, then it did not matter. The moment I stopped being who I am, that passing or faking would never tell me who my real friends were. That if he, could love me for who I was, a weird girl who liked boy things and drawing strange looking characters, then anyone else could. Being a stranger to myself would never bring happiness. So, after years of not listening to that, I finally decided to listen to my Grandpa.

I know who I am, I know the history of my families. They might not like that I am not what they want me to be, but they don’t have to live with me. I have to live with who I am. My friends are my friends because they know who I am, not who they think I should be.

So for all my biracial brothers, sisters and them’s, be yourself. Don’t try to force yourself into a mold, it isn’t worth it. None of it is worth it.

Look yourself in the mirror and say your name. Say it loud and let everyone know they can not define who you are, and so what if they say you don’t belong, guess what? You do if you want. You belong because YOU say so, because that blood runs in your veins as well as theirs. So you get to make that choice!

Make that choice of being you! Define yourself to YOUR standards.

Don’t let anyone take that away. I know I won’t.

So here I see myself! A strange fox who changes coats with the seasons, that loves anime and video games, who plays Yu-Gi-Oh and listens to opera and Metal while can twerk and get low to Daddy Yankee! Who eats sushi and makes a mean chicken cutlet but can also make the best empanda with beans and rice with the rest of them!

And no one can take that from me.

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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January 13, 2021: House of Flying Daggers (2004)

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was HUGE. I don’t just mean on this blog, I mean in the United States in 2000 and 2001. If you were alive and aware of movies that year, then you remember people talking about this movie. It was, and is to this day, the highest grossing foreign-language film in the United States. So what does that mean?

It means that Ang Lee wouldn’t be the only wuxia film director to cross the pond. Two years later, a little movie called Hero would be released internationally. That wuxia would eventually become the #3 highest-grossing foreign language movie in the USA. It’]s director was an old hat wuxia director in China, Zhang Yimou.

Yimou’s success on China never translated in the USA, until Hero in 2002. After that, he would release more films in the USA, one of the most recent being...oh. OH. OH NO, The Great Wall starring Matt Damon, Pedro Pascal, and Willem Dafoe?!? THAT’S A ZHANG YIMOU MOVIE?

...I mean, Ang Lee made the 2003 Hulk, so I guess nobody’s perfect. Anyway, House of Flying Daggers.

Zhang Ziyi’s back! This is another critically acclaimed movie, but wasn’t nearly as popular in the USA. It was nominated for one Academy Award, for Best Cinematography, but it lost to The Aviator. I’ll talk about that one in the future the way of the future the way of the future the way of the future.

But OK, enough introduction, IT’S WUXIA TIME WOOO SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

The House of Flying Daggers is a Robin Hood organization, stealing from the wealthy and giving to the disenfranchised in a particularly poor area and time period in China. Their biggest enemies, as you’d expect from a Robin Hood group, are the police, who are conspiring to take down their leader within ten days, whomever they may be.

One of these policeman is Jin (Takeshi Kaneshiro), who goes to the Peony Pavilion, an “entertainment house” full of beautiful women. See, the leader’s daughter is rumored to be working there as a new showgirl.

This is the blind dancer Mei (Zhang Ziyi), who’s questioned awkwardly by the VERY drunk Jin. She dances and sings for him, as requested. Good time to mention something that I didn’t mention yesterday: Zhang Ziyi has no martial arts background prior to her film career. Instead, her background is in dance! She learned fight choreography in that film the same way she learned dance choreography. So, it’s neat to see her return to her roots.

It’s less neat to see Jin straight-up sexually assault her and get arrested by the cops. So, y’know, ups and downs there. To prevent from getting arrested herself, Mei accepts the offer to play a game called “Echo.” This is prompted by another police officer, Leo (Andy Lau). He, uh...throws beans at a circle of drums, and she responds by hitting the drums with her sleeves. Yeah. Sounds dumb, right? Well, check out how it looks.

This is a very different movie, as compared to CTHD. And yeah, I’m only 15 minutes in, but the choreography is far more artistically flourished. Yeah. I said that as compared to CTHD. Only time will tell, but this full dance sequence is definitely interesting to watch.

Anyway, as you can see above, it ends once Mei grabs the captain’s sword with her sleeve ribbons, and challenges him to a duel. She also TOTALLY blows her cover as a sympathizer to the House of Flying Daggers, and the two fight.

This fight does NOT go well for her, and she’s arrested. Also, it would seem that the drunken display by Jin was actually just a ruse, meant to get her to play the game and reveal herself. Seems...complicated, but it got result, I guess? Anyway, they threaten her with torture (like you do), unless she gives them information of the new leader of the House of Fly...HoFD. There. If CTHD gets an acronym, so does this.

Suddenly, though, a ninja appears and sets Mei free, fighting off the guards. Said ninja reveals himself as...Jin? They refamiliarize themselves.

Very refamiliar.

Anyway, the soldiers are indeed approaching, and Mei and Jin go on the run. The policemen chase them down on horses, and Mei takes down three horses and the guys riding them...with a scabbard. By herself. Badass.

That’s followed by her taking on four armed men at once, although this round doesn’t go nearly as well.

Luckily for her, however, Jin arrives in the nick of time to save her. We get this VERY cool POV arrow shot:

And the two leave. HOWEVER, the policeman ALL get up at the end, which means...Jin’s lying about all of this, huh? It’s a ruse to find to location of the HoFD, using Mei as an unwitting guide. Oof. Liar revealed plot set-up, huh? If that’s the case...I’ll get into that more later.

Jin leaves a message for his fellows, while Mei bathes and puts on men’s clothes provided by Jin, as a disguise.

It’s at this point that Jin decides to go FULL creep again, and GODDAMN is it not working for me. It is...UNCOMFORTABLE, knowing what we know about Jin. And yet, despite that information...

It’s working for Mei. Yeah, they make out. Mei does say that it’s too soon, and that she doesn’t quite trust him that much yet...but they definitely made out there for a hot sec. It was...yup.

We get a reminder the Jin’s kind of an emotionally manipulative asshole as he meets with Leo, who warns her not to “fall for her.” So. It IS one of these stories, huh? We’ll see how it goes, but...yeah, not digging the love story so far.

And yet, as I say that, there goes Jin, falling in love with her. Soldiers consistently follow them wherever they go. Looks like the plan is backfiring, as soldiers who aren’t one of Jim’s cohorts believe that he’s a member of the HoFD, having broke Mei out of jail and all. So they attack them in earnest, even injuring Jin somewhat.

And that’s when Mei brings out the dagger. The Flying Dagger. THE HOUSE OF FLYING DAGGER.

I tell ya...that’s cool. Might be a CGI house of flying dagger (LOT of CGI in this movie, by the way, and none of it is technically...good), but I love it. The two fight off the soldiers in the field using the house of flying daggers and arrows, but reinforcements arrive. The two fight them in a sequence that’s more dance than ight. And it’s pretty cool. But they’re soon outnumbered.

Until...some wooden dowels come out of NOWHERE, impaling them in the neck and taking them down. Having survived, the two rest in the field, pondering where the dowels came from. And, of course, making out.

Although, this time, Mei starts it, and Jin refuses. He leaves, at her urging, and meets with Leo. Turns out the General sent the soldiers in the field, and is sending more to kill Mei AND Jin. And, as a note, Jin just KILLED some of those guys, as did Mei. Arrow boys from earlier lived, since it was a set-up for Mei. But, no, Jin actually has to kill the soldiers coming up.

That’s when he realizes that the General doesn’t care about him, at ALL, and he’s willing to shed the blood of his men and of Jin to get his goals met. And Jin...quits. Jin STRAIGHT UP quits, and returns to Mei. They get into a spat, and Mei leaves. And she goes to...

A bamboo forest. Thank you, China, for loving bamboo so much in these movies, because this sequence is gorgeous. I tell you, these movies do real well with the bamboo green color. Gorgeous.

The soldiers ambush Mei there, but Jin’s caught up, and he helps fight them off. Some awesome bamboo tricks (and sounds, by the way, real neat sounds here), more object-throwing (including a lot of using the bamboo stalks as weapons, which is SUPER FUCKIN’ COOL), and some gorgeous cinematography though the forest. Real talk, this scene made the movie for me. So far, anyway. We even get a BADASS bamboo spike trap! And it’s here that our pair is caught.

AND THEN

IT’S THE HOUSE OF FLYING DAGGERS FUCK YEAH

Looks like the madam of the entertainer’s house actually is the head of the HoFD, once again upholding the tradition of badass women of wuxia that we’ve seen in LITERALLY ALL THREE of these movies.

The leader asks if Jin likes Mei, and would consider marrying her. It’s far too soon for Jin, and he’s formally captured by the HoFD. They knew about his and Leo’s plan, and drag a captured Leo in as well. AND, AND...MEI’S NOT BLIND, or the daughter of the leader!!! Yeah! She’s been faking the whole movie! HA! Liar revealed indeed!

Didn’t see that one coming! Mei’s just a normal anti-governmentrevolutionary, and Jin’s now just a prisoner alongside Leo. But another twist, as this isn’t the actual leader of the HoFD. Leo reveals this; and how does he know that? LEO...IS A GODDAMN MOLE IN THE GOVERNMENT!!! WHAT????? YES! Leo’s a member of the HoFD, and he was planted three years ago to spy on the cops! And...AND...HE’S MEI’S FIANCEE!! WHAT IN THE SHIT?!?

OH I AM FULLY INVESTED. What the hell else is gonna happen? How about a game of Echo?

Yeah, that scene from earlier? No wonder it was a dance! It was the reunion between two lovers, long since parted! Holy shit, THIS is a romance I can fully get behind! But...can Mei? Because she certainly isn’t feeling it as much as Leo is...

Yup. Looks like she fell in love with Jin after all. Uh oh. BIG UH OH. And there goes my support of their romance, as Leo tries to rape Mei. Nia, the leader, ain’t having it, and throws a dagger into Jin’s back. He goes back to spy on the cops, but not before shaming Mei. Oof. I take it back.

And now, Mei’s been told to kill Jin. I’m sure that’s gonna happen.

YUP

Well, after they have Field Sex (probably better than CTHD’s Cave Sex, let’s be honest), they decide to go their separate ways, becoming fated lovers on two separate sides. But Mei has second thoughts, and goes back.

Somebody else comes back, too.

YIKES, LEO! Yeah, he kills her right there in the field, blaming her for making him kill her! YIKES, LEO!!! I take it back, you’re a DICK.

Jin ALSO comes back for Mei, and finds Leo instead. A pissed-off Leo reveals himself to Jin, and the two engage in a sword battle for Mei. And then...autumn turns to winter.

As the army encroaches on the HoFD in the bamboo forest, two former friends shed blood amongst the snow. Their fight...their fight is brutal. The choreography may not be the fanciest...but it is insanely and viciously emotional. Blood and snow, man. Blood and snow.

Also, hey, guess who’s alive after all! Mei gets up, despite the DAGGER IN HER CHEST STILL. She asks Leo to let Jin go, or she’ll USE THE DAGGER IN HER CHEST TO KILL HIM. METAL. Obviously, that’ll actually kill her, So Jin asks her not to do it. But it doesn’t matter in the end.

Mei throws her dagger to intercept Leo’s. And Leo...never throws his dagger..

Leo leaves. Mei dies. Jin cries and sings their song.

A rare beauty in the North. She’s the finest lady on earth. A glance from her, the whole city goes down. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this. A rare beauty in the North. She’s the finest lady on earth. A glance from her, the whole city goes down. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this.

And we never see what happens to the...House of Flying Daggers.

WHOOF. Epilogue soon.

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chuckie101123 · 4 years ago

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The Voices in My Head

It had gone on for my entire life, as far as I could tell. The voices. They would always argue, always. I tried talking to my teacher about it once. The next day, my parents were taken away from me. You see, she thought it was my parents who argued, saying the things I heard. It wasn't. The voices, they were mine.

But as a child, I knew I couldn't tell anyone about them. They might take something else away from me. So I stayed quiet. I didn't let anyone know about the voices, or the headaches they brought due to their arguing. I didn't dare even risk taking medicine for the pain, for fear someone would find out. I jumped from foster home to foster home, never letting anyone get close. Each time I moved, it was because something terrible had happened.

The first time, I had been in bed trying to sleep when I snapped, and finally screamed at the voices. My scream scared my foster parents downstairs, causing my foster father to lose his grip on the hammer he was swinging, which hit my foster mother in the face. My foster father rushed her to the hospital, forgetting about me and the stove that was boiling water for the pasta she was making. When he reached the hospital, he remembered me and rushed home.

In the place of the house he lived in for over ten years stood a burning inferno, with three trucks trying to put it out. I was still stuck inside. The firefighters eventually found me in the rubble after it had already burned down. I was covered in third degree burns, but I was miraculously still alive. My foster father was arrested for child negligence, my foster mother's still in a coma from the hammer, and so, after twelve successful surgeries, I was relocated.

Similar occurrences happened several more times. Car crashes, more fires, armed robberies, even a flood. I was the miracle survivor, but also had the worst luck according to the Social workers. Police once arrested me thinking I may have been the cause of these accidents, but eventually realized they had no evidence to support this. And still, the voices argued. And still, I told no one.

It was on my 18th birthday that I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I had already been living on the streets for two years, after having run away from my last foster home. For a homeless dude, I had done pretty well for myself. I had a decent sleeping spot under a rarely used bridge, a running river nearby for washing, and the city was only an hour long walk away. But the pain. The pain I could no longer deal with. My head had hurt my entire life thanks to the voices.

But that day, that pain would end, and so would the voices. I had found a gun on the side of the streets about a week back, probably used by some thug to rob a liquor store. I had briefly considered robbing a liquor store myself before waiting for the cops to arrive to put me out of my misery. But I was already taking the cowards way out, I might as well have it be done by my hand. But before I did, I decided I would splurge a bit.

My last day on Earth would be better than the last two years. I dug up my old coffee can where I stashed my money, about $500, and went shopping. First, I went to the store to buy some soaps and decent but cheap clothes. I then went to the local high school and paid the custodian $100 to let me take a good shower in the locker room. I got dressed, thanked the man, then went to a barber shop to get my hair cut and beard trimmed.

I paid $10 for the cut, $20 for the tip, and went on my way. By that point, it was bearing midday, so I decided on lunch. Kara's Burgers and Fries was the best diner in the city, though they had never let me inside do to my appearance and smell. That day, though, they didn't even recognize me. They sat me down, and allowed me to eat my fill. I ordered two Triple Burgers, four large fries, three strawberry shakes, and got a large root beer for the road.

The voices still argued, but today it didn't bother me as much. I still had about four hours before nightfall, so I walked uptown a bit to the arcade, wasting the rest of my day playing games and enjoying my life as a kid my age should have. When night fell, I walked home, back to my little bridge, with a smile on my face. "Today was good." I thought to myself as I uncovered my gun, making sure it was loaded before raising it to my mouth. "Tomorrow will be better."

I don't remember pulling the trigger. I don't remember pain, or a loud noise, or a flash of light. I do remember, though, a quietness. For the first time since I could remember, the voices were silent. The pain that had been present all my life... was gone. If I could have cried, I think I would have. But alas, the dead have no tear ducts.

Suddenly, I could hear beeping. "Damn, now there's a beeping too?" I thought. Slowly, I started coming to, a bright light filtering through my closed eyelids. I could feel a soft substance under me, cool to the touch and smoother than riverstone. "Am I on a mattress?" I thought. I slowly opened my eyes to a white ceiling. The room I was in was kind of small, and I could smell the chemicals used to sterilize it in the air. But for some reason, I wasn't scared or worried.

At first, all I felt was confusion, and confusion about why I was confused. Then I realized, "Where are the voices?" A door to the room opened, admitting a fairly young woman in what looked like a lab coat and scrubs.

"Oh, you're awake," she exclaimed, looking up from the clipboard in her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Calm," I respond. "What happened?"

"A man was walking his dog when he heard a gunshot. His dog took off, and when the man found her, she was with you.You had a bullet hole in your skull, and a gun was laying nearby. He called an ambulance, and they brought you here. Honestly, we all thought you were dead when they walked you in. It's an absolute miracle you're still alive, much less awake," she responded as she moved to my side, fiddling with my arm and head.

"Yeah, a miracle," I said, thoughtfully. Honestly, after surviving most of my accidents, I thought I was cursed. This was the first time the voices had stopped. Maybe, this time, it really was a miracle.

"I need to go find Dr. Rhazul. He's the doctor in charge of you while you're here. Please, just lie down and try to get some rest. You're stable for now, but we'd rather not take any chances.”

"Okay," I responded as she walked out of the room.

"How are you feeling, really?" a voice asked right beside me. Jumping I turned to find two of the most beautiful people I had ever seen staring at me intently. They both wore long trench coats, but that was where the similarities ended. The one who spoke was a man who looked timeless. He had milk chocolate colored skin, golden eyes, and wore his black cornrowed hair in a thick ponytail. What really struck me as odd was how familiar his voice was.

"Well?" the other person asked, and I turned to look at her. She was just as beautiful as the man, with fiery red hair and clear blue eyes, her skin was pale but tanned, like she had spent some time in the sun. Her voice sounded just as familiar.

"Um, I feel fine. Who are you two?" I asked.

"Figures, I told you he wouldn't remember us!" the woman exclaimed at her partner.

Her volume made me shrink into the pillow behind me in fear. This caught the attention of the man, who addressed her sharply. "Keep your voice down, Rali. We don't want to hurt him any more than we already have."

She glanced at me shrinking back in fear, and sighed. "Your right. I'm sorry. My name is Rali, and this is Raja. Put simply, we are your ... Guardians." Her apology made me feel a bit safer, but the words that followed didn't.

"What do you mean, guardians? I'm emancipated. Have been for the past two years," I responded, the suspicion evident in my voice.

"Emancipated, yes. But we've still looked over you during that time and before. In fact, we've been watching over you your entire life. We just did a poor job of it," the man said with shame in his eyes.

"My entire-" I started before it struck me. His voice, it was one of the voices I always heard arguing! And hers, hers was the other!

Before I could tell, the woman interrupted. "Please, let us explain." And so, they told me everything. How the two of them were guardian angels, how a mishap had them both logged as my guardians, how they both had different methods of protecting me. They told me that they were the ones that had kept me alive for so long, protecting me from the dangers around me. They admitted that it was their negligence that forced me to face danger in the first place.

They told me how they thought they were still doing good, even after all of these years. They explained that it wasn't until they saw the gun in my hand with the barrel in my mouth that they realized just how badly they had screwed up. They explained, and they apologized for all the pain they had caused me throughout my life.

They promised that they would do much better, working together to help fix the damage they had caused, if I would still accept them as my guardians. I sat there through their entire story, shocked. Here I was being told that there were powerful paranormal beings who were supposed to protect me, and all I could feel was anger. These two beings had tormented me my entire life and it was only after I had decided to end it all that they were sorry?!

But I was never one to lash out, never one to speak in anger. Instead, I worked on calming myself down before speaking. "What happens if I refuse?" I ask, trying to buy myself more time.

The two looked shocked before looking at each other and then back at me with grim looks. "Then we return home to report, you receive a new Guardian, and we are punished for our negligence," Raja answers.

"Punishment we more than deserve," Rali adds.

I thought about my options hard. On one hand, these two idiots were responsible for most of the my suffering throughout my entire life. On the other, they had now hopefully learned their lesson and I could now yell at them if they started arguing again. "Would you two stay as you are now, or remain as voices in my head?" I question.

"Technically, you were never supposed to know we existed. Hearing our voices at all was another mistake on our part. But seeing how badly we already screwed up, I suppose the decision lies with you," Raja answered nervously.

"Is there any way you could help my current situation out any? I mean I am homeless with no money and not much of a future," I ask. If not, then I was kind of stuck no matter what I chose.

My spirits slightly rose, however, when Rali grinned, "Technically no, however we do have connections with some of the other guardians, including those who watch over your birth parents and foster parents."

Raja grinned as well, "It turns out you are set to receive quite a bit of money due to various lawsuits and insurance policies. No one could informed you about them because no one could find you."

This was a lot to process. "So? Will you still accept us as your Guardians?" Rali asked nervously. I looked at the hope in her eyes, before turning and seeing the hope in his.

I took a deep breath before answering, "Nope." Their faces fell as I smiled. "Just kidding. I accept, but I have a few conditions. First, no more arguing, especially in my head. I'm done with that headache," I stopped, making sure they nodded in understanding before I continued. "Second, you two will remain appearing like you do now. It's easier to talk to you if people around me don't think I'm crazy." Again they nodded. "And three, you two are going to help me get my life back on track, no matter what it takes, understand?" Again, the two nodded. "Good," I smile.

And then we talked, about their home and what it was like, about what kind of treats we would have when we got out. We laughed together after the doctors came back in, scaring Rali a bit to the point that she fell out of the chair. I grinned as Raja chuckled, Rali cursing both of us while she picked herslef up off the florr.

As I look at these two morons responsible for most of the suffering in my life, I can’t help but feel happy. For the first time in my life, I was glad I could hear the voices. For the first time, I felt truly at peace.

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goodfortune-au · 4 years ago

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Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 18: Face It

He pulls back from her.

“What’s wrong my sweet?”

She is nothing in that moment but inconsolable, the static shock of something she can’t control gripping her in a crushingly electric vice. She flinches away from his touch and snivels into shaking hands, able to do little else but hiccup in sheer misery as it all comes flooding back to her. Suddenly she’s reliving that afternoon down in the archives, but it’s not the pleasant euphoria of being kissed for the first time; it's the mortal terror, it’s the sick, wrenching feeling in her stomach as she watched something primal and savage at its core, something raw and animalistic, the sight of a boy being consumed alive by a monster. The snapping and crunching of bones in her memory makes her cringe. She’s bawling into her palms now, sniffling and sucking in greedy breaths of air between pauses. He shifts from the top of her to her side, shushing her, stroking her hair.

“Angel, sweetheart, you must tell me what’s wrong. Pennywise is worried…”

He knew. Oh, he most definitely knew. He’d been waiting for this moment in something of a stirring anticipation, for weeks, months, eons. It had come now, the moment of truth, where she would finally confront the revelation of who he was and come to terms with it. She may not come to terms with it immediately, but she would eventually. For now, the time had come for him to be entirely truthful with her. He would stand firm, he would answer her questions, he would offer her a willing shoulder to cry on should she desire it. He hoped more than anything that she would not reject him, that she would not run from him completely. He didn’t want to have to do things the hard way.

She doesn’t even know where to begin, she’s simply blindsided by the sobriety of the realization, that not even the exhilaration of kissing something she held so dear could keep her from confronting what she had been so ardently avoiding. She’s silent, processing her thoughts as much as she’s able to, but they’re a roiling, stampeding mess inside her head, chaos simply reigning free in the recesses of her suffering mind. She finds that dwelling on it just makes her start crying again, she’s wailing even harder now as he strokes a gentle hand down her back. She simply keeps crying, recoiling into herself, crumpling into a heap as she sits up and she refuses to look, refuses to make the association, the final nail in the coffin. An eternity seems to pass as she simply bawls into her hands. Pennywise gives her the space she needs to process her thoughts, to speak in her own time as she gains the will and courage to do so, and then slowly but surely those sobs taper into silence. Hiding there, she finally whispers to him.

“Y-You… You killed them, Pennywise.”

He’s silent too, and then he speaks. He does not patronize her. He does not pretend not to know of what she talks about. He is simply honest.

“...Yes, I did.”

She sucks in a hitching breath and sniffles. She’s quiet again, letting him rub her back, succumbing to his gentle touch in such a desperate time of need. It comes into her head like a resonant gust of wind, overpowering all other intelligent inquiries in its fury.

“...Why?”

Such a simple question. It’s posed so brokenly, there’s mourning in her tone. He is not unsure of how to answer; he had been having this conversation in his head for centuries, after all. He observes the way her face is red, no longer from the thrill of their romantic rendezvous of before but rather from her own pitiful, disconsolate weeping, observes her posture, hunched over and shoulders slouched in her grieving. Her hands have sunk to her legs now but they’re clenched; she avoids eye contact with him and her stare is rooted to her feet. Her breathing is still choppy but she’s taking long, deep breaths now. They shudder up through her chest and make their way out through her trembling lips. He looks at her sadly and continues soothing strokes down the small of her back. His voice is gentle.

“...Because they hurt you, Angel.”

Her eyes would have widened at that if she’d had any of the energy, but all she can summon is another hiccuping sob. She’s plainly miserable at such an explanation, it does nothing but bring a torrent of guilt crashing down over her. It leaves her soaked to the bone, wretched and shivering, huddling inward for warmth that didn’t exist now. Because… Because they hurt her. How could she possibly contend with such culpability? So much pain, so much misery, so many people hurt, and all because they had made the fatal mistake of crossing her. That was the reality of it all, and she hated it. She wanted to hide away from it, from him, from the town, from all the pain and suffering but still she faces it, knowing that the time to run had long since passed.

“On Halloween.” She croaks, her voice small and fragile. “I...T-Took the kids out trick or treating. We got harassed by some boys, one of them beat me up and threw me off the Kissing Bridge. I… I heard something attack him, and the next day he was missing.” She sniffles again and pauses, almost as though she’s afraid to pose the question. “Was… Was that you?”

He stares at her, unblinking. “Yes. It was.”

She swallows and continues. “...On New Year's Day, I tried to buy a doll- that doll- from Secondhand Rose,” She says, gesturing weakly to Pepper on the shelf. “The owner got mad at me and threatened to call the cops. I was thrown out, and the next day he was missing too. Was that you?”

“Yes.”

“ Why? ” There’s a hint of anger in her voice. Anger and hurt.

His voice is stony and uncompromising, like a towering brick wall resistant to wind and sleet and rain. “Because he was no different, Angel. They all had one thing in common, my dear, and that was threatening you. I can’t abide that. I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.”

His… Mate. Had it been any other time, her stomach would have fluttered at the word, but now, despite it all, it only churns with disgust. He can see the way the emotions shift on her face, and his hand moves from her back to stroke the slope of her jaw.

“Angel-”

“Pennywise, no! ” She cries, jerking away from his touch. Tears are welling up in her eyes again. “I can’t… I can’t…! ”

His hand catches hers as she makes to get up off the bed. He stares up into her, his eyes a furious red-rimmed gold, but his tone is as even and soothing as ever.

“...You can, Angel. I know you can. Listen to me.” He pulls her back down, slowly, gently, and she obeys his direction, ever submissive, ever docile even in her exacerbated emotional state. He’s firm. “I didn’t want to have to take them, but they offered me no choice. They hurt you.”

She starts to sob again, but it's angry sobbing now, no longer sad or pitiful. “But did you have to kill them? God, Pennywise, I… I didn’t want this, I… I wanted your protection but I… D-Didn’t want them dead. ” She hides her face in her free hand and weeps. “That’s too far, this is too far. ”

“What would you rather I do? This is who I am, Angel. I need to eat just like anyone else, and they needed to be taken care of. This was the only way to solve both problems.”

This is necessary. This is the only way.

And just like that, she’s quiet. It starts to come up in her head like looming storm clouds with the promise of rain following shortly behind. It’s something she cannot ignore, cannot put off any longer. It’s been building up in her mind all year, ever since that fateful September day, every time the town grew quiet, every time another disappearance cropped up on the news or in the paper or by word of mouth or through those dreadful missing posters. All she had wanted was to know, all she wanted was to ask-

“W-Why? Why him?”

Pennywise is silent too. He favors her with a look of wistful remorse.

“I didn’t… Mean to take him, my love. He was… The first one I found, when I woke up.”

That much was true, Pennywise hadn’t meant to take him at all. Had he known, had he the slightest inkling of what that boy meant to Angel and those brat children, he would have taken someone else. He would have sated his hunger on the next unfortunate child to cross his path. But there was no going back on it now. It was the luck of the draw, he supposed. But it had the potential to be the greatest test of her loyalty, for after all, if she lacked the moral fortitude to hold him truly accountable for the death of Georgie, what was to stop Pennywise from getting away with greater misdeeds in the future? Nothing, that’s what.

“When you… W-Woke up…?” She asks, puzzled amid her heartbreak. He takes her other hand, and squeezes them both as he looks into her eyes.

“Yes, my dear...” He sighs. “I live in cycles.”

“L-Like… Like a cicada..?”

“Almost. I spend many years, dormant, in hibernation. I sleep, I think, I dream, and then I wake. I feed, I return from whence I came, and then the process starts all over again.”

“...Twenty-seven years.”

He pauses, and cocks his head. His perfectly coiffed hair bounces lightly about his face. “Yes. Sometimes twenty-seven, sometimes more.”

“I… Read about that. In that book I lost.” She says numbly. “I… I didn’t know it was… I didn’t know that you…” Tears streak down her face.

His grip on her hands is firm and comforting, and as she’s held captive by his stare, those eyes dissolve from red-rimmed gold into passionate blue.

“...Time has never meant much to a thing like me.” He admits, brushing a gloved thumb over hers. “I see more in one year than one of your kind sees in a lifetime, and it… Doesn’t strike me as all that remarkable. But…” He says, and he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. He cups her cheek and smiles. “The second I knew you were coming, the moment I knew I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, I felt… Different. Like everything I’d ever known was put in a whole new light. Have you ever felt like that, Angel?”

She doesn’t answer him, but she doesn’t take her eyes off him either. She doesn’t avoid his stare, she doesn’t recoil from his touch, she doesn’t lose her temper. She just listens.

“...I spent so much time sleeping and feeding, my love. I spent so much time doing the only thing I was ever good at, and sometimes it grew tiring, but no matter how sick of it I got, I kept going, because I knew that you were coming, that one day you’d be by my side. I waited so long for you, darling. You were the thing that kept me going...”

There it was, the butterflies again. It starts small, like flickering embers from a long-dead fire, but it’s enough to ignite sparks of a new flame, and she feels that wonderful warmth starting to course through her veins again. But no. No. He’s… He’s a monster. He’s… The thing haunting Derry. He’s the reason for all the misery and despair in the town, he’s the scourge, the pestilence on the land. He’s… He’s the reason all the innocent children... He’s the reason that Georgie…

“...You were meant for me, Angel. Don’t you understand? The stars have aligned just for our union. Your soul was brought into existence just so we could be together. I love and embrace you just as you are... Can you do the same for me? Can you accept me for who I am?”

That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t even remotely the same thing. Angel hadn’t done anything wrong, she was simply the victim of rumors and vitriol from her peers for reasons she had no control over. But Pennywise... Pennywise eats people.

....But Pennywise needs to eat too.

Stop it. Stop it. It’s not an excuse. He could eat animals, or vegetables, or anything other than people. It’s not an excuse.

But what makes people any different? What makes them special?

What makes you special?

Fresh tears well in her eyes. She’s so conflicted she has no idea what to think. She loves him, she’s loved him practically since the moment she laid eyes on him. And he loves her. She’s spent the better part of a year utterly consumed in him, she had so badly wanted to feel his touch for so long, so long that it was painful. The gifts had meant so much to her, his presence had meant so much to her, his protection had meant so much to her. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in such a place, when she had nothing in the world to keep her company other than a cat and a handful of kids, it had made her feel safe. It made her feel safe to know that she was somehow impervious to whatever was threatening everyone, when she herself had grown up feeling threatened her entire life. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt before, it... Made her feel special. But now, all she feels is cheated. What of her fairytale, what of her perfect happy ending? Whatever happened to that, her dashing prince to whisk her off her feet? Did that dashing prince even exist anymore? He was right there in front of her, favoring her with a dreamy blue gaze, the same blue gaze she had fallen in love with, but all she can think about is the way those same eyes had looked at her down in the archives when she had found him, the way his horrific mouth closed ever so slightly to reveal them, hidden within unsightly wrinkles on his face. And what of the fate he so often spoke of? Was she simply damned to spend the rest of her life with a monster? Is that truly the best she could do? Was she so utterly repugnant that nothing else would settle for her?

“No.” He says darkly, and she startles herself out of thought. When she comes out of that haze she notices his eyes are amber again, and they glint in the darkness of the room. Almost dangerously, but... No. Never around her. That wasn’t the right word. Fierce? Protective? Defensive?

“Don’t you ever think you’re anything less than perfection.” He says, and he squeezes her hands again. “You are radiant, Angel. You are the sunspot in my world, and a truly beautiful compliment to everything that I am. You were meant, made to be my counterpart, the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, and I will not have you disparage yourself in such a way when you were made so flawlessly just for me.”

Her mouth is almost agape as he speaks, all she can think about in that moment is how she can see the passion in his eyes, the flavor of the words he speaks, something fiery and bold. All she can think about is the way it makes her feel despite all the horror and revulsion. Warm and secure and... Happy. It’s all there in her mind, the picture-perfect aspects of their relationship; the first gift he had ever given her, the second, the third, all the times he’d been there to comfort her in her grief and every single compliment, every much-needed boost to her self esteem that came straight from his lips. The nights he spent holding her and consoling her, making her feel desirable, making her feel wanted when nothing else ever had. The love and affection he had given her when she felt so low, reciprocating such passionate feelings so as to nurture and grow their flourishing bond. The vow of protection he had given her from that very first offering, how he had given his word to keep her safe, keep her and the...

“W-What about... Your promise...?” She asks weakly. For all she knew he might have forgotten about it completely, or had chosen to disregard it. She didn’t know what to think or believe anymore.

He scoots in closer to her on the bed and cups her cheek again. Their legs are touching and he’s so warm. The look in his eyes is real and genuine, it touches her very soul.

“...I promised. You are safe. Pennywise swears it.”

But… What about...

She tries to blink back the tears but they fall down her face anyway, the sight of him fading to little more than blurred lines in her misty eyes. She can still see the sadness in his face, his brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he looks into her, and she almost wants to look away but she can’t. She can’t. All she can do is hold his stare, exist with him in this timeless moment. How conflicted she is, but as time goes on she’s seeing less and less of the bad until all that’s there is the love, the devotion, the urge to be with him overpowering everything else. Angel knew she wasn’t hypnotized anymore; that had long since worn off, but in its place had come a slight shift in judgment, a desire to rationalize. The will to understand. It was all so horrifying to her, what he’d done, and he’d even lied to her in a fashion, but some reprehensible part of her didn’t care. That part of her wanted so badly for things to go back to normal, for her to be able to keep what she had, to ignore this, all of this. And as time went on, that part of her was starting to slowly monopolize her consciousness, make it the only thing that mattered. How selfish, how utterly repugnant of her, to not only condone the actions of a monster, but actively want to stay with him despite those actions. What kind of person did that make her? She didn’t even want to know at this point. But despite the dissent in her mind that train of thought is starting to take precedence; the longer she sits there looking into his eyes, the longer she reflects on his words and his promise, the more at ease she feels at the thought of keeping his company. It ignites some kind of passion, a fire within her, a desperate, helpless desire and without another thought in her head she moves toward him.

She lands on his lips again as she burrows her body into his chest, taking immediate comfort and security in the way he embraces her without hesitation. He’s kissing back, he’s chasing her every breath and she loses herself to it, loses herself in his scent and the sound of him, the rolling growls that shudder through her like an earthquake. Her lips tremble as she clings to him, her eyes are squeezed shut as she follows through on this earnest and spontaneous display of passion. Pennywise is all too eager to reciprocate, deepening it as he takes her head in his hands and pulls them back onto the bed again. Every kiss is met by another in quick succession and they keep feeding into one another until the world around them is dizzy and delirious. It almost seems as though she is helpless, cornered prey being swallowed whole by a vicious predator but there is an equal give-and-take between them, minutes ticking by quickly as they offer themselves up to the capricious pursuit of absolute pleasure. She’s pushing it all away, she’s choosing not to think about any of it as she flees toward the protection of her guardian angel, toward the sublime sensation of warm, wet lips against hers and the promise of more delights to come. For better or for worse, she’s trying to create her own bubble now, a replacement for what had been so tragically lost, convinced in her own frantic mind that the only possible way to cope with what had been done is to simply pretend that it wasn’t there. Disregard it, brush it aside, ignore it. Ignore it just like everything else. She is merely a passenger on a raging river of denial, letting the current of the rapids carry her safely over jagged truth and reality. She coasts along smoothly, opening her eyes to a lush blue sky and feeling the wind flit through her outstretched fingers, but then her raft hits a snag. It jarrs her, throws her off course, and the momentum almost tosses her mercilessly to the crags but she clings to the security of what’s familiar, the security of what’s comfortable and reassuring. She almost thinks she’s in the clear until that massive realization capsizes her again, and she comes up from the water sobbing, choking and coughing as she shivers on the beached remains of her shelter. And there is the sun, bright and inviting as always, to offer her warmth in her most desperate time of need. Pennywise does not attempt to try and preserve the moment. He does not try to talk her out of her own emotions. He just takes her into the breadth of his arms, simply shushes her gently.

“...I juh-just w-want.. All this, to g-go away...” She weeps quietly into the silk. “I just... I juh-just want...”

“Shhhhhh.... Shhhh, my poor, sweet girl... It will all be okay...”

There in his arms she falls asleep, feverish sobs ebbing away into sniffling silence with time as he croons her softly to sleep. She tries to believe him. She tries so hard to believe him.

~~~~

The first thing she realizes when she wakes up that next morning is that her head hurts. The second her eyes flutter open and she’s brought back into the waking world, it's the throbbing, dull ache in her temples, that ever-present pain that’s not enough to be excruciating but just enough to be a constant nuisance. She’s not perplexed as to the onset of this pain; she remembers last night. She remembers how she felt, how she spent the better part of an hour crying herself to sleep in his arms in the hopes that if she tired herself out she might feel better about it in the morning, might be able to deal with the horrible news and just move on from it. No such luck so far. She nuzzles into the plush softness of her bed with a groan. Pennywise is gone as always, but he’s left Pepper and a mound of pillows in his place, and as she looks down at the doll’s vacant, felt-detailed expression she can almost feel him looking back into her. Studying, calculating, examining her tear-stained face and blood-shot eyes. She doesn’t know how she feels about it, so she places the doll back on her shelf, pops a couple ibuprofen, and tries to forget about it.

Sunday was a day Angel spent trying to forget across the board. It was all there now, out in the open, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Pennywise... Pennywise eats people. He’s the one responsible for all the missing children. He’s responsible for Patrick, he’s responsible for Georgie. And... He’s also the thing Angel has spent the better part of a year loving and idolizing. Her protector, her guardian, her almost sole source of happiness. The thing that brought her out of one of her worst depression funks by far. He’s spent so much time showering her in affection and gifts, building her up, enriching her life. He’s given her reason to hold her head up higher everyday instead of cowering in the safety of the shadows. He’s given her fulfillment in an area she’s felt painfully inadequate in her entire life, nursed wounds that she thought terminally untreatable. And he seemed to do all of this out of nothing more than love and passion for... For his mate.

I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.

As she thinks about it, a low, churning nausea settles in over her stomach to compliment her headache. Pennywise had... Pennywise had killed for her. She... She was the reason behind a handful of the disappearances. The thought made her positively sick. She hadn’t asked him to, it hadn’t even occurred to her that... That he... She’s shaking like a leaf as she watches TV, trying so desperately to put it out of her mind that she’ll settle for anything. The channels offer her no solace, it’s simply news and static. She doesn’t even touch Channel 27, knowing that she simply couldn’t bear to see his face, not right now. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to feel him, she didn’t want to hear his voice. She knew if she did all her thoughts would suddenly become real again, and she couldn’t cope with that. Not right now.

She tried to pass the time in other ways but found that everything she tried, she was reminded of him. She’d sat down at the dining room table to draw with her favorite Edward Gorey book (Amphigorey Too), but found that the illustrations contained within struck up too much of a resemblance to Pennywise’s shapeshifted forms in her mind. So, finding her appetite for art soured, she turned to cooking next to sate another, but realized far too late that, in her absentminded haze, she’d started making shortbread, the very first thing she’d ever given to him to sample. She then abandoned the dough to the fridge for the time being, and took up a pencil with an old legal pad to do some writing, but all the words that would come to mind conjured images of him, images of his tall, imposing stature, images of his fiery red hair and remarkably striking golden eyes,

(images of razor-sharp teeth and a long, gapingly huge maw snapping up the lifeless carcass of an innocent boy)

She’d shaken her head, shuddered, and simply put the pad away. She couldn’t even, for the life of her, take her trumpet out, because it had been him that inspired her to take up playing again after so much time in the first place. He was the reason she had the confidence to finally improvise again after letting the sword rust for so long in its scabbard, he was all the encouragement and the only audience she needed to come back out from hiding. But not now. Now he was a deterrent to all these things. Now, against all odds, he was the antithesis of all that had coaxed her out of her shell. This revelation made her want to hide again, and this could not bring her greater displeasure.

She had eventually given up on all creative endeavors for the day, choosing instead to take to the grocery for some shopping in an effort to take her mind off of things. When she’d gotten dressed, she avoided anything that reminded her of him, wouldn’t even look at the chocolate box that housed all his dozens of offerings, would instead keep her eyes mostly rooted to the floor while she was getting ready. She’d left behind her pearl heart and black silk sweater, even her bell necklace and had closed her closet door so as to avoid the judgment of all the clowns on her shelf, staring at her with eyes much more critical in her mind than ever before. In the past she’d liked to pretend that Pennywise could see her through the eyes of those figurines, keeping a protective watch over her from far away, but now the thought simply made her queasy. She doesn’t look at herself in the mirror before she leaves; she couldn’t afford the inevitable self hatred that would come at even the sight of her own face now. She simply moves on, shutting her bedroom door behind her. Mayor Jello meows at her melodramatically when she strides into the living room but she doesn’t pay him much mind. He could be rather attention-seeking sometimes, and right now she didn’t have any attention to spare.

The grocery turned out to be no more comforting than the walls of her house, as it would seem no mere change in scenery could assuage the racing thoughts in her head. Angel perused the shelves in a way that could only be described as tense and strained, half-expecting his voice to invade her head, an arm to pop out from behind a shelf to wave at her, phantom hands stroking down the curves of her body as they had so often done before. But no such occurrences. It was actually rather quiet and undisturbed at the store today; usually there was a crying child or a stingy customer making a scene at the registers, but by all accounts it was actually rather tranquil and still. This turned out to be a curse rather than a blessing for her, as with all the lack of noise, Angel was rather confined to the disquiet inside her head, no immediate distractions to demand her focus and take her away from the pressing moral dilemmas plaguing her consciousness. She tried so earnestly to forget it, counting the tiles on the floor in front of her, humming along to a tune of her own imagining so as to occupy her mind with something else. It actually seemed to be working so far; she felt it all melt away from her thoughts for the time being, and she had kept it up even as the people around her scrutinized her with muted disdain. One thing could definitely be said for all of Pennywise’s encouragement and praise, and that was that, slowly but surely, Angel had moderately regained her ability to shrug off the condescension of those around her. So she kept her head up, humming still along the way, but her humming tapered into self-conscious silence when she realized what her melody had transitioned into without her notice.

Oranges and lemons

Say the bells of St. Clements...

She clears her throat and falls into the unsettled quiet once more, reaching for a bag of chips off a shelf. When she places them into her cart the plastic crinkles against the metal lattice, but in her mind she almost thinks she hears those familiar bells jingle along with it. She looks around, almost paranoid, but there’s nothing. No one. As she finishes packing her groceries into her backpack, she totes the cargo home, trying to use the fresh air to her advantage in yet another ill-fated effort to relax. She’s still conflicted, torn to the bone, as even with all her efforts to banish him from her conscience a part of her is still pining for him. She wants his lilting, lullaby voice, his gentle, soothing touch, she wants him to come back to her. As much as her rational mind was glad for the absence, there was that pesky, emotional side of her mind that wanted more than anything for him to return and bring with him that warmth, that comfort that had brought her back from utter despair and misery. She tries so hard to quell it, push it down, knowing that now wasn’t the time to be emotional. Now wasn’t the time to be rash or illogical, she needed to think about this, all of this, carefully. It hadn’t even been a day, for Christ’s sake.

But she couldn’t deny the oddity of his lack of presence, couldn’t deny that it certainly was strange of him to be so quiet. He’d gone positively radio silent on her. For the better part of half a year, he hadn’t let her know a moment’s peace in such delightful ways. He had been lavishing her in love and attention ever since that epochal Valentine’s Day eve, had progressively increased his presence in her life until he was with her everyday practically from start to finish. He had almost insisted on it, even as Angel would bashfully ask if she was getting in the way of anything else he had to do. He had always insisted. Why then, was he so worryingly nonexistent now, even as one day turned into another, and another after that? He hadn’t come back the following Monday, or the Tuesday after that. He hadn’t been holding her hand on the way to work or whispering to her whimsically through her shifts, hadn't been visiting her in the evenings or singing her to sleep in his arms. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t want him to come see her, she didn’t want him to show his face after what he had done, but there was that frustrating little part of her again, crying out for the comfort of his embrace. As she lay in bed at night she would try so hard to cozy up to her pillows and forget it all, but she’d wind up tossing and turning all night long. And all the while she would be waiting for that moment to strike, when he would come back to her and she’d be faced with that moral dilemma once more, the one she’d so cravenly chosen to shirk that Saturday night in his arms. She truly didn’t know whether or not she would run to him if she did see him; she didn’t know how she felt, even after it had been all she’d been thinking about for days on end.

She knew how she wanted to feel. She wanted so badly to feel the anger, the righteous fury at having been lied to. She wanted to let it well within her and bubble over the surface; she wanted to explode. He had courted her for so long, garnered so much of her trust and dependence, and he had left out the one crucial little detail that might give her pause. As far as she was concerned, she was well within her rights to be angry. But she couldn’t be. Despite this, despite all of this, Angel wasn’t that kind of person. It didn’t make her any better or any worse than anyone else, but it definitely wasn’t an advantage either. Angel rather hated herself for this quality, for… Not being able to stand up for herself and her feelings. It made her feel spineless, it made her feel weak. But at the end of it all, it was something she couldn’t help any more than she could help herself breathing. She had been hurt, and she wanted to return that hurt, but she couldn’t. No… Pennywise had hurt her, and he had hurt so many others, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. It was something ingrained that she couldn’t rightly explain.

She kept telling herself she needed to get a grip, that she needed to move on from him. As the days progressed and his absence persisted, she would tell herself this with increasing desperation, that she was better off without him and that she didn’t need him to live a fulfilling life. She had wanted it all to go away, hadn’t she? Maybe he’d listened to her, maybe he’d given her what she asked for. He had helped get her back up on her feet, and she had enjoyed the brief time they’d spent together, but now the time had come for her to find something else to help ease the pain of living. It was an agonizing thought, sure, but perhaps it was the stark reality of the situation. It had been all she could think about for days as she continued her routine; as she ate, slept, and went to work it was the only thing on her mind. While at first she had started out paranoid of finding him following that… Unfortunate revelation, she was growing increasingly unnerved by his disappearance, and now more than ever that emotional part of her was starting to weigh heavily on her conscience. She… She wanted to see him.

As time went on, something else curious had made itself apparent. The disappearances had stopped. Angel had been wary at first; the first week of his absence she had chalked up the downward trend to timing, knowing full-well that occurrences in the past seemed to crop up anywhere from within a few days of each other to more than a week at times. The longest gap amounted to a little less than a month with no missing children to speak of. There was no conceivable pattern to it, it almost seemed erratic at times. Angel hadn’t known what to make of it back when she didn’t know the truth of the situation, and now she could only surmise that Pennywise’s hunger must fluctuate depending on his mood. Come to think of it, there seemed to have been far less disappearances when Angel was in an especially bad way. Things seemed to stagnate during those weeks, and would almost appear to tick back up again once she found herself in better spirits. What made things different now, however, was the feeling of it all. It was something in her gut insisting to her that none of it was the same as before, that something had changed. She could only liken it to those weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day, when she’d been so utterly scared and isolated and cold that she had cried for him. This was like that, but the absence of warmth was getting to be that much more soul-crushing. The lack of disappearances seemed to communicate to Angel one thing, and that was that Pennywise wasn’t here. Pennywise was gone.

Maybe he was dead.

No, she can’t even let herself think that. Despite it all, despite what he’s done and what it’s done to her, she still can’t wish such a thing on him. It’s so frustrating that she wants to scream. Reasonably, Pennywise is a thing that deserves to die. He causes death and pain and suffering; he’s a blight, a plague to Derry. He lied to her through omission about who he was, so he must surely know that his actions are despicable, right?

...Well, no.

Despite her own mental resistance she starts to entertain a different train of thought. Pennywise has lived for an amount of time she can’t rightly account for, he’s seen an incalculable number of lifetimes and experienced more than she could ever possibly comprehend. He has… The properties of something otherworldly, something… Possibly alien. He’s… Not even close to human. Why then, is she trying to hold him accountable to human standards, human behavior? What gives her any sort of right? Pennywise is... Something different. He’s clearly some kind of apex predator, something higher on the food chain. She wouldn’t disparage a tiger for eating a rabbit so, in the same vein, how could she disparage him for feeding in his own way? Maybe he didn’t tell her who he was out of fear, fear that she wouldn’t understand. Maybe his intentions really were good.

No. No. He eats people. He’s a monster.

But he needs to eat too. That’s all she keeps telling herself. This is necessary. This is the only way. Humans are no more special than any other animal on the food chain, and this is what he eats to survive. She needed to make peace with that or it would drive her insane. So what if a few children, a couple adults here and there went missing? It’s not as though he’s picking off the entire population. Most of the kids in Derry were little shits anyway.

But do they really deserve to die for that? Did those kids in the library deserve to die for what they did?

She didn’t know, she didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know as she continued her shifts everyday, didn’t know as she did prep work in the kitchen alone or watched TV or as she laid in bed contemplating all the various angles of her situation. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him. What he’d done, what it had meant, if he would come back. She didn’t know. And it was starting to hurt her. She’d shrugged it off before, or tried to. When Pennywise had gone silent, she’d first interpreted it as him giving her space, breathing room to process what she had discovered. She’d thought he was giving her a break from it all, but as each day passed and his absence became more prominent she started to fear that may not be the case. She feared that her reaction might have put him off, that it made him want to leave. That, in a sick, twisted way, he was giving her what she had asked for. She would try so hard not to cry when she thought about it. What if she had scared him off? What if she was too hysterical to deal with and he’d simply gotten sick of her? It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time she’d been abandoned over such things. What if he really didn’t love her? What if he never had?

It was sick and wrong, but as days turned into weeks the atrocity she bore witness to was slowly de-escalating itself in her mind. It was as though the seriousness of the situation grew more and more dull the further away it got from her mind’s eye, and now all that was left were the bits and pieces she could vividly remember. She remembers it, the creaking in the steps as she walked down to the archives, the old, dusty smell of the room pervading her senses, the way she had froze in place when she laid eyes on it for the first time. But she also remembers the sweet words, the gentle, soothing touches, and his eyes. The way he’d looked down at her and how she felt so warm, the way she couldn’t breathe when he’d said those three perfect words to her for the first time. Now more than ever she could remember those things, comfortable memories in such a desperate time of need that soothe her in her unbearable loneliness. Memories of what they had been together ever since that first bouquet of sunflowers, ever since she had first laid eyes on him on that silly little television show and fallen in love with him. She clung to it all and let the rest fade away.

As the month of June progressed, Angel had abandoned any notion of trying to ignore his gifts and inversely began to hold on to them with increasing desperation. She thought of them as her last lingering connection to him, and out of desolation insisted on keeping at least one of them on her person at all times. Again had come the aura of unease, the feeling of some kind of vague and imminent danger, and she needed the illusion of safety to keep her from insanity. So she’d brandished her belief in these so-called good luck charms, the good fortune imbued in all these little offerings, and used them to make herself feel secure. Without the explicit protection of Pennywise to keep her out of harm’s way, she had to be her own guardian angel now, and that meant holding herself up straight regardless of everything that might try to beat her into the ground. She held on to her bell necklace in a vice grip and wore it just about everyday at this point, starting to hope that Pennywise’s intentions in this gift might hold true, that he was there with her regardless of her absence simply because she wore it, that she thought of him as she did and kept him in her heart. She wore her silk sweater every evening when she came home from work, would imagine his hands trailing over her form as the cool fabric clung to her curves.

She took Pepper with her everywhere she went. The doll had admittedly become something of a comfort object for her in the same vein as Pennywise, who had been a comfort character for her in the throes of a deep depression in the past, back when his only concrete existence was through the syndication of the Derry Children’s Hour. The doll brought her a sense of tranquil ease. Every time she looked into its whimsical googly eyes she would feel warm inside; it wasn’t the same warmth as what she would feel with the otherworldly presence of Pennywise, but it was an acceptable substitute for the time being. It certainly helped her to feel more at home in some uncertain and unfamiliar terrain, and even instilled in her something of a strange maternal feeling, an instinct she couldn’t put words to. She wanted to look out for the doll and make sure nothing happened to it; it had, after all, been a dear gift from Pennywise, it could even be argued that it was something of a surrogate child of some kind, something he had given to her to better emphasize her role as a possible... Mother to his children. Despite the hopelessness of the current situation she allows herself some small amount of contentment at the prospect, finding that she rather liked the idea of possibly starting a family with him. It was a happy thought that kept her dread at bay, kept the residual thoughts of the revelation of his true identity in the back of her mind where it belonged. But it was not without its own share of melancholy, as it only seemed to accentuate his current absence and make her further in tune to her own feelings on the matter.

As the days wore on she was progressively starting to become consumed with thoughts of him at every waking moment of the day. It was starting to get to her, truth be told. She was far past the horror of finding out who he really was, had even started to let go of the anger she wished she could feel and the betrayal of having been lied to. It had all been replaced with worry, with concern for his absence, with longing for what had been lost in the process. She wanted to feel his touch once more, wanted to find him waiting for her when she walked in the front door after a long day at work. She wanted to hear his voice and sway with him in his arms, talk with him, laugh with him. She wanted the old days back of laying with him in bed, cuddling until the exhaustion of the long hours finally overtook her and she fell asleep in his hold. She wanted to kiss him and feel his lips against hers, wanted to drink in the sublime sensation as she demonstrated her purest love and devotion to him. The nostalgia alone was enough to erase all the negativity from her mind and brainwash her all over again, except this time it was all of her own doing rather than the pull of his cosmic influence. As awful and wrong as it was, she wanted him back. She sometimes ruminated on the state of her own personal morality for such desire, knowing who he was and what he had done, but in her loneliness she didn’t care anymore. It made her irrational. It made her blind to everything else. She even thought it romantic now, the prospect that Pennywise had protected her from those boys, from Patrick and the shopkeeper, and found that she rather liked the idea of being impervious from the danger of all that would threaten Derry. It only made her yearn for his presence even more.

It was getting bad now. She worried for him, she feared for him. Where had he gone? Where had he gone? There was nothing but silence in Derry now, the disappearances had stopped, she heard nothing from the Losers, she was all on her own. Though the peril of the beast had become nonexistent, she felt ill at ease nonetheless as she carried out her business from day to day. While she was concerned for Pennywise she was just as concerned for her own wellbeing, knowing that if anything happened to her now she would likely be helpless to stop it, would be left at the mercy of anything that wished to attack her, another Patrick or more of the same ilk as those nasty boys. She missed him terribly, so terribly in fact that she was beginning to talk to him now, often out loud or in her mind as she carried out her tasks or as she watched TV at home. She would ask him where he was, how he was doing, if he was safe. It was a compulsion she couldn’t rightly control, it was an impulse, an instinct. She knows she has no reason to worry for him; Pennywise seemed to be a relatively powerful creature, so some part of her doubted that he was dead, but she mourned his absence all the same, sick with distress at the thought that he could be hurt. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to look after him, she wanted to keep him safe. It’s been weeks, June is winding to a close, and she could not feel more isolated, more powerless. It’s starting to wear on her mental health and she’s getting worse again. She kept talking to herself, kept neglecting her health. She was begging him to come back to her, but still she hears nothing. It seems as though he might have abandoned her completely.

It’s on the precipice of July now, and Angel could not be more miserable. It’s worse than it was just before Valentine’s Day, exponentially worse. She’s feeling abandoned, she’s feeling lost and worried sick. She can’t bear to reach out to the Losers, she doesn’t want to bother them. Besides, what could she honestly say? How would she even begin to explain herself and her situation? She was all alone in this, she knew that. All she could do was try to cope, but that was getting harder by the day. Work was grueling, being at home was even worse, as she had very little to do that didn’t remind her of him. When she wasn’t talking out loud to him, beseeching him to come back, deluding herself that he was somehow listening she spent her time sleeping, trying to waste away the hours in an attempt to pass the time painlessly. But it was getting bad, oh yes it was. She was so plainly wretched now, so battered and beaten by his disappearance that she could do little else but pine for him. She cried for him every night now, as she laid in bed she would start to sob into her pillows, hug them tight to her chest and heave shuddering little whimpers in through her nose and out through her mouth. She was starting to get an urge again, a nasty one, a terrible, dreadful, awful one, one she hadn’t had in ages, and it was taking everything she had not to succumb to it. But the days grew harder and harder still, and on the 2nd of July, a Sunday, she truly couldn’t take it any longer.

She’d come home from errands that day positively exhausted from having put on a face during the duration of the outing; she lets the facade collapse and mutters brokenly to herself as she walks dejectedly through the front door once more. She kicks off her Doc Martens and sets down her bag, and just like that the tears well in her eyes again. It seemed like all she was doing was crying lately, and she felt weak for it but she couldn’t stop nonetheless. She berates herself for it, she hates herself for it, she wants to do something nasty and abominable to herself for being so weak and spineless. No, she wouldn’t kill herself. She was much too cowardly for such a thing. It was much too permanent an action, and Angel feared the permanent. So she reaches for something else, something in the form of a sharp little cutting tool stashed away in the depths of her bedside table drawer, something she often used for making patches, but something she used more often still for a deed she never spoke of aloud. Something horrid and appalling, something disgusting and vile that was best kept hidden. She felt she deserved it, felt she deserved the pain and the shame. She wanted to feel the catharsis of it, wanted to feel the stinging of it, an action so disgraceful that she would drown in the self-hatred. As she sits in the living room, trembling and anticipating the feeling of what’s to come, she lets the silence of the room turn to static in her ears as she hikes up the front of her shirt and brandishes the instrument close and with intent against her stomach. A single tear drops from her face onto her thigh and she’s about to make the first cut, but then there’s a knock on her front door. She stops, puzzled. Who could that possibly be? Numb, she stashes the tool underneath one of the cushions on her couch and pauses at the door, then takes a deep breath and opens it. The Losers are there, all six of them, and they look serious and grim on her front stoop.

“C-can we come in?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

#pennywise #daddywise #chapter eighteen #face it #it 2017 #it chapter one #pennywise x oc #pennywise x angel #good fortune #tw sh

2 notes · View notes

miafic · 5 years ago

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zakk taking lucas to his first pride parade🥺

lucas is anxious. he doesn’t want to go, and zakk knows this, but zakk also REALLY wants to go, and there’s no way lucas is letting him go alone. if something bad is going to happen, lucas needs to be there. zakk is too sweet, and sometimes - like it or not - he really does need protecting. so, grudgingly, lucas agrees to come along.

he refuses to wear anything but his normal clothes. zakk, on the other hand, has a bi flag painted on one cheek and a rainbow painted on the other, both slathered in glitter. he’s got a black tank top on that says PROUD in a rainbow of letters, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and his entire body sprayed with more glitter. he comes out of the bathroom and does a spin. “how do i look?”

lucas nods slowly. you look like you’re asking to get attacked, he thinks, but what he says is, “nice.”

zakk sighs and goes over to sit on lucas’ lap. he draws lucas’ chin up so that their eyes meet. “nothing is going to happen,” he promises.

“i don’t want you to get hurt,” lucas pleads.

“we won’t.”

“you. i’m not worried about myself. you’re… you’re like a billboard.” lucas feels like crying. it’s not often that he finds himself frightened, but this is next level. and zakk is walking right into this like it’s something fun.

“lucas, it’s gonna be fun,” zakk says, and lucas throws his hands into the air out of exasperation.

zakk stands up. “if you’re gonna be like this, you should stay home. i love you, and i know that you mean well, but i’m going today because i want to have fun.” he gives lucas a pointed look and then starts out of the room. “it’s a parade. it’s a celebration. no sourpusses allowed.”

“i’m not trying to get you down,” lucas insists as he follows. “you really do look great. if we were staying home, this would be fine, but we’re not. and i just really think that you shouldn’t go, because you never know wh-”

“i’m going,” he says emotionlessly from halfway down the staircase, and the next thing lucas knows, zakk is turning around, a very upset look on his face. “you married me,” he states, “and you weren’t scared then.”

“we knew who was coming to the wedding.”

“yeah, but you can never really know how everyone feels about our relationship. and i - i know that i can’t change your mind, but i just want you to know that you’re really hurting me right now.” he walks down the rest of the stairs with his shoulders drooping.

lucas squeezes his eyes shut. “zakk, wait…”

“if you come, you won’t even want to walk beside me,” zakk snaps from the kitchen, “so don’t bother.”

that makes lucas’ stomach turn icy with a mix of negative emotions. he jogs after zakk and stops him by the door. “listen to me, please. this isn’t about me not - not wanting people to know that i’m…” gay, he should fill in, maybe - he isn’t really sure - but what he says is, “with you. it’s that i’m worried that something bad will happen-”

“pride’s not for everyone,” zakk says, smiling sadly as he shrugs one shoulder and opens the door to the garage.

“zakk, please!” lucas repeats. “it’s n- i love you, okay?”

zakk whispers, “i know.”

“and i don’t care if people know that; i just-”

“then why are you freaking out?”

“-don’t know if this is the best environment. you know this kind of thing attracts, like, the westboro baptist church and people like them…” thinking about zakk standing in front of a GOD HATES FAGS sign cleaves his heart in two. god could never hate zakk, not for anything.

“if we see them, we just say fuck ‘em, and we keep walking.”

“what if…”

zakk shakes his head. “lucas, i have to go. are you coming or not?”

—

lucas’ hand won’t stop twitching. he’s torn between reaching out and grabbing zakk’s fingers and trying to protect him by keeping a few feet away so can be a better lookout.

a second icy chill takes hold of his stomach as he realizes that zakk was right - lucas doesn’t want to walk beside him.

but it’s not because he doesn’t love him; it’s because he does. lucas loves zakk more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything. if zakk died, lucas wouldn’t survive it. and it’s with that thought that lucas quickly reaches forward and catches zakk’s hand, pulling him back several inches so that they’re side by side.

zakk smiles. lucas forces himself not to lean away when zakk stretches up on his toes to kiss lucas’ cheek. lucas wants to cry again. if someone hurts zakk, lucas will fucking kill them. and if this this damn pride parade is how lucas and zakk die, lucas is going to kick god’s ass.

“look,” zakk says happily, and there’s a group of trans women with boas up ahead, all dancing around a boombox. “see? it’s fun.”

lucas scans the area, suddenly worried that someone is going to hurt the women.

“lucas. get a grip, okay?”

lucas stops walking. his voice wobbles as he says desperately, “i - i can’t let you do this, zakk, i’m sorry-”

he expects that zakk wil be mad at him or tell him to order an uber and go home. but zakk takes one look into lucas’ teary eyes and reaches up to touch his face.

“i’m sorry,” lucas repeats, pulling back out of his reach, “but this is too dangerous, and i can’t - we can’t…”

zakk is nodding.

“i just love you so much, zakk, and i don’t want you to get hurt. i don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“come here,” zakk murmurs, and he takes lucas’ hand and drags him over to the women.

one of them notices them and walks toward them, a big smile on her face. “hi!”

“hey,” zakk says warmly. lucas is busy drying his eyes. “have you been to pride before?”

“of course! is this your first time?”

“it’s his,” zakk responds, and he glances at lucas, who is staring down at the ground and wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. “this is my husband. he’s never been off work to come with me.”

“why are you crying?” she asks, concern clear in her eyes.

“crying?!” someone else says, and suddenly, multiple people from nearby groups are coming over to see lucas. he forces himself to look up, and all sorts of people are looking at him, and he’s looking back at them, and he has no idea how to reply.

“he’s nervous,” zakk answers quietly. “he thinks i’m gonna get hurt.”

“oh, no, no,” a man says, coming forward and touching lucas’ arm. “honey, it’s safe. don’t you worry. and if anything happens, i promise you, you’re gonna have the whole parade jumping on the aggressor, okay?”

lucas has to smile a little at that.

“they wouldn’t organize this and put it on if they thought it would be dangerous,” one of the trans women assures him, and several people nod. “yeah, there will be protestors, but there are way more of us here than there are of them.”

there’s a laugh from the gaggle of people, and lucas honestly feels a little relieved. suddenly, something is touching him, and before he can stop it, someone young has placed a rainbow feather boa around his neck. “there,” they say with a smile. “now you can wear something special, too.”

“thank you,” zakk tells them with a smile, and they nod. he takes lucas’ hand, and they start away toward the music and the colorful balloons.

as soon as they round the corner, lucas takes the boa off and sets it on zakk’s shoulders.

“aw, you looked cute,” zakk laughs, but he doesn’t fight lucas on it. he winds their fingers together, lightly swinging their hands as they travel.

“do they have food?” lucas mutters.

“tons! what do you want? are we looking for caramel corn?”

lucas nods.

“okay. i’ll keep an eye out.”

a group of nearly-naked bears walks by, and lucas stumbles in surprise, but one of them sees lucas and zakk’s clasped hands and smiles. lucas shyly smiles back.

“see?” zakk says happily. “it’s not scary.”

“yeah, there are cops everywhere,” lucas acknowledges.

“uh-huh!”

some of police are even wearing beaded necklaces. maybe someone was handing them out. “okay,” lucas exhales.

“come on. let’s get you a snack and then pick a good spot.”

“somewhere with shade.”

“we can try!”

—

two hours later, the heat is finally easing up a little, and lucas has grown comfortable. he has a mostly-drunk root beer on his knee, a couple flowers in his hair, and zakk at his side.

everything is fine; they’re watching a group of a&m students in tie-dye t-shirts walk down the street and chant something that lucas can’t really understand. it takes a second, but he realizes that the reason he can’t understand the words is because there’s more noise coming from behind him.

“-sinners! repent and you shall be saved!”

zakk looks at lucas and rolls his eyes.

but then someone else starts to shout. “aren’t you disgusted with yourselves? pride is a sin! and here you all are, being prideful about something so ungodly, so blasphemous, so disgusting-”

lucas’ fingers dig into zakk’s thigh, and zakk squeezes his hand. “just ignore them. they’re not gonna do anything but yell.”

“god is going to damn every last one of you to hell if you don’t change your ways!”

“that’s not the god i know,” lucas mutters. “they’re the blasphemous ones.”

zakk smiles. “i am so in love with you,” he murmurs, and he lays his head on lucas’ shoulder.

the first voice returns. “look at this crowd! dressed from head to toe in rainbows. what a disgrace. look at all this sin.”

lucas turns around, studies the three protestors with their rude signs, and cooly calls, “hey, have you guys read john 8?”

“lucas!” zakk hisses, but he’s laughing.

“no, i’m serious,” lucas says to him. “i wanna know if they’ve actually read the bible.”

“yeah, we know john 8,” one of them responds, and he comes right over.

lucas instinctively angles himself in front of zakk before wondering, “assuming that all this-” he says, motioning to the parade “-is a sin, which it isn’t, how do you justify what you’re doing right now, then?”

“we’re trying to let people know what they’re doing is wrong.”

“and what gives you the right to tell them that?”

“well, it’s sodomy, first off,” he explains, pointedly looking down at lucas’ wedding ring and then looking at zakk. “is this your husband?”

lucas isn’t planning to answer, but zakk leans around lucas to affirm, “yes.”

“so, sodomy, right there. you know where that word comes from? sodom. do you know sodom?”

lucas sighs. “i know sodom. but that’s not what i asked.” he repeats, “how do you justify what you’re doing right now?”

“we’re spreading god’s word.”

“no, you’re not,” lucas counters, laughing a little. “god’s word is love. you’re only spreading hatred. how do you think jesus would-”

“okay, come on,” zakk mutters, and before lucas can finish his sentence, zakk is pulling him away.

“i could’ve taken him!” lucas exclaims, and zakk nods.

“i know. that’s why we had to leave. you spend all day worrying about a fight, and then you’re the one who’s about to get into one.”

“but i-”

“let’s be real; neither of you were going to change each other’s minds.”

lucas heaves a sigh. “i guess.”

“i don’t want to leave, but i think we should start heading back toward the car.”

“oka-” lucas stops and splutters as a wave of pink glitter starts raining down. he looks up, and glitter is still falling all around him. zakk hardly gets hit with any. lucas, on the other hand…

lucas whirls around, and there are people dancing down the street, tossing handfuls of glitter all over the place. everyone’s paying attention, so they have time to move forward and embrace it or dart away like lucas would have if he’d realized what was happening.

gleefully, zakk snaps a photo on his phone of lucas, who is scowling and covered from head to toe in pink sparkles.

“you owe me a cotton candy for this,” lucas grumbles as zakk brushes the glitter away from his face.

“do you want a pink one to match your new outfit?” zakk laughs.

lucas just rolls his eyes. as they walk toward a cotton candy vendor, lucas takes zakk’s hand without thinking about it. “the car’s gonna be a mess until the end of time, but… thanks for bringing me here,” he says quietly. “i had fun.”

zakk turns to him, smiling. he glances between their arms at the trail of glitter that lucas is leaving behind and then says, “i had fun, too. i love you.”

lucas stops walking and kisses him on the lips right there in front of the whole world.

and no one says a word.

#this has been in my drafts forever but i finally finished it!!!!!#lucas #zakk #sun and moon #au #anon #ask Aly

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apieters · 5 years ago

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First Lessons  “Dr. Carnovo!”  Dr. Chris Carnovo, the tyrannosaur, turned around in the university courtyard and saw a young lion walking briskly toward him, carrying a swept-hilt rapier by it’s evidently blunt blade—3-bar model, simulating the turn of the seventeenth century, the professor of Renaissance studies couldn’t help but note. The lion had a lean, athletic build, and a brown mane was starting to grown on top of his head and around his face and neck.  “You’re Dr. King’s son, aren’t you?” Chris said. He smiled momentarily—his college Dr. Audrey King the lioness and her husband Dr. Leonard King, the lion physicist, both worked at the university with him. He knew of Audrey’s son, but they’d only briefly met a few times.  “Yes,” the teenage lion said. “Luke King.”  The tyrannosaur nodded. “That’s a lovely sword you have there. May I ask why you have it?”  “I was hoping I could ask you for a lesson,” Luke said. “Or at least some pointers.”  Chris stopped, studying the young lion. He was carrying a backpack—which the tyrannosaur hoped contained a fencing mask—and was wearing a thick denim jacket and sweatshirt, and had a pair of leather gauntlets—clearly he meant business. But something seemed off. Perhaps it was the lack of the fencing mask, or perhaps it was something in the seriousness of the lion’s face—Chris may have needed corrective lenses in his maturity, but even without them he could tell the difference between a teenager pursuing a hobby and and a hunter pursuing his prey. This was not the former. But the tyrannosaur had long learned to pursue the most innocent threads first before giving in to suspicions.  “You know I train at Eddy’s Boxing Gym,” the tyrannosaur said casually. “Why don’t you meet me there? I believe some member of your family owns it.”  “My cousin, Leo,” Luke said. “I know, but I just couldn’t wait till then.”  “And why not?” Chris asked.  Luke paused. “I was just really excited to get a lesson,” he said, quite smoothly. “Plus, I know you’re the best when it comes to this stuff.”  Chris smiled. Flattery. Nice touch. Didn’t disguise the fact that it was a bald-faced lie. But still, the kid had style. Chris decided to keep following Luke’s lead.  “Well, I’m quite flattered,” Chris said. “But I really think the best place to learn is the gym.” He looked up at the dark clouds in the sky overhead, and Luke looked with him. “It looks like it’s going to rain soon.”  “I’m fine,” Luke said. “I actually have something to take care of here, so I can’t leave.”  Ah, at last a shred of truth, Chris thought. “What do you need to take care of here?” he asked.  “Nothing too important,” Luke said.  Well, that was as far as that line of questioning would go. Chris tried a different tactic. “Alright,” the tyrannosaur said. “We’ll do a quick lesson here. Take off your backpack.”  Luke did so, and stood straight, with is sword tip resting on the ground.  “Salute!” Chris said.  Luke raised his sword to his face, then swung it down.  “En guard!” Chris barked, and Luke settled into his stance.  Chris started walking around, pretending to inspect the young lion’s posture. He could still tell at a glance that Luke was too stiff, copying the postures he probably saw in a copy of Capoferro, but without the looseness of a fencer used to such a position. Finally, he looked at the tip of the sword. Usually, it was the custom to wrap it in electric tape so it wouldn’t fall off the sword in a bout. Luke’s tip was not.  Before Luke realized what had happened, Chris grabbed the blade of the sword and yanked the tip off. The sword’s point had been filed down crudely into a point sharp enough to cause a nasty wound—certainly not a clean one.  “Let go!” Luke said, trying to pull his sword out of the tyrannosaur’s grasp. Chris spun around instead, twisting the sword out of the young lion’s grip, and held it in his claws.  “This point was filed down on purpose,” Chris growled deeply. “Now I’m only going to ask one more time—what are you doing here? With a deadly weapon?”  Luke refused to speak.  “Listen, if you don’t tell me right now, I will have no choice but to call the police for bringing a concealed weapon onto a college campus,” Chris said. “But if you tell me now, we can settle this issue like gentlemen.”  Luke huffed. “I challenged someone to a duel,” he said quietly.  “Who?” Chris asked. “And who would say yes to something like that?”  “Stephon Hart,” Luke said bitterly. “He’s a deer in drama. I tried out for Romeo and Juliet and I got the lead. Ever since, he’s been picking on me—he’s been pushing me into trash cans because he says ‘that’s where I belong,’ stuff like that. But the worst part was when he spilled chocolate milk on a huge essay I had worked on, and we have the same English class so he knows my teacher’s super strict and would mark me down for that.”  “And why didn’t you tell your teachers or your principal? Or your parents?”  “Because they won’t be able to do anything about it,” Luke said. “All they’ll do is nod their heads, maybe say some threatening words, and then leave him alone! He’ll get away with everything, and nothing will change!”  “And you thought the best way to stop him was to kill him?”  Luke paused. “No, just…injure him, maybe.” His voice got quieter as he went on.  “You planned to drive a sharp sword into his flesh, tear his muscles apart and burst holes in his veins to punish him for what he did.”  “Yes!”  “You would use force and violence in order to bend someone to your will?”  Luke but his lip, then hardened his glare at the tyrannosaur. “That’s the only way to stop a bully.”  Chris frowned, but then his gaze softened. “It sounds to me like you’re sinking to his level.”  “I am not!” Luke said.  “You’re right, you’re worse,” Chris growled. “You would cripple and maim a person in order to force them to do what you want. At least this Stephon has the decency to limit his behavior to what amounts to pinpricks. He restrains himself, which means he has self-interest and fear of authority. You, on the other hand, are mad—you have no fear of authority at all! You are so blinded by anger that you don’t even fear that I’ll call the police right now.”  Luke bristled with impotent rage, growling at the older tyrannosaur, but remained rooted in place. “Fine,” he snarled. “If that’s the way you want to play, go ahead. You win.”  Chris sighed. “No, it’s not. Because you don’t need a jail cell. That would do nothing to cool the wrath in your heart.” He drew himself up, with all the dignity and bearing of a lord, of one who knew they came from an ancient and noble lineage. “Luke King, I, Dr. Christopher James Carnovo, challenge you to a duel.” And he tossed Luke’s rapier to his feet—without the protective tip.  Luke shook his head at the unexpected turn of events. “What?” he asked, bewildered.  “Pick up your sword,” he said. “We are fighting a duel, here and now. The campus is mostly deserted. I will not call the cops. I will not even tell your parents. Let us fight, here and now.”  “Why?” Luke asked suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t want me to fight a duel.”  “I don’t,” Chris said. “But if your heart is set of violence, let it be against me.”  “You don’t have a sword,” Luke said. Chris flipped up his cane. “You think I carry this because of back problems?” His mouth twisted up into an ironic grin. “I’m not that old.”  Luke cautiously picked up his rapier. Chris studied the young lion—he looked as though he was struggling to hold the sword up, as if it was suddenly too heavy. It was, in fact, a rather heavy sword, Chris knew—17th century-style swords were hefty things—but it hadn’t seemed too heavy for him earlier.  Chris slipped into his guard position, a more modern posture, his cane held in front of him, its point twitching, his legs making subtle movements in place as he readied his muscles to move. He gazed straight at Luke, his orange eyes alight with attention and intellectual energy.  Luke held up his rapier, but the point immediately fell to the ground. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to fight.”  “You said you wanted to fight,” Chris said. “Now’s your chance.”  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Luke protested.  “You wanted to hurt Stephon,” Chris said. “You wanted violence. I’m standing in the way of your victory. Now’s your chance—strike me down!”  “No!” Luke said, throwing his rapier away. “No! I will not fight you! I won’t fight anyone!”  Chris relaxed and flipped his cane back down. He tucked it under his arm and sighed nodding. “Excellent,” Chris said, “you have just learned your first lesson in the art of the sword.”  “What are you talking about?” Luke asked, bewildered.  “The first lesson of swordsmanship,” Chris said, “is never use a sword in anger or for harm. The sword was a tool for defense in ages past. Now, in our modern age, it is a tool for personal development—physical, mental, moral.” He picked up Luke’s rapier and handed it to him. “You are not a killer, Luke,” he said. “A fighter, perhaps, but not a killer. I wanted you to see that for yourself.”  Luke hung his head and nodded. “So what do I do?”  “You fight with the weapons you are allowed to use,” he said. “Talk to your teacher. Talk to your principal. Give them a chance to use the law and to use their authority to execute justice. Don’t take it into your own paws.” He gave Luke back the protective tip to his rapier. “Then I want you to file down that tip so it’s blunt again. When you have, I’ll teach you your next lessons in the art of the sword.”  “What?” Luke asked. “I—Uh—Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Carnovo.”  “Go on,” Chris said. “I’m sure you have a lot of homework to do.”  “Yeah,” Luke laughed nervously. He turned to leave. “Thanks again, Dr. Carnovo.”  ��You’re welcome,” Chris said. “Ask your mom for my number. And I’ll see you soon.”  Luke nodded and scampered off, looking almost ten pounds lighter. Chris smiled and continued walking towards the parking lot again, satisfied that the kid was headed on a better path.  The other combatant may or may not come, Chris thought. He paused, wondering if he should stay and confront the potential offender. Then he shrugged. No, he thought. That’s not my battle to fight. It’s Luke’s. And, the tyrannosaur added, smiling to himself, young Luke was already winning.

#short story #original character #chris #chris carnovo #luke king #anthropomorphic tyrannosaur #anthropomorphic lion #cartoon #cartoon characters #cartoon tyrannosaur #cartoon lion #fencing #historical fencing #rapier

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nocancer · 6 years ago

Text

Tryna by Cancer moon

Before Young T went to bed he poured a glass of water and looked out the kitchen window to his backyard and noted how the snow made 3:00 A.M. look like 6:00 P.M.. Only difference being that if he stepped outside with his glass of water to the seeming twilight he wouldn’t be able to hear the rush-hour traffic like he usually could if it was Friday and 6:00 P.M.. Young T didn’t bother going outside because the snow was still falling a little and it’d be there when he woke up. And the neighborhood would still be silent, as it always was.

Young T woke up and his fan was still humming its white noise which he needed to sleep at night even though it was January and his dad was reluctant to leave the heat on over night. The small fan sat on his dresser and was pointed away from his bed towards his window which emitted a sharper and more blinding afternoon light than what he was used to. He checked his phone for the time, it was about noon - about the time where his parents bedroom door would open and their TV would blast the local news and his persian cat, Jo Jo, would meow at his door from which would force him out of bed to open the door so Jo Jo could jump up on his bed to sleep on his pillow from which he would either start his day or keep doing nothing. This time he laid back down, idly on his bed, with the covers pulled over his head to lessen the effects of his slight cat allergy. Jo Jo had a flat face and was grey and fat, and he occupied the entire pillow. Young T thought of how he wanted to trade lives with Jo Jo.

Young T couldn’t fall back to sleep, so he looked at his phone. He bireifly looked at worldstarhiphop, Twitter, then Instagram.

Then he went to bed with a head ache and woke up in college.

9/27/17 wednesday

Tycho: excuse me, hey, getting along just fine, I see? Yolandra: hey, and yeah, sort of, just studying, whats going on with you T: Nothing, the usual, i guess, being responsible, trying not to offend anyone. Y: Oh but you're so innocent. If anyone's offended its on them, not you. T: But my presence alone, I dont know, like I'm out of place or something. And I just want to tell people, Yeah, so, I know how strange it is, me being here and all. Y: You're a free spirit amongst prisoners. That was my favorite part about getting to know you.

Tycho: After all these years, not for a second did i think you were right for me. And thats why i liked you. Cus I'm crazy. Yolandra: thats okay? what do you mean?, i want to get inside your head again. T: [pause] Most people wouldnt understand. Y: Don't be too cool for school. Im not most people. If I knew what was good for me, I'd have cut ties with you a long time ago. But im a crazy bitch too. Havent you realized? T: Yes. Youre highly psychic when it comes to "free spirits" like me - and you, though maybe, "lost soul" would be a better term for me. Though I dont mind being lost. It keeps things interesting. Anyway, you should spend your energy on solving world hunger than worrying about me. Y: dont be so difficult. catching vibes isnt easy you know? coming for your type. Who knows, maybe youre worth it. Tycho: well, your the first to try me like this. im mysterious for a reason. Yolandra: And do you know why exactly? T: Thats for me to decide. Y: It's so damn frustrating. But I guess some things are better left unsaid. T: Most people wouldnt understand that, what youre saying. Indescribable feelings we know happened but fall short in explaining. That sort of thing. Y: I call those. "You had to be there" moments. Tycho: Honestly i never gave up on you, only myself, thinking you were different from my dream girl. it took months for me to realize that but when i did the only thing i wanted to do was forget i ever met you. Yolandra: than what? T: the rest of these simple people that surround us, they see in a way thats opposite of what i am. Y: how convenient it must be. to blame your problems on people you dont even know. and just say "fuck it." I envy you. T: just my luck haha. of being born into myself, my personality forgive me, i dont mean to be such a downer. thats my ego talking Y: you had to be there T: where? Y: in my memories. T: it matters that much to you? Y: if I could find you in a crowd, just to say something, anything, even if i have to scream it in your ear, then you'd know how much it means to me. Tycho: I'll be waiting for you to say hola.

9/30/17 saturday In the midst of an obnoxious trap beat I remember what my grandpa used to tell me. It's the harsh realities of life that stick with us the most. A dream is only a dream until you make it come true. Never hit a women no exceptions." He would say to a 7 year old me. Now I wish I had the balls back then to tell him that his strict army ass probably never had a dream that went beyond what he already knew. Like revisiting the same shitty cloud of meaningless thoughts every night till you reincarnate into someone who revisits a slightly less shitty cloud over and over until they become someone like me, who lives on the cloud everyone strives to be, forgetting those elvish looking folks of the below who never leave the house except to get groceries. There's comes a point in life where you just gotta be honest with yourself, and say hey, i just dont match the freqeuncy anymore. It's okay. I can still pretend like that one MGMT song, but im fading away. Fuck. I get naseous and imagine a cop coming around the corner which kills my vibe for a second so I take my headphones off, spit on my finger tip, ash the blunt, and walk to my dorm. I'm in water so muddy that the surface is all I have to cling onto. What lies beneath is my past, housing the memories like demons. Of course, her face, would be in the middle. Falling more faintly in detail as I wake up sober and go to sleep high and dream nonsense that somehow doesnt go away like the usual forgotten dream you usually wouldnt give a second thought to otherwise but this morning my head feels foggy and theres a vague recollection of a search going on but I dont know what it's for and my chances of knowing diminish as I go deeper into the day. A search, it's on repeat, like my brain is an actual TV. Thats probably a normal thought to have, though I've never heard it in real words. "Is my brain a TV." I say to myself. if you can call it that. but those take the shape of monsters of which, as if I had no choice, I find myself preparing for so when the moment really matters, I can either go down in a blaze of glory or come out on top like the badass I imagine myself to be. All I know is that I was born and now I have to live.

Maybe because my past is so glaringly depicted onto a person I refuse to acknowledge. All that shit was a dream. The only thing that matters is the present, right? Bill Nye the Science Guy would agree with that. Back in elementary whenever we had a sub for the day, a cart would roll in and thats how you knew. I watched his show in elementary school, when we had a substitute teacher. Those were the best days. I had no worries then, able to speak freely with no inhibitions as if duality had nothing to latch its mechanical claws onto. Wait, I'm thinking about the past again. And thats going way back. Fuck! Okay.. On your feet soldier! That baby momma drama dont fly out here in the real world. out here it's the winners and the losers, haves and the have-nots, thats the way it is.

We're here to endure anxiety. I dont care about this slave shit. I think im gonna drop out. These fucking people bro, I shouldve known better than to come here. Deep down in the recesses of my highly realized capacity for recognizing everyday objects I'm hearing the voice my computer makes. It just so happens that I'm a little different from everyone else. I see things. Feel them. Some are expressed. Others proccessed. Though most get put away for later. These things I speak of is all they'll ever be to Some bad. Some good. But in the end I understand the root cause is nothing and thats where I pretty much exist anyway. In between any and all things, including people. At least that what it feels like. So although I may come off as shy and maybe a bit soft to the average layperson I aint no bitch and I wont hesitate to put my body on the line to make some headway when it comes to cementing my place as a savage demon in the halls of said layperson's memory bank. Someone who is wise would recognize the virtue of my conviction It is only because I must prepare for that singular moment, an unknown point in the fabric of time and space. To where if theyre not careful, a life's worth of energy should be pitted against me as if one were to stand a chance against the power housed within my vessle. Theres no such thing as a polite gesture. Nobody asks me how my day is "going" for no other reason than to relay to me how their own special day is "going". reckoning between a humble acknowledgement that I can never truly grasp the reason for existing and therefor should play my part in keeping the peace, versus pure badass in a world of sheep. And the more I get to know my surroundings, the more I reach erradically for the inherent bliss found within the path of satanism.

000t333g922276888o

Spmewhere off in the distance, Crermoth sits on a palm tree idly sculpting astral suspensions into a tattered fervor of mesh for working the keys of ineptitude. She is oblivious to her surroundings, not caring for chatty and gossip which she cant seperate between her reality and theirs because she is sensitive and when the the fully recognized sage, Esoh, confronts her about she says she much prefers it that way.

Their balance among them. With the wind at her side, Hojihka refuses the initial preference of her stillness and moves in a nameless precession by the whim of her ancestral birth right. "aaa may-ee soo shay-noo"

Her possession wakes up without a name. a new and more elaborate transposition of jubilee onto each successive indifference. The attention to one area renders the outer confines a vacuum enveloping the excess span unto both of their liable to taken over like a plain, sole, unconscious will. It certainly does its job Crermoth and has become something of a plan b pill thats taken during one of her many unpredictable episodes of self hate and general spiritual torment. One time she told J-Money she was a demon in a matter of factness that still haunts J-Money in moments when he pretends it doesnt bother him.. Reliant upon the interaction of her world and the next. Crermoth normally prefers being to herself on nights like these, that way she can answer any calls at a moments notice. A dimension close enough so that she may assist her friends in earthly manners of which, by the natural law of limitation, those lacking the incessant nobility of the Orisha cannot be bothered to see to themselves, less the tether between her world and theirs be rendered a useless tattered fervor of mesh that gives way to any varitable knock of an over arching brood of usurpment of the mundane frequency. “I need space. I only have but so much light of see to her calling as a being of light, assisting the pieces of herself that we’re lost during the falling. You remember that don’t you?” She says “Of course I remember. But only as a matter of fact. Upon closer reflection I fail to see the relevance of a subtle hunch with no bearings in the present.”

I must know that I’m allowed to be straight up with you, else I run the risk of straying from my calling. If there’s anything I hate more than being ignored its catching myself being lazy to the voices. “She musn’t veer to far.” Esoh said on a mountain.

999c4477P72222cv555566

The woman wakes up to look around. Store-bought soil, empty bike-rack, office building. "Harder. Think harder. Come on girl." She stands for dignity's sake. A car traces a hilltop in the distance. She raises her cold arms to the sun in defiance of stillness. Nothing is in tune with the nature of her being besides the stale wind of a coming day. "Where are you?" The car freezes as it reaches the horizon, but the sound remains on loop. Whirrrrr A portal manifests abruptly and Elegua arrives on a chariot of skulls. "Erzulie, madame, how nice it is to see you this early in the morning." A whisp of fire cleans her face and the car continues over the horizon. "It really shouldnt be, not like this. Where Im at should tell a lot you know." Erzulie said. "Quite a dense reply to a longtime friend, dont you think" "Hmm, considering how I slept in a bush last night and dont remember a thing. I shouldnt need to explain myself." "No? is the friz on your hair not matching the blood on your knees? I can't tell which." Elegua said. Or is the attitude possessing you as if theres no consequence for ill-manneredness? I cant tell which." So long as one's not so dense up his selfish ass that he aint notice." "Oh so now all a sudden you about the finer things in life? We can switch places less you miss me. Erzulie said. Im only pointing out the obvious." Elegua said. Erzulie replied with silence, forcing life to flash before his eyes. She learned this from her Mother, Darkness. "Attitude is possessing you. I cant tell why but its a poison I dont deserve. I was only trying to help" He continued. "I just dont fuck with being called too early. So long as youre not too dense up your ass to take notice, safe to say i'm in some shit right now." "Clearly. A product of consequence." Elegua said randomly. "Yeah, recognize. Please, for me, baby?" "No more testing your patience, Goddess immortal of justice. Save that for what I came to tell you about." "Take me to cleanliness, saintly promise of wisdom. For im not feeling myself." They left the scene to the past and pondered on the pyramid they had just made with each other. "It's nice to be home." Erzulie said. Flying over the palm trees brought Elegua back to his power. "On the basis of love." Elegua said. The salt-water washed away all glimpses of doubt Erzulie had of her beauty. And she harnessed the pastels of the ocean. Thus, all guilt was abolished and unconditional love was convinced to dance within them. Drying his body under the rays of Amen reminded Elegua of his first words. Long ago, before Time was born. "O Father, you are so brilliant." "Thank you, son. I am the Light" "Then tell me, Father, if you are the Light, and are so brilliant, then why is it you flee from Darkness?" "All I do is my purpose, which seeks to balance harmony with creation. Although it is much more complicated than that. Like always I suppose. I'm afraid you ask me a question that I cannot answer. Here, because you are so curious, I will show you." "I'm ready, Father." Light grew brighter causing Elegua to cry in his recollection of what it felt like to say words. The links in his mind straining to pull in the right words. Not too plain to where the moment would be lost in happen stance, and not too radical so that his manhood could stay irrefutable (to convey meaning.) Then Light disintegrated into everything and Elegua searched for Light ever since. So Elegua went to the crossroads, and prodded Darkness for Light's wherabouts, "I want to relive the the moments before he left for eternity. Where can I find him?" Without a hug or a kiss, she told him to let go of his experience in order to live in the now, "Take his place and move forward. Grow up, your Daddy's gone cus you never did." "How could you say that me? I love you, Mom. Yet all I get is hate. Why are you hiding the truth from me?" "If I don't hate you, then who will? You got so much to learn that my heart breaks into brass. You must leave, understand me? LEAVE, before I do what your Father did and them some. I'm this close. Believe me." With nowhere else to go, Elegua obeyed the commands of his Mother. Although lonely at first, the spirits of the dead related to his despair, and offered to guide him through all the known and unknown realms of Ether, so long as he guided the spirits of the living to his Mother. So that the dead could learn for themselves the origins of their being dead. And when Light came back, they could say "Father, we know of Hate, now teach us Love." Elegua tried telling them that it was hopeless, that his Father was there, just not in the way they imagined, that they we're actually his Father and they had to realize it through an altered perception. but that negativity only made them more adament to their cause which annoyed Elegua into a manic spell of existential irony which persisted during times of war with the Snakes on 5th density. One battle in particular Badly wounded, he pulled his chariot with his arms to the middle of a corn-field on a full-moon during the Solstice, it was there he made a pact with his self, to never be ignorant to the fact that fate was an inescapable constant within all contributors to existence. That the very fabric that distinguishes the dead from the living was comprised of scattered shards of an indestructable essence that attached itself to the spirit-body via fate which is the Father of destiny. That the collective conscious is woven by the thread of Fate, thus binding a common goal, or Destiny, inherent to all beings of both polarities, thus setting in motion the spiral of gnosis, which lends itself to the spreading of keys that open the doors to helping each other fulfill each others Purpose. "I will collect the pieces of my Father so that I may speak with him again as I did as a child. I will never forget you because I love you. You are everything to me, which is all I ever could be. Please, I want to know why you flee in the face of Darkness."

____10/9/17 monday

My pace quickens as I veer away from the crowd onto the handicap stairs. I silently count my steps to give off a pensive, non-assuming vibe. Over by the quad theres crows just walking on the grass. Yet I'm the only one who seems to notice, even from a distance. The busses haul ass down Memorial St. I've learned to always be on alert because I'll never know whats waiting for me when I turn my attention off the floor and become reminded of string theory. Artificial energy, cork boards with grime on the edges, tunnel of dull ends, spongy plywood cielings. as i step with my head down and in every so sudden a demarcation in the bricks, the reptiles answer emails. This is where I'm going. Because my soul chose to live here at some point in time not too long ago considering the relationship between all that the universe has to offer and my general apathy towards said all as in any and all one. Which has become quite of a bore ever since the first week ended I had to come to terms with the reality that friends won't simply fall into my lap like they would if I wasnt such a masochist for being lonely. The row of pillars turn to one and all I see is the contentment in the air of the lobby. In the hallway are casually turned faces which glide about in a linear fashion like the ghost of a lost bride.. I get a side-view of the people afraid to admit that this is far from the paradise we expected it to be. The brochure in our acceptance letters didn't include the drunken nights of another dimension. I'm inside the life of an architect. One who's dead by now, but lives on through his work. I'm not going anywhere, the building would say, if it could talk. And I suppose it can. Because I just had the thought, and nothing is ever truly wrong without another thought to compare it to. But then if buildings could speak existed first, and was allowed to grow and find its place in the universe, then it'd be established enough to not warrant an adversary. But the question remains where, if it existed, was its fate organized before coming into my mind, awaiting my final judgement. Substitute me for a unicellular collective conscious and it seems like we're all dealers of fate her on planet earth of the milky way of the universe of the whatever comes next (should we ever know for sure). he or she deserves all the credit for it manifesting onto the grid of my consciousness, which is a zig zag joint's worth of a high right now. The perfect amount for not giving a fuck while still staying slick enough for witty comebacks. Which wouldn't hurt right now. This building isn't going anywhere. Though I wish it would. Because I dread what I'm about to do How he must have pained to communicate something he could call his own while maintaining a dignified and safe, always safe, because god forgive, well, you know, , putting the pen to the pad, drawing collumns in front of a Victorian fassad Succumbing to authority just to eat with a roof over your head and not freeze your ass off like a homeless freak. Profit margins in the final half of quarter one are lower than 1 standard deviation to what is considered by corporate to be optimal. As of now, the college has no incentive to ship in product from outside sources. All inventory must be stored in house to the buyer's demand. You better not be late.

___ On the parking deck

Tycho: “I had a dream I was on an internet forum. Someone posted the words: “life is an endless hell. With a blurry picture of a street at night-time. Not much different from what’s in front of us. I thought that made sense, until I scrolled down, to see a video looking out the windshield of a vintage rolls royce, coasting along a pacific highway. And the lines kept going. Next thing you know I’m falling down a pitch black waterslide, dreading my destination. If I never woke up I have a funny feeling i know where it was leading.

Preacher: In that instance did you feel the need to repent for your sins?

Tycho: No. that didn’t cross my mind. It was too late at that point.

Miranda: “I used to.

T: What made it stop?

Miranda: Seeing all the happy people around me. And knowing that they’ve been through the same shit. Break-ups, Death in the family, just generally feeling lost.

My heart was broken ”

T: Getting over the mind can be a dark place when it has nowhere else to rest. You can train it to think anything.”

Miranda: True

Tycho: Lately Ive been taking these long drives late at night into the boonies. Just to see where I up. I realized theres so many lives I’ll never know about.

If i wasnt born into money maybe I’d be humble enough to hate myself for even thinking such a thing.

How’d you get out of that?

Miranda:

These know it all professors are getting on my nerves. I fear Im crossing into an abyss I’ll never fully understand. Honestly I can’t fuckin stand these people. What name do I have to make for myself that i haven’t already experienced in the depths of my soul?

Tyco: You know how they try to act like they all official and shit, like I won’t see past it.

Miranda: [agreement] They do that.

Tyco: [stream of consciousness] So I just told her look I know its a rule, but I’m all about learning at my own pace and no disrespect i love her but Mrs. Soso can only go so far in telling me how to write. You can give tips and tricks but at the end of the day, I’ve been developed my writing style.. Like I thought we were done with all this high school shit. Well I didnt say that.

M: And what’d she say?

Tyco: She was like “As you get further into your major 90% of your assignments will be in essay format.. we require full participation “ At this im like she gonna hit me with the book like hell nah THEN outta nowhere She said “However, I also believe in 2nd chances.”. On the outside I was cool but inside I was like “*fist bump* yo i cannot fail outta college like someone watchin out for me idk who but-

Chad: fuck that shiiiiit *holds up white rum in front of street light”

Friend in background: 12! 12! 12!

Abrupt scene change. Camera shows Tyco zoned out. Then police car, as Tyco begins to hide behind the tree hes smoking on.

My black hoodie and phone-call to my dealer will still be with me tomorrow as I do the same thing.

(From a dream 10/23)

Tyco is driving around serving with Shantel when she lights her phone up from the passenger seat and puts the phone to her ear.

Shantel: You are not finna be talkin all that mess on my phone. Be honest with yourself. Don’t lie. You a hoe ass bitch.

?? Caller: Why are you even calling me? I dont give a fuck.

Shantel: Wait till I pull up then and slap the shit out you. Would that be better sweety?

?? Caller: I’m at Kawaii’s 30 deep. Bring your lil boyfriend and see what happens.

Shantel: Try me bitch.

[ The economy sedan turns right on red seemingly without breaking. ]

Tyco: 30 deep huh?

Shantel: With them ratchets.

Tyco: She sounds scared as hell aint nobody sticken up for her like that. You know they gonna talk shit right but soon as we throw them hands they gon be like, I dont know that bitch.

Shantel: nah but she stupid tho like not even worth all that extra

Tyco: We’re going. Wheres that nigga house i’ll waze that shit and we get there we just pop off. Aite?

[Not looking at the road, but to her, coasting down an average 2-lane with box neon trimmed tire shops and drive-thru windows governed stately as immovable beasts of mothership stores lurk behind low-sodium trenches of the new world order’s surveillence agenda for mass poplations en masse. ]

Just follow me. I’m walkin in and gonna start a commotion just bussin and you just break this bottle on her mother fuckin head and we out.

Shantel: haaah what okay

Tyco: You’re gonna fuck her shit up som serious.

Shantel: She talk shit about you.

Tyco: It’s in the stars babe for real.

Shantel: You gonna help me find that bitch?

Tyco: You my fucken queen I love you and I got you.

Neighborhood entrance.

Cars parked for miles.

House identified first glance.

Park.

Car doors..

Hip-Hop

Grass.

Walkway.

Steps.

Porch.

Door opens and yellow tops within the frame.

!! WHERE YOU AT// YALL FAKE AND CANT FINESSEE !!

AAAAAH YOU UGLY DARK SKINNED NIGROS

The caller is sitting on a couch ass to ass with other dudes. Looking stupid.

She never saw Shantel. Who came upon her like The Ring.

She has become a party magnet. It is a Slayer concert now. Nobody knows who’s who. Though Tyco is surely getting his ass beat. He catches of glimpse of Shantel’s fat ass ducking through the doorway and he could die right now and it wouldnt matter.

*GUN SHOT*

FUCK GOIN ON HERE MANE

“This not the place for you bro. - White boy comin up here in my place of business - Tryna pop shit off like you really not a bitch”

Kawaii looks up with his glock-9 extendo at his GD party mostly all gone just like that. The poor girl is still leaking.

“She need to go to the hospital.” Her friend says.

He points the glock at his head. Despair.

“Look around before I kill you.” An invitation.

Tycho: “I sold a 4 oz today after my accounting exam. I could be GD, 74, rock purp. whatever it be its nothing but Respect yo. Got connects with chad and Becky nahmean dog. Could put you on to some numbers they white and they fiends. Please OG.

“How much for a zip.”

“80, gas.”

“Was that yo bitch?”

“yea”

Kawaii: You lyin to me?

“No.”

“She eat your ass?”

“Yeah and bounce on my BIG ASS DICK” Tyco says with autism.

K walks away.

T: they don't even sell Molly bruh

K is you fucken high you dummies. Beat this nigga ass. *Tyco imagines the why the fuck you lyyin vine and remembers the exact moment he realized that wasnt an original song but actually a spin off of a classic throwback jam by the 90s R&B group “Next” in their hit single “Too Close”.. He was driving home from the cafe he used to write high school essays in while smoking a menthol american spirit with the windows rolled down on a spring evening playing KISS 104.1 Atlantas classic jams. Then he realized there was a full 6 minute video of the vine on youtube. After watching it he felt gayer. Thats all it did for him.

Tycho wakes up on living room floor.Terry (random G, on couch): *Hands him note× Kawaii said he's sorry. No hard feelings ya heard dog?

Tyco: I guess thugs act on impulse. *looks at note* and don't count on a gahdamn thing you bitchass motherfuckers. Tyco walks into class with a black eye. The Professor talks about interest loans. Tyco meets Moe after class in parking lot.

*Moe: Waddup

Tyco: It's lemon og I just got in.

Moe: Bet. Those last cookies you got. Bomb dude. It had them frar mother fuckers leanin like they can't handle that purp like that nahmean.*laughs*

Tyco: I got some backwoods you wanna hotbox.

Moe: Yo I'm down.

10/24/17 thursday

____ Last night I decided not to hate myself. The look I get from them doesnt bother me. Really, its a simple sign from nature that I’m used to by now. A wrong impression can sustain the fog of memory, of which I will be seen from the lens of another dimension, with not a care in the world, an angel in disguise. Thats the crux of my life up to this point. To no longer hate myself. But appear as if I still do. The nameless place in our past with no address., one of which even a frat boy can relate to. This invisible standard that’s thrown us into the pits of despair must be addressed. To seperate the real from the fake. Like the others are sleep walking through class fronting like they dont see me. The pyramid of perspective is an accordian overlayed on my third eye, televising scenes of sleep walkers who stay fronting like they dont see me. Walking behind the parking deck where green dumpsters were with my phone to my ear is a feeling that remains within me until I do the same thing over again in a few days. Buying in bulk never appealed to me. And if a 20 a g was the price thered be nothing my lonely ass could do. Fuck this worthless paper, I tell myself.

I tell myself. Anyone who catches my glimpse pauses for a split second, calibrating my own opinion of the why in life. A definition of nuance that was never meant to be expressed but felt. To sense what I’ve been wanting, free and alone, after all those wasted days.

I’m signalling. Though I havent been approached yet.

Figuring that would resolve the look I give other people. I mean, christ, I turned 18 last March. And spent the Summer in a last ditch effort to secure an identity before I made my plays in college. For too long I’ve avoided the call of the light and in return have gotten blank stares.

(SOMEHOW gets wrapped up into a petty conversation with sorirty girl (on top of parking deck.)

Clarissa: I was the only one alone in the entire party.

Tycho: Why didnt you leave?

T: Dont worry I dont wanna know your major.

C; Good cus it keeps changing.

T: You think you know everything dont you? This world aint nothin babe.

C: Why do you say that?

T: What do you wanna know? That I get money? Thats nothin.

Clarissa drifts off.

Hannah: So Stacy’s telling me the banners weren’t in that right place and we’re like an hour away from starting and we still haven’t even got the chairs in order and barely anyone who was suppose to be here has shown up yet.

Tycho: Where were they?

“Well for one, Candace, I dont know whats her problem lately, but shes been gone because her best-friends now telling her she’s not rushing anymore but thats honestly a relief because that girl wheres winged eyeliner and thinks shes better than us.”

Tycho: Oh, I think I’ve seen that girl at the library or something.

I intuit that in order to justify her reasoning for not liking the winged eyeliner girl, that she channeled my very own resonant storm cloud of which I emit silently in the face of vanity..

H: Well you’ll probably see her there a lot more cus shes definitely not with us.

“Okay so thats one.” I say as if taking notes.

“Then Rachel’s out at some charity event that I never even heard of probably with a guy she’s not telling us about which is so frustrating that of all days you pick friday night at the peak of rush to go be a hoe behind our backs.”

“Did she ever show up to the party?”

“Yeah. And she was fucking drunk.” She said as if surprised but not really because this is Rachel we’re talking about, after all.

“Like wasted orrr “

“Damn I didnt know yall got down like that.”

“Umm when youre stumbling through the door and your first words to all the new girls is hallelujah bitches!

She wasn’t with a guy.

“So tell me more about the party. Like was there”

who nobody knows anyway

is that Cheyenne is just out of it because her friends now telling her she doesnt want to rush anymore and for one its like look,

Wait, who’s hannah?

Hannah’s the leader of her sorority.

Ooooh, Okay, I see why now

-Yeah, I mean if word got around that would literally mean she was going around their backs to cover up that she was lying.

> Right. Yeah I hear what you sayin. She’s trying to make it seem as if it never concerned yall in the first place but if thats the case then she dont need to be acting like she got the right to be trusted.

This goes beyond reputation. Manipulating emotions just cus she has none of her own. Conniving biitch. just to get her way goes beyond reputation.

Aint nobody wanna be around that energy.

> So what you tell her?

I get schizophrenic when it comes accepting new ways of being. The person I made him out to be was the perfect cure for my suffering. All those forgetful nights of boredom I knew what I needed all along, but was to scared to do it myself.

------ Frat house halloween party kidnap scene ----

GD shaman prays to shango for power to go out by mantra. Squad in car repeats the same mantra. The power goes out at 1:00 (or peak of the party).

Tycho throws blue flare through the side of the window

at the Tycho must find Chad and lure him downstairs near the door so the squad can get the keys to the room full cocaine and adderal. After looking everwhere he’s no where to be found. He walks in on a couple having with the girl in missionary with devil ears. “Yo chad that you?” Its

(fuckem x3) Music stops from power so he sneaks in wireless speaker in his robot costume and puts it at one end of the room. Squad member 1 will carry bigger wireless speaker and set it down when he storms in. Tycho also brings a timed strobe light to distract people and keep the illusion of the party still going.

Tycho runs down stairs and towards door with chad chasing him. Squad slaps tape and mask on him and carries like a battering ram although theyve already kicked the door.

*Power turns back on*

“Fuck em, fuck em, nigga get out my section

Don’t want to see him, I don’t want to touch him

*waves zippo lighter in front of face so chad can see him through mask*

“Ima count 3 seconds and your dead on 5 if i dont get this combination” says calmly. thus saiyth the lord thy god”

“Three... No mercy”

“Two.. Shall be given unto those”

*gives code*

“One.”

Love takes many shapes and forms.Tycho never opened up to people, hating himself for being incapable of feeling what others felt. He wanted more so he went spiritual. Which his close friends perceived as going off the deep end."Ayy whatsup bro you tryna smoke?""I have a calc exam tomorrow but I'm down after."Aight good luck on your studying tonight and then kill it tomorrow I know you got this calc is your specialty can't say the same for me but that's why you always tutored me haha."Let me know if you need more help. Figuring their was no bounds and he could be whatever, even silent, and experience irony rather than fate. How bland, he thought, to have a life plan and nothing to look forward to. Running drugs would be a necessary chain reaction. The highest elixer exceeding the bliss provided by the very weight he'd be pushing, itd be getting off on defying his own life, leaving spirit his only option. And so like a blackbird his soul seeks experience only in the clearest degree of visibility. Swerving transgressions of lonliness to levy the burdens of contrived responsibilities at societies every turn until his flight patterns veer from the trodden path to and fro the calling of reality in which he desires to preside over as a God of many statures. Untainted by works, head first into the entity of the adversary, of which he is able to predict the situational consequence in only a glimpsing moment before havoc ensues and the final hour is upon him, his loose wings coated with astral charcoal of depravity. Be caught slipping once and he loses the jump until the enevitable program takes its course - an unstoppable relationship between fate and reckoning that must be fulfilled as day turns to night. Once that happens he reverts back to being like the rest of them. Yet to the world, now desolated beyond repair, hed still be alive, exuding a calm presence that something is not quite right with him existing without remorse. The truth is simple enough, a hint just ever so slight as to never be able to cross the threshold of utterance, thus becoming rendered a convinction of self delusion on the part of the unknowing accuser, who by this time hates himself for even thinking badly of such a good guy to make peace with. The collage curtails past the illusion of what is already known and at last the watchers take notice and thus regeneration is able to take place along all the land, allowing for new energy to take the throne of anticipation. One that has harnessed the potential to become anything the wonder puts his mind too. So what if I'm imaginative? Yolandra: I mean everyone's different in their own way. Like yeah the soroitys have a dress code and all that Starbucks and capris. But I don't know. You just have to get know a person for who they are and not how the outside world perceives them to be. T: So what'd you first think of me? Yolandra: Honestly not much anything. You were one of those people who could be anything. But then I overheard you say taurus's are gold diggers and I hated you cus I'm a taurus. T: Oh sorry I really didn't mean it like that but c'mon now I can tell you have a taste for finer things you bougie little.. Boob. *laugh\ haha "you know what I mean" It doesn't bother you? What? That so much could go wrong so quickly? Look, deep down he's telling you his heart lies with getting over and you let him because that's /just what you like about him, how deep he gets. cus he's a sad and selfish individual who was never about loving anything other than vanity. The best thing to do would be to trust his actions, intentions aren't what's important right now. Really, forget about the soul connection. Loves comes through all types of people as long as you're open to receiving them. Those energies. Don't lose yourself in the illusion. Without ever taking credit for what truly matters which should be you. Then your fashion made sense to me. T: I'm so caught up in myself. I mean, it's impossible to know anything else. I'll never get to stand in your shoes. Its just truth. Yet I'm the bad guy. You're not like the other people I've met. T: Yeah I'm kind of loner if you couldn't tell already. I guess that's a good thing.T: Hey it's okay. I get that a lot... Wait what do you mean you guess? Ive found that who evers saying does a 180 in their normalcy. Knowing your even here right now is a good thing. Knowing that you're with me even when im not. Don't you think? Starting out with confidence and ending strong to be lucky if I'm not hurt. Tell me what you want out of this. Sometimes I feel so lame, then I realize how fun itd be to not care. Through the window screen i see parchments and grass blades, this is an image I've sought to ignore for its blandness thinking I was over recognizing such mundane structures. The sunlight made me drunk with non verbal contemplation. I crave this heat when I'm in low spirits. And a breeze when I'm high. My thoughts are channeled from a lonely place (My thoughts come from a lonely place) I've had no choice but to become accustomed to for my own sanity. To work faster and breach that veil of reckonning. So unreachable and enticing at the same time.T When I'm alone, welcome something more than the past if you ever cared to help me. This isn't the only world out there. And even if it was the material would eventually reach infinity. Then a black hole would open or something. Don't quote me on that, science is the hottest thing going right now. It cant hurt to butt in unofficially. As long as no one calls you on it. The universe molds to your confidence. That's another story. At the end of the day, I have too much pride to be a scientist. The God they're serving calls for a lot of self sacrifice. A self that ignores emergency when called to speak. A self i'm not prepared to lose. "Why are you here again, nothing will change, you're gonna be quiet like last time" any handle on reality I had during the sun rise flees like an ex girlfriend into the night. I'm not prepared to lose. Anxiety is that humid feeling you get when roughnecking the time away. Jaded peripherals, internet browsing, and fading friends initiate a color spectrum so cruelly vivid in its inability to be shared with the CVS cashier who looked at you wrong because you bought 3 4oz bottles of robitussin. A man who couldnt care to see the streets, stop signs, and traffic lights. Man is a slang term we use when caught in the moment. Of which matrix programming loves to grasp onto. --- 10/25/17 wednesday So here I am enjoying a piece of lackluster nothing for the sake of something I've agreed to experience in a past life I can't even remember but somehow must make amends to as if its an actual concrete thing I can touch and make sense out of without caring to ponder how life puts us in these type situations like getting your hair done a new way and meeting a friend of a friend superficially without ever following up like aight word up bro I feel you by the way hows life and what's the special fact I should become one with in this moment while not thinking too much in to things or else id be alone as if we're not alive under the stars for any other reason than to be happy but still to me that becomes too much like a flash in time rather than something meaningful because then sex would have to be our purpose for being here but you and I both know it's more complicated than that so we look into it via memories and realize the journey was brighter than the reward as in I don't remember the actual sex part but rather the day as a whole with stained glass sprinkled in on a film reel to push the past into something real and unexplainably alluring to the self of which we projected this light onto in order to perhaps know in advance maybe how to repeat this metaphysical phenomenon for a second time because we're not quite there yet although at this rate if seems that to finally reach a state of thereness would mean we wouldn't be able to be here right now having this conversation like a building block struck from below or a house of cards we have to keep faith that every moment plays its part because we had an emotion for it and therefore couldn't be rendered to nothing in a wreckless attempt force it all together rather let each tile compliment it's neighbor and bypass the need for destruction by allowing enough caring energy to flow through that filter mechanism within you that deems lifes moments as worth remembering or forgetting and pretend you never heard about forgetting and avoid it like the plague because everything that ever was is depending on you to go forth into righteous so that gods original intention for letting go of unwanted baggage be synthesized within your vessel of upgrades intelligence so that the journey can still be appreciated only this time without th deceptive veil of the end. to question the little things that somehow don't mean much but at the same time appear to us daily as conduits for good fortune and thats what we must uphold ___ 11/2/17 thursday

I you and me playcated on a surface of stones that match our longing to search in the wrong places. Convenient are we done such a conceivable time that is time which is also time because what more can be said other than us winding down a fire escape to an inexplicable hatch sitting like paper mache on our transformative spiritual natures. Gone already but not forgotten just make sure to take the negative side of every situation involving 1 or more parties so as to make sure the rythym is in order because you can't go wrong with challenging the status quo of an area you're not suppose to be in even if that seems too easy and superficial it's the right choice because even the idea of rebellion as a bad thing must be able to project into a physical thing prompt for examination so secrets may be revealed. Wouldn't you know i stopped believing in faith due to its redundancy of chasing metaphysical strings too far out for us to put into words and isn't that the source of all our angst. Depraved of propositional phrases and elemental tables it's all so clear to me now. Casandra had a bag and Mikey had his sneakers in the forefront like a low hanging fruit but of course they had personalities that weren't so easy to see unless the hard work of interfacing came into the equation. Lets judge people based on judging for the sake of basing ourselves onto something not within our realm of reality. Perception is a hard question i think maybe inanimate objects could tell us a thing or two. Low pressure sodium lamps.Documentorial lecture hall amps failing to reach the end of the pyramid turned 90 degrees away from its focal point. May disease not reach our unexplainable selves if ever they may inhabit our temporary vessels like a friend who has no friends but you and wants desperately to get along with others but is attached to your ways. Are we in hell? What can our astral travels tell us about signaling locations with Etheric marks of time dialation. Things are what they are by defintion or they wouldn t be things however stepping the observer up a notch sets in motion cancer to grow from the singular notion that we ourselves separate on a cost of lightening our load. I am partly responsible for this mess we have made. Pulling my hair out in thin strands so as to not make a difference. Some people just don't understand what it means to be so far gone yet in a place of enchantment that lets us know we're not alone as Michael Jackson plays on the ham radio and Wikipedia says the song was written by r kelly. I'm a solitary young man, joined at the seams complacency and red-ridden vanishing points to a line of sight I'd rather not identify with if I had a choice. I'm seriously considering becoming rich and famous despite others already forcing me to. I guess eventually my spirit will give in as my soul looks from a distance and says what a fool I am then goes about his day. You can't be like the rest of them no matter how hard you try. Thinking on the sensualities you avoided after this rap shit led you no where. The palace at the height of creation where Jesus stopped and stared to collect his thoughts before he kept going when his alarm rang as his slave bending consistency tracked the new melinnia into a moldy piece of sandstone cheese the better of which tasted nutty with fruity notes and 80% abv shards of liquid glass on the throat thatd make even an immortal weep a shy tear or two. The pigs down in Mississippi feel things we can't understand in their slaughterhouse decrepit and forwarned in a musk ridden air flow that's non existent to hypocritical angels who were supposed to stop atrocity but opted to sit on their ads and play virtua tennis all day. Oink says the pig. Hee haw says the donkey. Give me life says the God and there on the 30th night fags came to tell the story on their faces. The bag lady told them to shut up and stop whining but they wouldn't listen though they lost their ability to speak. Goodness gracious me oh my great balls of fire. Great balls of ball you are the Lord of my lonely century in this dimension I took awareness to when I allowed you into my heart space.And then I left asking my self: Who is this I?

755559888a

Let’s stand for a while and think about the dastardly ways we have gone under the waters and flew away from temptation. Have us saying isnt it so pretty to be in something and have that to fall back on due to the struggles of forgetting the place we come from which didnt always have it out for us this bad in refusing us of inconjunctions we can at least point to and blame our problems on saying “See! There, I told you so. That’s why we cant find our beginning!” And we’ll keep toilling the fields as halflings saving up for a chance to leave the very universe we serve. “So thats more like it. Finally something I can get my flows on to” Shelly the alien said. “The Stars dont have to like you just because you see them. They have their place and so do we” Gerald said. “Oh but they do.” “How do you know?” “Well for one they always shine bright at the most oppurtune times, like when I’m feeling down about the part of myself that conveinently seems to escape me just when I need it most. If that be so then put me on to something else and that’ll do just fine.” “Perhaps you're not as big as you thought ” Gerald held up his hand to salvage what was left of the dissolving psychic barrier between them. An invisible giant with an ocd issue. For now he could only listen. “No im not here to choose and thats exactly why Im not afraid to go where you can’t. Having the courage to admit your wrongs requires as much energy as universal rotation itself - a force which exists beyond our pleaidien awareness. ” “ But Shel- Okay whatever” Gerald paused and rolled the horizon through his scaly fingertips. “Keep calling on the unknown and you might get lost because it’s been there forever and sometimes Look, Shelly, no offense, you know I love you, but your awareness has no filter on what representation it can cling onto like danger isnt a reality to you. Me and Dazel always had to look out for you and thats just in this world what makes you think you can take on things you cant even see? “But do you believe in me? Anyone can say they love me. I’ve been hearing that my whole life. So much that it holds the same meaning as “um” does in conversation. Is that really the final conclusion we have at the end of the day? That you love me? Besides, I dont think you really meant that.”

“Here goes Miss Type-1 personality again. Always needing to label circles into squares, stars into gods, this as that, out of an inability to cope with insecurity. Leaving the rest of us as unwilling participants.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S WRONG IN NATURE?” Shelly bawled.

The beach of Temofose was out of walking distance from the orange cottage they grew up in with there Mom. When they were young it was somewhere theyd go when they had nothing else to do. Euweu Sister Beach was the brighter of the two, but now too populated for their liking. Temofose is less frequented by other families and polluted by cargo ships and a lack of open views but as they stood there a semblence of twilight through the holographic cages offered closure to the purpose of them arguing in the elements about a timeline Shelly was going to step into And no matter what argument he could put forth, Gerald thought of it fruitless unless he spoke from his heart, a heart of which Shelly was currently taking the place of, so that he could not use it against her. “Shelly, I just hope you can understand how I dont want to let you go.” “I’m sorry you feel that way. But it’s my choice. Have a good njght Gerald. I love you” She said as she went into darkness.

Summer Break 2018

As a street light exploring strip malls, I am a linoleum tile on top of a trapezoid emitting frames of rave scenes. Heres where I find myself walking through last nights dream of the gang member selling duck pussy then getting assaulted by a pizza guy and a cop. Alone after those nights. Seems love was never meant to be expressed but felt. I look inside to see if I’m about to die, seeing diamonds mixed with sky. Materializing in the backdrop of my memories. Now I know why.

Now I know.

Then a wren on the fence manifests when it needs to. The perspective pyramid is that I pleaded for a higher calling. There’s nobody bohemian as me. One day I’ll take this civic off the road and escape into my sacred grove. If only I wasnt such a bitch.

I carry my single briefcase through the airport parking lot. I’m hot and out of breath. Everyone watching me. I can read their thoughts but not my own. They say look at the guy who isnt me but is still conscious enough to move his vessel.

The a/c runs down to the end of the terminal, but my spirit is squared by the stores selling vain material. The pyramid of perspective is an accordian overlayed on my mind’s eye televises scenes too chaotic to put into words. Walking through customs is an event to be remembered, I tell myself. Anyone who catches my glimpse pauses for a split second, calibrating my own opinion of the why in life. A definition of nuance that was never meant to be expressed but felt. To sense what I’ve been wanting, free and alone, after all those wasted days. I board the flight to say finally I am my own religion. If I was flying over africa I’d see bon fires, but over Georgia I only see street lights. Thinking how absurd that they will speak of me as crazy. Others will listen. A vibration through these amber aisles to look no further than my destiny. Because everyone has their destination is the way it goes. I refuse. I’m tired of being a number. Atlanta had its place. Now I’m homeless in Tokyo. This is the not-so perfect end to the chapter planned out for me by the higher power. Not-so bad neither.

Save me. I’m on the other side now.

#chapter 1 #short-story #novella #atl streetz #cancer moon #tryna

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kpopgerapitico · 6 years ago

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End of Year Review 2018: K-dramas Part 1

A/N: I had to break this into two parts, hence this being the starting point, and being posted today.

This year was a year of dropped dramas this year. I dropped more shows than I watched to completion, and more than you would expect. I think I finished maybe a total of 10 shows over the course of the year (9 of which are on this list), and most of the ones I dropped I will be leaving abandoned (except for the 1 that finished up this list). Suffice to say, I was underwhelmed by this years taking. And honestly, my top 10 only has like 3 or 4 shows that I don’t have major problems with, mostly in the back half of the shows.

My format takes a page from the very good Josei Next Door (if you like anime, her end of year lists are a must read, and hold many of my current favorites), and then follows my own loose commentary structure, because I can’t be bothered to organize half the time. So, anyways, here we go with the bottom half (i.e. good shows I enjoyed but I don’t love)!

Bottom 5: These shows are unordered, because I honestly had no clue of what order to put them in. So, alphabetical it is!

Come and Hug Me

Episodes: 32

Station: MBC

Director/Writer: Choi Joon Bae (The Sons), Lee A Ram

This is the only show on this list I haven’t finished. And that is in no way a comment on the show, because I really loved this show. It is the most dramatic show that I watched this year, and I was strung along for the whole damn ride. I cried, multiple times on this show, in the same episode.

Chang Ki Yong is someone I have known since his first ever role on It’s Okay That’s Love. And 4 years later, he has grown into a totally different actor. The first few episodes, I was pretty sure he was a really bad actor who had managed to get the lead role of a show on a big channel. Instead, he had his character so integrated that took a long time to reveal the layers of that character. Jin Ki Joo is beautiful and delicate and wonderful. She was completely believable from moment one, and carries tragedy so well. She also has one of my favorite clapbacks of all time (that I gifed way back when).

This show is a heart wrenching and does not let up. And I don’t usually go for shows that are quite that sad. But dammit all if this show didn’t draw me in and refuse to let me leave.

Fox Bride Star

Episodes: 32

Station: SBS

Director/Writer: Shin Woo Cheol (Gentleman’s Dignity), Kang Eun Kyung (Romantic Doctor, Teacher Kim)

In A Sentence: The trials and tribulations of the daily life of airport employees.

Okay, I will talk a bit about the main characters in the show. I love Lee Je Hoon, even if I don’t like any of the projects he has chosen since Signal. And I love Chae Soo Bin, ever since I’m Not A Robot. And they sort of mostly totally have chemistry. And the whole robot arm/leg thing is something interesting I guess.

Can you tell that the leads weren’t the reason I watched this show? Well, now that that is out of the way, let’s talk about the part of this show you should love. The Security Couple. Kim Kyung Nam and Lee Soo Kyung have enough chemistry to run the whole show, and they have the cutest storyline by a lot. I was rooting for them throughout, especially since Lee Soo Kyung’s character felt a lot like Lee Min Ki in Because This Is My First Life. Also, I need Kim Kyung Nam in a drama as the leading man in a sort of mob boss in a rom com sort of show. Because he would kill it.

The machinations of the show were often weird and didn’t fit. But the security couple. The whole asshole brother plot line was unneeded. But the security couple. Now maybe you know why I included this show.

Judge vs. Judge

Episodes: 32

Station: SBS

Director/Writer: Lee Kwang Young, Seo In

In A Sentence: The trials and tribulations of the daily life of judges.

The first half of this show is something special, and the second half is not the worst, so it deserves to be mentioned. I love the case of the week style, and more importantly the whole mentor-mentee relationship of the judges. And Yeon Woo Jin is adorable as a serious judge who plays by the book, and across from Park Eun Bin’s emotional judging. It is so redeeming after the crap that Yeon Woo Jin had to fight through last year.

Also, the whole plot line with the assistant and the judge friend was adorable, and made me giggle every time I saw their interactions.

This show is nothing to write home about, but it does well as a whole, and has a few shining moments that make it noteworthy for me this year.

My Secret Terrius

Episodes: 32

Station: MBC

Director/Writer: Park Sang Hun (Romance Full of Life), Oh Ji Young (Shopping King Louis)

In A Sentence: He is in hiding, as a nanny, because reasons.

This show was mostly a vessel to have So Ji Sub be endearingly cute the whole time. And I for one am not complaining, because that is wonderful. So Ji Sub needs to be in rom coms for the rest of his life, and I will accept nothing less.

The plot of this show mirrors that of the writer’s previous work, with quirky characters who do weird things with almost no reason and a ton of heart. And it again brings a lot of heart to a show that has no right to have any. From nose kisses with the kids, to cops that are incapable while the neighborhood moms group can catch a kidnapper, no problems. Kang Ki Young is a scene stealer when So Ji Sub isn’t on screen, and brings out some of Terrius’ funniest moments when they are together.

This show has no depth, nor should it. Enjoy it for the silly pleasure it is, as the spiritual if not actual successor as Shopping King Louis.

What’s Wrong With Secretary Kim

Episodes: 16

Station: tvn

Director/Writer: Park Joon Hwa (Because This Is My First Life), Jung Eun Young

In A Sentence: His secretary quits to live her life, and he fights to keep her.

I love the idea of this shows plot. The whole ‘my secretary quit because I’m a dick and she realized that she is worth more’. I love the adjustment to the plot that the show makes over the course of its show to ‘my secretary quit even though she realized I’m not a dick because she wants different things now’. Did the love line make sense from the start? For him sure, but definitely not for her. But once the show got past that initial weirdness, it settled into a much cuter place.

Park Seo Joon is great, because he always is, and Park Min Young is equally great in hers. They play off of each other so well, which is incredibly important for a show that is all about 1 relationship.

Do I wish that they dropped the second lead? Do I get confused by why Chansung doesn’t get more screen time as a hilarious side romance? Yes and Yes. But there is great stuff in the middle, and a solid cast in most of the roles who do great work. Don’t expect depth, but expect a nice ride.

#eoyr2018 #kdrama p1 #here we go y'all

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firsthandfirecracker-blog · 6 years ago

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Journal [8.5-8.7]

8-5-89

I saw her again.

It sounds crazy to admit that—that I “saw” her. But here I am, hours later, still chilled to the bone.

Her face won’t get out of my head—that subtle smirk. Those eyes. The way they narrowed the more I told that cop about her, like I was betraying her.

I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now, so I’ve turned to my journals. I pulled them all out from the dusty bin in the back of my closet and spread them on the rug. I didn’t start journaling until after I got back from college, but there’s still plenty to go through. Six years’ worth, to be exact.

Larissa was only twelve when we started classes. Poring over those journals, she’s brought back to life before my eyes, bright and fierce and determined. She was full of hope in those days—maybe her situation wasn’t the best, but she was going to make it better. She had to.

I wonder what happened. When did the light die from her eyes? When did the switch flip? Or was it slow and steady, like a forest fire in a thunderstorm, determined to blaze yet doomed to fail?

The truth may lay somewhere in between, I suspect. Maybe my journals will tell me something. I can feel their presence, almost; they vibrate with importance. I’m going to take out all the pages about Larissa, line them up end to end, and read them. I hate to tear into my records like this, but information is more important than sentiment right now.

8-6-89

Funeral today. Nolan dances on my skull; my head aches.

8-7-89

Couldn’t sleep last night. I showered and slept (at home, for once) and laid in bed for two restless hours. Then, I got up and started reading.

I’ve been through ‘83- ‘87 already. I journaled less frequently then—the habit was new when I first moved back, and at times it wasn’t a habit at all. Honestly, it’s painful to read these old accounts. For instance, this one:

10-22-83

Fifth class with Larissa today. She’s a quick learner, but she’s got a long way to go. She’s enthusiastic and pretty agile, too—her love of jump-roping proves it—but she’s neither accurate nor powerful. Of course, she’s twelve, so I’m not worried about it in the long run. I guess I’m just concerned that she’s gonna hurt herself again.

We’ve been doing mostly conditioning and practicing form, but today she insisted that she get a chance on the bag. I swear, I was gonna say no, but she just gets this look in her eyes when she wants something that’s impossible to resist.

Well, long story short, she almost sprained her wrist. She was all red-faced and sniffly, but she didn’t cry—not when I showed her how to ice it properly, or when I began wrapping it up, even though I was sure it hurt. To distract her from the pain, I asked her about her week, thinking she’d mumble something about school and be done with it. To my surprise, she opened up like a flower, gushing about all the cool stuff she’d done. She was most proud of befriending this cat that lived in the park; she’d been saving bits of her lunch to feed it, apparently.

She was so animated when she told me, free arm waving as I pinned the bandage in place. Seeing her shine so brightly, I can’t help but worry. Nothing that pure can last.

I can still picture her so clearly: that bright smile, those determined eyes. But reading back on it now, I can’t help but wonder what brought her into the gym in the first place. What drives a twelve year old girl to learn to fight—independently of her parents, no less? Perhaps more importantly, why didn’t I question it sooner? Why didn’t I push harder? Why didn’t I—

Nevermind. I could keep myself here all night considering what-ifs and should-haves. I need to move on.

9-8-84

Hard to believe it’s been almost a year since Larissa started taking classes. She’s thirteen now and she’s got the attitude to prove it. Looking at her these days, I can’t help but remember myself at that age. Like Larissa, I’d always been a spitfire, and when I entered my teens, it only got more intense. I hope she’s not getting into the kinds of trouble I got into at that age.

Oh, who am I kidding—she’s a kid. Of course she’s going to get in trouble. I have to remember that it’s not my job to protect her, but to give her the tools that she needs to protect herself. She’s certainly come a long way from where she was a year ago: she actually landed a punch square to my jaw today when we were sparring. When she realized what she’d done, she threw her hands straight up and let out a holler. Naturally, I saw that she’d left her stomach open and socked her one. She fell back onto the mat, and for a moment I worried that I’d hit a bit too hard, but then I realized that she was laughing.

Her class is always my last of the day, so she helped me clean up, putting the mats back in their place and sweeping the floor. Just as I was about ready to see her off, she stopped short and spoke:

“Can we get ice cream?”

I frowned. “Shouldn’t you go with your parents?”

At that she wilted, a look I’d seen only once before, at her first class.

“They won’t care,” she said at last. The specter dancing between her eyes was gone; she turned abruptly and flounced out the door.

I’ve long suspected that Larissa has a neglectful, or at the very least ill-informed, home situation, but I don’t have anything to prove it. She clams up if I ask about it, and I wonder if it’s even my place to.

So, yeah, we got ice cream. I got a simple strawberry cone, while she went all-out with a sundae. I couldn’t help but laughing, seeing the chocolate drizzle reflected in her saucer-like eyes.

“We’re celebrating,” Larissa said, “’Cause we’ve been in class for a year. That’s a long time.”

I smiled softly. I used to think a year was a long time, too; it was only after… well… anyway, I couldn’t argue with her, because it was a long time in teenage years.

“Ms. Wilder, I’m gonna be in your class forever.”

I laughed and ruffled her hair. “Good, because there’s so much more to learn,” I said, but now, hours later, I can’t help but wonder if I jinxed it.

Again: no parents. I’ve thought about it a lot in the years since then. They were always this… blank space, I guess, this chasm in her story. I knew she had them, and I knew she lived with them, but I never once met them. Not once in six years. Normally I wouldn’t allow a child to sign up without parental approval, but Larissa had this hungry look in her eyes, or something close to it, a look that told me she wasn’t being provided for. So how could I refuse her? How could I condemn a girl to a life of neglect when I could instill in her the tools she needed to better it?

Not that it worked, but… anyway. I’m tempted to blame myself, as always, but looking back through these journals, it’s clear that there was more to the story.

3-12-86

This has been the longest six hours of my life.

I was coming back from the grocery store around seven p.m. when I passed the church. It’s still burned into my eyelids—that spire, looming high overhead. My gut lurched, but I didn’t have to wonder long to see why.

Not three blocks past the church, I saw someone walking along the side of the road. I recognized those messy blonde curls: Larissa. She carried her shoes in hand, bare feet dirty with roadside muck.

I pulled up next to her and rolled down the window.

“Larissa?”

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and I caught a glimpse of a tear before she scrubbed it away with her sweater.

I was about to hop out of the car when she opened the door and slid in.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She sniffed. “I’m fine.”

“Larissa…”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

I started driving, my mind at work.

“I just got groceries. Why don’t we stop by the park and eat sandwiches? We don’t have to talk.”

For a moment she looked like she’d refuse, but something in her softened and she nodded, slumping against the seat.

I laid out napkins and sandwich fixings in the trunk of my car while she wandered around the park, balancing on anything she could find: tree roots, parking blocks, the little fence by the playground.

“Order up!” I called, and she came running over. Her eyes were still puffy, but she smiled as she bit into the ham sandwich. I did the same to my own, causing a bit of juice from a poorly-cut tomato to spill down my shirt. We both laughed, and for a moment I could almost forget the strange circumstances that brought us here.

We didn’t talk, in the end, choosing instead to listen to the songs of the crickets and the whisper of the wind.

“It’s about time I take you home,” I said when the sky was dark and our bellies were full.

She looked at me, and I saw It again, that looming something that stood between us.

“Can I stay in the spare room tonight?” she asked, uncharacteristically looking down at her hands. She was a stickler for eye contact.

In answering I hesitated—that was my first mistake.

“Your parents will be worried about you.”

Her lower lip jutted out. “They don’t care.”

“I’m sure they love and care about you—”

“They don’t care,” she spat. “Don’t you get it?”

Seeing her then, I’m not sure I did.

“Look… you can stay, but I just want to call them and—”

Larissa sprang up.

“Of course, you just have to play it by the book, don’t you? Did you ever think that some rules need to be broken?”

Her eyes were moist as she turned and took off for the road.

“Larissa!” I called, panicked. I sprinted after her, but her adrenaline must have took over—she ran faster than I could hope to catch up. Doubled over on the side of the road, I recalled my groceries and my open trunk. Once I’d recovered a little, I jogged back to my car and packed everything up, then took off down the road.

I didn’t find her, though. Finally I gave up and cruised by her house, hoping to see some sign that she made it home. As I passed by, I saw that the light in her window was on and hoped for the best. I thought about asking her parents, but knew she’d never forgive me for bringing them into it. I don’t even think they know she takes classes.

I ended up just returning home. Now that I’ve had some time to reflect on it all, I wonder if I was wrong not to contact her parents earlier. Must the cost of caution be the trust of someone you care for?

Part of me thinks I was wrong not to ask about what was going on, but I know she wouldn’t have answered me. Probably would have run off sooner. Still, there’s a thread to pull here. What happened that night at the church? I should ask around, see what I can dig up.

I don’t know if I can keep reading these… I can still see the face of that young girl who first walked into the gym, her excitement when she succeeded, her fury when she failed. Through it all, she was so alive, and now she’s—

I have to move on. It’s like this clock is ticking inside me, I don’t know for what or why, but I can’t rest until I find the answer. And the answer is here. So I’m skipping forward a bit, because I remember the golden years quite well. After that first year, when she was unsteady on her feet, fire roaring but unable to direct it. No, it was after that, when she started to gain confidence but before she got jaded.

I’ve been thinking about what that cop said—maybe she intended to fight someone. Looking back, I think that maybe he was right. But it wasn’t just one person. She wanted to fight… I don’t know, the system? Her community? Everyday injustices? (Ok, don’t project, Naomi)

My head is spinning. I need to take a break.

…

Well, it was a shit day, but at least I made it through. I’m at the park because I couldn’t stand to be in my apartment for another minute. Hopefully the fresh air will help to get my investigative juices flowing.

I think my students could tell that something was off today, but it’s not like I’ve been hiding it, exactly. I cancelled all my classes after I heard the news, and today was my first day back. There was just this weird energy with them, like I was delicate. They weren’t exactly in top form, either. I think we were all just distracted and didn’t really want to be there considering the circumstances.

Whatever. No use stewing in it; if I want to get some sleep tonight, I’ve got to get through these next few years. Of course, by this time I was journaling every day, so there’s much more to go through. I have one journal for each class of hers over the past two years, except one. Can’t remember why I didn’t write that day, but there must have been a good reason. I’ll think on it and see if I can’t figure out which class that was.

As for what I do have, most of the journals read pretty much the same: summary of the class, some routine stuff about form and improvement and whatever, the odd note here or there. But there are a few that stand out, like there’s something between the lines that I can’t quite read. I won’t rest until I can.

Here’s an entry I found particularly significant re: fighting someone. Maybe that cop was on to something.

12-10-87

Larissa came in ready to pick a fight today. She half-assed her warm-ups and clearly didn’t bother to stretch. I’m not proud to admit it, but I may have escalated things a bit. I suggested we go straight into sparring since she seemed so eager to get it over with; she agreed.

When we fought, though… I’ve never seen her do it with such ferocity. Often when we’re sparring she’ll end up giggling because she’s enjoying herself so much and because, well, sparring can be funny sometimes. This time, though, she was all business. She was so focused, like this fight would decide something, though I don’t know what. And her eyes—she had this far-away look, like she was fighting someone else. I can’t help but wonder who that could be.

I tried to make small talk with her after class, which she usually goes for, but this time she aggressively brushed me off, turning her back to me like a child. I just let it happen. It’s not my business, after all, as she’d stressed to me a dozen times or more. Funny, she didn’t used to feel that way. Used to be that she was all too eager to share… or maybe it was only certain things she was sharing.

I guess what really got to me, though, is the car that came to pick her up. I’d never seen it before. Usually her brother or Jill would come pick her up, but this was some big SUV-type car, and I swear it had the brights on because it blinded me just to look in that direction.

I don’t usually do this, but I ended up accompanying Larissa out the door, hoping if I got around the lights I could see inside. But the windows were too darkly tinted for me to see anything.

I’m sure it’s fine; I’m just paranoid. Years of suspicion really haven’t gotten me anywhere, so I should probably just drop it.

This is the first occurrence of someone I didn’t know coming to pick her up. After this entry, it happened more frequently—a trickle at first, but by ’89, it was becoming more and more common. She was always cagey about it, like she didn’t want me to know who it was.

Well, it’s about time I found out, isn’t it?

This next entry is the one I kinda told the cop about, though in fewer words. I don’t need a journal entry to remember it crystal-clear, but since I’m a glutton for punishment I read it anyway.

8-17-88

Larissa came to class high today. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I should be able to let it go, but it feels like some… contract had been broken. Larissa could say anything she wanted, but I always got the impression that she respected our time together. She was—maybe not happy, per se—but grateful to be there.

I noticed it from the first moment she walked in the door. She had a certain spring in her step, one I hadn’t seen in years, not since the early days of our classes together. I barely got to say hi before she was out the door, doing her weekly run around the warehouse to warm up. I thought about warming up with her, but she seemed like she wanted to be alone.

When she came back, we stretched together, then we moved on to bagwork. It’s something we do every class, but this time she just couldn’t get with it. The point of working with handheld pads is to train speed and accuracy, not power. But Larissa had this, I don’t know how to describe it… a manic look? She was always spirited, but this I’ve never seen before. It was like she couldn’t control herself. Her first few hits would be soft, like they should be, but they’d keep getting harder and harder until I had to stop the session and remind her of the exercise.

It wasn’t long before I had to stop the session completely because she just wouldn’t listen. I suggested that we move on to shadow boxing—no point wasting all your strength on air right?—but then she rolled her eyes at me and I kind of lost it.

I can still hear the conversation now, echoing over and over in my brain:

“Larissa, are you high?”

She gave me an incredulous look, like I’d insulted her.

“I don’t want to put you in a corner… I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about it.”

“Naomi, I’m not here to talk. I’m here to fight. You know that.”

I’d opened my mouth to say something more, but she launched herself at me, throwing a sloppy, overextended punch. It was easy to dodge, but she kept coming at me. From her mouth came this savage cry, like a wounded animal fighting for its last breaths.

The look in her eye was so wild that I’ll admit, for a moment it scared me. In the end, I had no choice but to shove her back, landing on the padding below with a thud. She looked up at me with those red-rimmed eyes and I could see her shredding me to pieces in her mind. After a silence that seemed to stretch on for ages, she scrambled to her feet and stomped toward the door.

“If you can’t train me, I guess I’ll have to find someone who can,” she spat.

“Larissa!” I cried out, but she was already gone.

And now here I am. Alone in the gym, wondering if she’ll ever come back. Wondering why it feels so important that she does. I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

Famous last words, right?

I have a million more questions now and no answers. My head feels like it’s splitting in two from the pressure of my unknowing. But I will know… I must. I can’t rest until I figure it out: What killed Larissa Kearney? What killed L͝ariss͘a̸ ͢Ḱe̶ar̷ney͏? What ki̸ll̀ed̢ L̶a͢r͡i̢s̡sa ҉Ke͏a͢rn͢èý?͝ Wh̀a͞ţ ̶k͞il͢l̛e̛ḑ Ļaris̷s̨a͝ ͘K͜e͘a̶rņey? W̺̻͔͎͖͚̫̕h̳̻͖a̭̲̝͈̜͢t̠ ͟k̼̖̬i͏̠̻̦̤̞l̠͇͕̼l̼͖̪͔͇e͉̘̼͟d ̩͞Ļ̺̺͔̭͚̲̳a̮̬͟r͖͎͍̤̤ḭ̛̠̫̭̝͙̜s̛̠̤̖̼̣̻̤ș͓̠̖͇͔ͅa͎̠ ͓̜̫̫̭̱̬͡K҉̬͕͇͇ͅe̫̭̱̪a̺͖̜̬̱̰r͉̺͉̳̘̙͖ņ͉̣ey͈͘?͚̤̲ W̰̠̼̼̹͞h҉̭̭a̤̮̘̲ͅt̮͔͉̭͘ ͓̭̗͇̠̣̩k̬̙̪iḽ̜̤̗̟͇̖́l͍̟̹̩̰e̬̝͖̹̦̟̕ͅd̵͖̹̩ ͓̹̞̜Ḽ͇a̢̞͔͍̜̖̯r̝͟į̜s̰͉̹s̲̫̞̘͠a̶̠͈͇̱̠ ̸̹K͜e̫̮͈̱a̸̱̦̤͕͈̠r͍͈̹̭̙̥͟ͅn̡̬̯͍͓è̤̠̰̪̟̠y̵?͔̼͞ W̲͔͖͇͖h̛̬̬̤̰̝ͅa̧̖̘̩t̳ ̠k̙͈̻i͇̲̣̪̬̯l͔̠̘l͏̦e̖̖͇͎̣̹̙d̶ ̧L̥̝͘a̶̗r̴͉̰̻̠i̫͙͝s̴̯̪̣͔̰͇s̳͚͇͢a͉͚͚͓̫̝͍ ̤̝̙̕K͇̮e҉̗͎ͅͅa̟̞͔̜̦r͢n̫̱e͖͡y҉͙̹? W̻̭̙̤̠̪ͅh̰̬̮͢a̜̯̤̼̳̩͡t͙̳̖͞ ͚̬̬̯̀k̞i̴͕̦̭͍ļ͕̹͔̺͖̩ḻ̜̙̝͙̜e͎̼̺̭͓͎d̫͚̣̺̩̀ ̤̭͚̬̝L̙̟à͕̪͕̗̖̜r̦̳̳̩̦͉i͍s͈̙͍s̀a͕ ̢̮̙̪͖̬̙̲Ḳ̫̩̹̫̻e͏̺̭̲a̶̩̱̭̤̣r͕̟͠n̡̥͈e̼̣̺̙̬͓y̰̞͙̤?͕̪̘̼̭ W̰h͓̘͙͕̰a͖͚̰͉ṭ ̴̣͎͖̗͈͙k̛̘̜̺͚̭i̭̜̝̣̝l̳̼̞͔̟̣͠ͅl͔̻̤̰̜̙e҉̝͔̯̺d̯͔ͅ ̙͎L͙a̤̤͢r̰̫̥̘̺̕ḭ̩͍͉̹̻͠ś̱̩s̖̕a ̫K̛̠̪͓̣̻ę̜̮̹a͏͓͙r̹͚̖̜n̷é͎̝̦̯̬y̖̲̕?̥̘̠ W̑̆h̨̪͎ͬ͒ͫ͊̊͆å̸̖͙̭̫̝͖̦̔ͨ͂̿́ţ̼͓̮̖̝̃͒͆ͣ̌ ͉͠k̪̘̱̯̞̻̓ͬ̋̏i̼͕̪l͉̙̻̤̾̄̓ḽ̶͔̺̠͙̻e̴ͣ̂ͣ͆͊̒d̸̬̲͈̣̹̅̓̔̈̽ͩͩ ͥ̿ͫḼ̸̟̥̖̞̽ͤ͂͌ͫ̑̅ä̭̖ͫ͛ͣr͚̼̤͓̝ȉ̵̻͕̫͚ͣ̿̔̋s͈̗̺̲̉̎̅͆͟ș̙͖̖̳̥̺̇ͨͦ͑á̛̀ͩͮ̑̄ ̳͉ͪ̍͆͛͞K̗̘͋̓̇eͧ̽ͦ̐ͥ͂̄҉͕̣͓̯͇͍̲a̫̗͙͈̓̒̎̈́̎̄r̶̫̞̮̹͕͕̞̉ͧ͑ͩ͛̑ͣn̴̠̱̗̯͇͐͌ėͣ̐͂͗̓͏͍̲̙̘̜̟͕y̻̦͔͙̪?͉͉̭̪͚͍̫̆ W̘̺͗hͦ́aͫ͒ͨ̾t͙͞ͅ ̺͙͖͍̽͂̚k͚͍̳̞̽̈ͥͬ̈i̲̦̝̗ͭ͑͆̐ͧͅll͏͖̭̫͙̰̯e̼ͬ̉̄d͙̫̼͇͖̅̈͗ͥ͆͠ͅ ̨ͦ̃̍L͇̘͇̖͉̖̳͐̒ͬ̍͊ͬ͟ā̸͈̣͚̻̜ͧ̓̂ͭr͓͋̾i̥̪̫̫̐̾̑ͥ̚s̭̮̙͐͌̊s͓̰̣̪ͧ̌͗͟a͈̦͉̗͉ͯͭ̇̂̑͆̚ ̣̟̟͙̫̏̓ͯ͡ͅK̴̬̈́ͬ̋ͥ̔ͣ̚ḛ̤̦͈̻͕̳̋̒aṛ̞ͭ̓̓͆͗ͪn̲̼̮ͮ͆̐̎̌e̸̘̟̓͊ͮ̈y̐̂̂͑̑͗̾?̭ͤ͜ Ẅ̲̠̠̘́͑̿h̄̀̆́ḁ͕͕̤͈̂ͦ͊̅̄̐ṭ̺̠̦̊͗́̏̓̒̚ ̡ͧ̒k͚̝̲̼̣̱̮ͮͨͤ̚̕i̥̖̋́l͉̰̭̪̰̀ͭͨl̅̃e͔̠͙̜̟ͭ͋̎͆̾͗d̡̈́ ̋ͦ̍Lǎ͚̰̆̅ṛ͎̲͆̈́ͯͧ̚͝i̛͍̮͈͈̫͇͖s̱̤͂̍͞s̀a͑͏̫̻̘̲̦̞ ̖͍̤̙ͬ̔ͭ͑̂̕K̊ͦ̅̃͏̱͚̭͚̳̤e̳͖̞͈͚͎ͤ̄ͥ́a̞̖̜͇̜͍͌͛̓͜r̢̖̩̻͆̇n͂҉e̿͐̀̽҉̮̲̺ͅy̜̘̠ͥ̄ͦ͂?͚͇̼̲ͧͭ W̖̥͕͚̦̖̫̯͉̍͒ͪ̆ͯͣ̕ḥ̀͌̎̾ͮ̍̃͢a̘̬̻̩̯̒ͦͩ́t͎̝̻̼̃̾͊ͦ̉ͥͅ ̛͈̬̭̤̺̾͋̿ͨ͢͞k̰̎̇͠ȋ̶̛̠̝̼̬̘̭̍̆̑̇ͮ͗̃l̺̘̜̱̭ͦ̈ͩ̔ͥ̊̒ͩ͠l̙͔̜͑̈ͬ̒͠e̝͎̰̼͍͓̦̋ͫ͑̌̌͌͗d̴̷̖̒̈́̐͌̾ͣͅ ̻̜̜̝͐͊̋ͥL̸̬̞͍̲̦̻̍͋̈̈̎̋͜ą̶̸̬̲̩̰̄̄̿r̝̫̺̝͈̮̠̖͙ͤ͑̑i̷̪͉͍̍̑̈̒ͤs̯͕͖̘̥͚ͬ̋̏̌͜s͔͈ͫͧ̌̆͒̀̚aͭ͑̚͏̼̜̪ ̸ͦ̆ͫ̄̽͏̹͈̠͔͙̙̩̳͟K̸̟͖̭͖͈̟̪͙̭̆͗̎̄͂̋͋͆͢͡e̛̜̖̬̩̱͊̓̔ͮ̽á̧̨̖̮͚͖͖͍͔ͦ̔̊̽͑̋ͨ̚ṙ̴̵͉ͥ̑͗͛n̢̮͎͕̞͊̔͗͞ȩ̰̥̖͕͖̳̬͍ͣ̿͊̀̆͂͢ÿ̸̗̙̭͎̣̖̩̭̓̒ͮ̅̉͘?ͤ̀͐̋͛̀̄̏͏͕̣̘̭͎̞̀ Ẅ̵̡̺̫͚͙̞̬́ͭ̾͠h̘̣̻̄̉̌̏̀a̶͈̫̞ͣ̊ͮ́ͫ͌͗̀̕t̴̢͉̪̫̩͒͑̊̀͒̈́̋ ̛̗͖̞̮̍ͮ͑́̚͘k̟̠̞̞̭ͧͣ̈̀͊̿ͮ͆ͨ͠͝iͮ̊ͤ̅̊ͨ̃ͦ̀́҉̮͓̻̩̣̭̮l̷̰͔̞ͤͥl̴̞͔̘̘̫̠͉͋ͬͩͨ͋͒͌͞ȇ̠̼ͩͩ̉̄͂͑́ͅḑ̬͔̳͈͍̋̉ͣ̚͜ ̨͚̑̔͌ͬ̚Ḻ̵̟̯̲̩̱ͦ͆͒̎̊͊̂ͫã̜̮͚̝͚̙̻̃ͦ͘͜͡r̴̰̱̘͍̲̻͆̓ͤ̽̑̽́̎͊i̠͔̜̙̝̪̠̭ͩͫ̀͟s̱̳͕̯̬ͬͦ̓̍̽͊ͮş̗͉̼̟͚̻ͫ͌̆̽͑̒ͬ̚͘a̧̢̘͓͒͐̅̾͑͋͐͞ ̶̬͕̮̺͂ͧ̍̒K̗̯̜̠̔̎͞e̯̹͇͉͇͎͙̞̾ͬ̃́̌̌̏ͫa̦̖̖̪̒̓̊̒̄̄̚ȑ̶͓̪͉̤͍̳͛n̢͍̭̤̣̪̯̳͈͖ͤ͋̉ͥ̊ͪ́eͥ͏̗̖̹͜y̨̮͙͎̳ͥͧ̽ͤ̅ͨ̈́̿͂́?̪̣͎͌ͬ̈̀͂͛ W̷̪͕̪͔͗̃̔ͮ̈͆h̢͔̮͔̿ͪ̄ͫ̆aͬ͗ͨͩͧ̽ͨ͏̵̼̠t̵͙͍͖̬̼͖̊͆̽ͭ̈͠ ̨̪̲̥̾ͧ͊ͤͭ̅͌̀͞k̭ͪ̍̎̓̐͋͘͜iͪͦͧͧ̾ͪ̏҉̥̘̝̣͖̝ͅͅl̻̟̹̜͉̮̩̟͉̉̋̉l͆҉̷̤ȩ̶̱̤͈͍̹ͤ̇d͇̞̯̳̼̃ͫ̄ͦ̔͋ ̮̰̘̥̹͉̱̈ͩ̓̏͂̀̉ͪL͋ͦͣ̐ͥ͑̒͊͘͏̫̠̖̻̼̠͉ạ̾̈ͨ̋̎̀͠ȑ̡̬̯̪̫͎͌͂̌̔ͬ̿̋̈́i̸̺̮̲͖̓ͮ͒śͪͬͫ́͏̳̟ś̈͑͗͌ͭͧ҉̫̩͔̹̺͢ȧ̵͖͓̤̗͉̜͗͒͑̂̿ͯ̀ ̰̘̅̾̓͜K͇̞̝̑̈́͋͛e̩̦̖͉̣͈͔̽̎̓̅́͂̀̄̀̚͜ͅa̶̔ͥ̏ͨ͂̉̏ͧͩ҉̩̟̝̹̘͇r̴̾ͣͬ̌҉͙̹͓̱̬n͈̣̹̣̪̻̝͛̃ͮͧ͟ͅę̴̲͗̽̚y̲̲̟̤̣̜̺ͯ̓ͤ͢?̷̨̢̖̹͓͇̺̉͋ͤͯ W̸̩͎̥̲ͨ͗ͧ̀͟h̤͈̣͇̭̪̟ͥ͑ͣͣ̚̕͟͡ͅȧ̠̮̗̭͒̃̓̉ͤ͊̕t̵̨̧̺̙̟̖̀̀̉ͬ̎ ̡̘̖͊̈́ͧ̒ͭ̓͝k̰͚̫̯ͥ͆͋̈ͮ̊̏̑͒i̞̖̿̂͌ͩ͟l̶͉̮̟͈̱͙ͧͨ̒̓̉́͝l̄̍͊͒ͩͥ̀͏̪̀͢ͅeͩ͑ͥͧ̂͗ͧ͏͈̞d̯͓͕̮͈̔ ̭ͯͫͬ̄̄̂ͧ̿̈L̸̺̬̫̗̝ͪ̉͂̓̀̅́ȃ̩͉͔̯͍̼̯̮̎͂r̖͎̘͛̽́̔͗ͮ͂͟î̖̺̝̩̞̓̈͋̄̉͊͛͘s̴̷̉ͩ͏̜̳͙sͥ̋ͮ͘͏҉͈̞̗̼͔̬ͅa̫̤͇͉ͬͫ̅̀̾̊̈́͞ ̶̗͙͔͇̏͂K̫͋̈͌͒͗̅̚̚͢͡e͇̘̫̠͚̺̼̊ͩͩ͊̆̑ͪḁ̸̯̈͗ͤ̅ͦͮͦ̊r̀̉̃ͣ̂͊ͫ̂҉͓̯͖̀͝n̮̟̩̫̘͈ͮ̎̉͑̾͊͛͘̕e̴̷̺̠̜͚̮̼ͥ͛̌͑͋͢ͅy̛̺̯̹͉͚͓̩̅̌̎̑͒ͪ̔̓͐̀?͓͒ͧ̽͠͠ W̍̑̑̈́̊̀͏̠̯h̷̛͈̥̙͕̊̊à̡͆̆ͣ̈́̒̐͏̶͍̹t̵̼̯̺̺̞͈̻̫̃ͣ͊͝ ͎̄̌ͣ͗ͬ͜͠k̡̺̮̲̟̪̗͔̿̾͆̌ͯ͋́ͣ̕͜i̻͈͖̣̪ͭ̊͌ͨ̂ͩ̐͑̔l̨͍͎̻̫̝̟̻̝͋͗ͥ́ḻ̵̥͚͎̙̮̻̗̃ͥͤ͊̍ͩ̈͗͛͘͞e̶͓͎̣͖̝̗͆ͫ́̋͐̆̓͂͛̀͠d̢̨̦ͯͯ̄ͮ̈́̈ͫͥ̚͜ ̶̶̧̯̥͂̿ͮL̥̫̠͍̟̹͔͚̻̀͒̇̄̂̚͞a͆̃̑̾ͪ͛̃ͬ҉̼͙̺̜̯̺r͓̼̤̖̬̼̞̎̊̑̎̅i̼͓̹͎̬̲͒̃̊͆͒̋̑̆́s̫͒̐͂̓͟s̵̵̼̗̮̪̥̽ͭͨ̌̎̑̌͝a̩̥̳̤̝ͫ̒͊̾͞ ̟͉̟̟̱̬̪̱ͭͬ̂̊̂́̌̎Ǩ̺̭ͩë́̏͒ͨ͂̊҉͈̯̞͘a̜̱͓͓̣͆ͦͮ̅̽̚͝͝r̼̲̱̺͖̯̪̮̂ͮ̅̀͋͐n̜͑̈͒ͬ̏̿̓̚̚͘ȩ͍̫̺̫̼̼̣͚̔̃͡y̪͓̥̻͙̬͇ͯ̀͑̓̾͑̉ͤ?̷̫͔̠̼͈͖̋͑̔ͣ W̨̞̝͕̜̹̞̮̱̟͇̦̭̭̗̩̬̰̑͛̀́ͦͣͤ͒ͯ̌͂ͭ̉ͬ́̊̾͒ͭ̀̀ͅḩ̴̳̖̰̦̗͉̲̝̺̳̩̣̹̲͔̊̓̿͋̀ͅa̵̷̻͓͔͔̦̣͕̺̙͔̜͓͕͇ͭ͗̌̔͒̑̅̊̇ͦ͆͘͢t̵̟̘͍̯͐̑͛̊ͣ͛̈́̈͢ ̸̸̡̧̬̮͇͇̪͎̩̝̣͈̦͚̲̥͍ͦͥ̌̀̊ͯͬ͋ͧ̍͊͋̏ͪͦ́̀ͬͅkͫ̅ͤͮ̆̀͐̐͐ͤ̋̍̏̚͜҉̵̴͇̱̱̤̭͇̩̱̩̹̩̻̰̼͎i͛̅ͬͦ̓ͩ͗̉҉̼̫̞̮͙̲̣̖̺̗͈̖͉͍̻̳̭͉̤͟l̵̡̤̯͕͕̩̘͖̟̤̻̰̝̭̝̭̻̤̾̔̌ͭ͑̏ͭͧ̌̃ͪ̏͒̏͝ͅl͖̳̳̝͉͍̲̼̫̭̙̠̠͇̦̟͚̹̇ͣ̿ͬ̌̀͋̈ͬͫ͊͛̄́͟e̡̧̛̫̤̯̬̰͓̤͔̭̲̤̞̰͈̣̦̿ͩ̎͑̈́́̚ͅͅd̸̴͆̄ͦ̽̍ͥ҉̵͔̘̠͕͙͓̗̹͢ͅ ̸̶̸̗͚̝͎̘̳͍͉̹̫̻̬͚̞̻̐̓̿̒͆͑̓͑̍̋̏̋̈́ͨ͠L̶͉͉̙̯̬̬͚͕̃́ͧ͋͒͌͊̓͑͗ͬ̅͊͒͞ą͚͖̞̱̟̰̗͈̙͓̣̦ͣ͆̏ͭͬͪͬ͒̾ͮͦͦ̽́r̲̻̰̟̳͇̭̙̝̺̪̠͔͇͖ͦ̾̇͗ͦ͊͌ͨ͘͟͟͝͞ͅͅi̵̶̦̲͚̞̭̮̱̲̩͍̹̟ͪͮ̅́͟͝s̻̳͔̝͙̤͎̣̻͖̜̯̞ͭ͗͛ͭͩ̋̈ͥ̃̓̇̇̓͗ͫ̋̊̚͠s̾͊͋̿ͥͮ́͒̏ͣ̈̓ͬ͑͋̆̋̚͢͏̢̯̹̻̣͓̗̘̩͎̗̻̠͉͉̬̤͓̕͢a̸ͮ̎ͯ̅͊ͯ̀̅̒̌̄́͋͑́͏̭͍͇̬͖̖͍ ̨̼͇͍̯̯͉͇̮̖̪̼ͧ͛̈͊͌͛̂ͬ̈͒̚K̸̷͍̠͍̺̤͔̬̼̹͉̱̠̭̗ͫ̂̅̅͊̔̅ͯ̋̔̒̒͌ͩ̓̚ͅe̅ͥͪͯ̂ͥͮ̋̎̋ͣͫ̓̒̊̅҉̴̯͎̩͔̙̱͕̪͚̪̘̺͎̖̟̯͞ã̷̆ͭͬ̈́́̾̆̔̔̎̍͋ͥͩ̚҉̭̭̞͖͕̹̗͍͇͝r̡̨̞̝̜͉͕̗̙̩̭͖̠̦̪ͯͮ̒̄̏̂ͮ͢͝n̵̞̰̠͕̹̗̹̘̩̮͍̰̝͔̮͈̥̯ͣ̑́ͮ̀̀̀̚͘e̷̸̻̺͈͓̫̼̠̟ͫͮ͆̓̇̓ͫ͑y̡̛̛̰̱̹̮͓̙̜̙͈̝͌ͪ͂ͦͨ͗̃̒ͬ͆͂̌͋ͣ̽̇̂̆͂?̭̘̫̲͚̥̖̣̮͔͍̝̞̥̯̯̦̭̱̐͐ͭ̃͊͟͢ W̡̖̘̹̙̟̖̺̗̥̟̘̮̯̠͕̞͔͛͒͂͗ͪ̂̊̃ͫ͊͗̇͌̆͐́͗̀͜͠h̯͓̙̹̖̬͎͚̦̙͎̟̅̾ͫ́͊ͣͣ̓̾͘͝ȃ̘̖̰̲͇̲͈͙̝̲͇̎ͩ̉́t͂̒̾̒̃̌̇ͪ̆̽́ͮ̐ͧ́͏̰̮̪̙̖̜̹͖͙͕͇͈̣͍̗ͅ ̨̧͚̪̼͕̍̈́ͫͭ̅ͭ̆ͯ̀ͩͮ͊́́k̆̊ͨͪ̓͑̓ͣ͆̐̔͂́̊ͪ͗͗̏͏̷̢̨̡̳̫͇̹͔̟̗̯̘̝̮̱i̐ͯ͊̏̄̚͡͏̵̬̟̪̥͈͇̗̫̘̺͝l̛̛̠̲̭̯̮͎̝͉͙̱̫͔̫̘̼̼ͤͥͧͪͯ͒̐͒ͩͧ͛́͒̋̌̋̊̽ͭl̶̡̙͈̪̱͎̿ͩ̆̊͒̅ͫ͂ͨ́̚̕͜eͧ̈́͒͑̿́̾ͤͨ̍̈ͫ͆ͪ̉̍҉̴̛̹̞͓̞͇͍̰d̸̍̊͐͗͡͡͏̲̙̮̘̼̫̤̼̪̝ ̧̧̨̛̜͉̟̮̗̠͖͍̪͈͎̺̹̙̤͎̑̍̓͂ͨͩ͗͛ͨͭ͑͑̋ͮͮ͌͆͡L̵̸̛̮̟͖̮̝͙̟̳̳̙͇͍ͦ̑̋͌͋͗͌͛͌ͫ͟͠ȃ̡͉̗̻̥̻̮͓͊͊͋ͣ͐̉ͨͧ͊̇ͨ̽̍̓͝r̸͓͍̙̠͒̾̑̍ͤ̕͜i̡̛̩̖͉̥͕͈͇̳̥̹̦͖͉͇̮̟̍̍̂͗̓ͥ̒̔̅ͤ͛ͮ̑͑̅͟͡s͗̅̐́̋͒ͮ͑͌ͥͬͤ̈͋̔͟͏̧̨̥̣̖͎͚͈̟̝͍̭͚̘̘̼̳̰̟͉s̴̨̥̳̱͚̱̘̱͛̀ͨ̇̂͂ͣ͡a̦̯̠̝͂̀̋̈ͬͫͪ̐ͫ̆ͬ̿͜͜ ̐͋ͯͫ̋̂͒ͦ̾̅ͨ͛͌̇͌͒͏̀҉̯͕̼̹͙̬̦̘̫K̄ͦ̊͐͛̔ͧͦ̇̌ͪ̔͊̐ͣ҉̡̻̫̹͖̪̕͞͠e̴̷̢͋̄͊ͭͣ͋ͨ͏̪̘̹̼̙͚å̸̤̠̩̘͕̼͗̓ͪ̑̅͝͞͝r̳̮̤̹̪̖̗͓͍͕̋̈́ͦ̅̃̊͒̆̃͛̾̔͂̕͢͠͝n̉͋ͬ͗͂҉̵̵͠͏̦͍͇͔̫̝e͙̭̭̫̞͙͉̟̝̳͓̹͇̬̪̾̃̈́̃͐̀͟͠ͅͅy̙̖͙̮̖͇͆̈́́ͧ̃̅̋ͦ̚͘̕͡?̵̢̰͍͈̰͎̰ͥ̐̀̀́ͬͨ̀̈́͑̾ͧ̃ͤͬ͛̐͆ͦ̀͡ W̴ͩ̎̇̒͑́̌ͬͣ̏͆̉͐̐ͣ҉̧͚̝̰̗̣̫̤̘̟͉͔̫͕̰͎͘h͐̓ͣ̀͋̏̃͐ͯ̒ͮ͂͑̌̐̐͏̸̖̹̬̺̘a̶̳̮̗̔̏͆ͧ̓͆ͦͣͮ̕͜��ț͇̜̹̭̘̰̦̭͈̯̯ͧ̆ͬ̂ͭ͒̓͊̀́̚͜ ̴̡̛̠͎̫̟̿̋ͦ͐̓ͮͮͬ͛ͣ̽̀ͥ̔̔̎ͩ͜ͅk̴̮̝̱̟̤̭͕͚̊̔̓͊ͤͭ͊̊̔̕͝į̸͖̲͇̟͉̭̤̩̖̬̺͍̪̝̩̽̒͐͗ͮ̌̅ͨ̈͋ͨ͝ͅl̢̧͎̼̜͎̙̜̤͕̭̻̻̟̮̎̐͌̀̎̿̔̍͌͛̈́̐̓̽͞ͅlͫ̊̆̿͗ͧͪͦ̓ͤ́̾̃͐̽̒̚͏҉̺̻̫͇ė͛̎̀ͪ̃ͭ͆̋͒̆̎̾ͯ̍͜͏̠̗͍̠͉̞͉d̢̗̥͍̠͙͍̮̳̫̞͚ͨ̈ͭͧͪͮ̈ͪͫ̽̓̀͟͠͠ ̷͕͚̮̘̯̯̰̎ͧ̏ͯͨͨͧͣ͋ͯ͘͟͜ͅͅL̴̸͇̹̤͓̱̱̻̱̘̰̻͎̤̦̖̊̅̑̐̐̓̓ͦ̕ą̷̞̦͉̲̒ͭ̓ͥ̄͆̌̽̏ͧ͒͑͟͡ŗ̵̖̟̤͚̹͔̠̯̖ͣͤ͑̈́ͬ͑ͯ̑͗̇̚̕î̴̓ͮ̑̈́ͣͮͫ҉̫̯̪̹͓̱̖̹͉͉̞ͅͅs̷͇̞̪̫͕̤̳̫̑̒͆̄͑͝ͅş̹͉͙̦̦̝͈̼̱͇̗͇̞̒̓ͦ̋͗̽̆ͪ͒́̽͆͝͠ͅa̷̶̷̛̰̦͍͉̜͕̻̣̤̫̞ͫ̌̉̃ͨͯ̌͟ ͇̯͈̼̟̘ͦͪ͑̔ͥ̾̋ͬͮͧ̌̾̌͆̀͘Ḳ̷̛̛̮̘̖̙̓ͨ̂̎́̾̃ͥ̃̑ͯ̅́̚͡e̛̔̒ͯ́̂ͤ͊̔ͬ̈̄ͥ͌ͯͧ̔̒͠҉͇̹̺͚͉̗͕̠͙͍̲a̵̢̡̞̩̺͎̖̻͉̜̙̟͔͖̅̊̂̍̃͆̈̑̓͆ͩ̃̈́͋͗ͧ̚͡ͅr̠̠̬͍̲͖͈̣͕̹̎ͦ̔̈́͛͋ͮ͌̀́͞͡ͅñ̵̒̍͊͌͋̒̋̿̊̾҉̷̨͙̲̞͎̜͎̼̪̣͙͇̙̭e̸̞͔̥͔̯̰̻̮͍̳̜̮ͣ̔̋̃̆̈́͊̐̅̏̆͐̀ͯ̂̀́̚͢ỳ̸̨̍̌ͧ͒̔͜҉͚͍̗̱̯͖̖̲̪̱͓͙̗͖?̧̨͔̼̹̮̑ͭ͗̓͒̍̄̔ͭ̋͆ͧ͆̐̿͢͞͝ͅ

#p: journal #p: journal02 #tw: death #tw: drugs #i guess i will post this posthumously </3 #fucking love u guys #i'll miss the hell out of this group

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unfolded73 · 7 years ago

Text

The Swans in the Evening (1/1)

Summary: Killian and Emma have a rough night with their new baby. ~2500 words. Rated Teen.

Wow, I can’t remember the last time I was nervous to post a fic, but I am straight-up nervous to post this -- it is intensely personal, this little fic. Thanks to @j-philly-b for giving it a read through, and to my older kid, I guess, for being a difficult infant. The title is from “She Moved Through the Fair,” because of course it is. Warning for moderately graphic descriptions of breastfeeding, which I found strangely intimate to write for someone who writes so much smut.

Oh and P.S., I’m sticking with the name Maureen. It’s my CS kid name for good or ill.

“Little one, why won’t you sleep? Or eat? Or fucking anything but fucking cry?” Emma whispered, her soothing tone of voice belying the content of her words. She paced the same circle in the nursery for at least the hundredth time, and in her sleep-deprived state, she imagined herself wearing a hole through the wood and the two of them plummeting down, landing in a shower of plaster onto the living room rug on the floor below.

Turning back toward the door, she saw Killian standing in the hallway in his pajamas, squinting against the the lamplight of the room, one side of his hair sticking straight up from the way he’d been sleeping on it. “Do you need help, love?”

She didn’t want to need help. Killian was working at the sheriff’s station tomorrow; he had taken over all of her duties for the next several weeks, and he needed to sleep. She had to handle this herself.

“She won’t stop crying,” Emma said, her voice pitiful to her own ears. “I can’t get her to nurse. She just…” As if to punctuate that point, the five-week-old took a breath and let out an extra loud wail. Emma continued to bounce the baby in her arms, not that it was doing any good.

“Let me try,” Killian said, coming toward them.

“You have to sleep, babe.”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway, knowing you’re struggling.” His lips quirked up in a half-smile. “Also, she’s very loud.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’ll take her downstairs—”

“Swan, let me try.” He put his hand on the baby’s back and the stump of his left arm pressed against Emma’s back. “Heaven knows you’ve done the same for me quite a number of times.”

“That doesn’t count, that’s just me shoving a boob in her mouth. Which isn’t working now, so…”

“Go lie down for a little while and let me take her.” His voice was so kind and so soothing, and somehow it made Emma both want to cry and to punch him really hard in the face.

“Fine,” she muttered, handing the baby over. Killian tucked her expertly into the crook of his arm. Maureen stopped crying for a few seconds, as if adjusting to her suddenly new perspective on the world, but soon was back to her very loud, full-throated cries.

“Go lie down,” Killian said again. “Let the bad cop have a word alone with this perpetrator.”

Emma tried not to laugh and failed, her bark of amusement raw with the tears that lurked just below the surface. “Please, you’re the good cop; I’m the bad cop.”

“Be that as it may,” he said, shooing her out of the room.

Emma went, slinking down the hall and into their bedroom. She started to close the door to muffle the noise but decided to leave it open a crack, perhaps to punish herself. She didn’t deserve to sleep while Killian was up with the baby, not when she’d bailed on him so spectacularly.

Collapsing on the bed, Emma covered her head with a pillow, pressing it against her ear. Her breasts throbbed, overfilled with the milk that her daughter had refused. That and the sound of Maureen’s cries served as the syncopated drum beat of her failure.

Interspersed among the cries, she could hear Killian singing. She’d hardly ever heard him sing before the baby was born, save for that one time she’d caught him teaching bawdy sea shanties to Henry. Now he sang all the time, lullabies that he’d admitted to surprise that he even remembered. The sound of his voice, lilting and clear, made the tears she’d been holding back finally start to flow.

The pediatrician assured her that Maureen was healthy in every possible way, that she was eating well and gaining weight and that everything was normal. Right now though, at two in the morning, Emma felt like things were anything but normal. Her body felt all wrong, like her hormones were completely out of whack. Clearly her baby knew it too, otherwise, she wouldn’t cry so inconsolably for someone to come save her from such a complete failure of a mother.

She was so wrapped up in her own self-recriminations and misery that it took a minute for Emma to realize that gradually, a calm began to settle over the house. The baby’s cries slowed and slowed and finally stopped, leaving only Killian’s singing. Emma felt her shoulders relax for the first time in hours. She lay still and breathed and listened to the sound of her husband’s voice. After a few more minutes the singing stopped too, and then she heard shuffling footsteps approach the door.

“Emma?” Killian whispered softly, testing if she was awake.

“Yeah?”

“Now that she’s calmed down, would you try again to feed her? She’s rooting against my chest to no avail.”

Emma snorted, rolling over. “There’s a pirate’s chest joke there, but I’m too tired to come up with it.” She beckoned to him. “Bring her here.”

Killian put Maureen in the middle of the bed and sat down gingerly as Emma positioned herself on her side with the baby facing her. She rucked up her t-shirt, shifting herself and the baby into place. It was harder to get her to latch this way and therefore it was a risk, but Emma was too tired to move or think coherently about that. After a couple of false starts, Maureen got her mouth around Emma’s nipple and latched on. A moment of pain was followed by a rush of relief as Emma’s milk let down, and she released a long sigh.

“Okay?” Killian asked, stretching out on his side of the bed, the baby between them.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “So far so good.”

Killian caressed Maureen’s tiny hand, letting her grip his finger, then kissed the baby’s head softly. “She just needed to calm down; she’d worked herself into too much of a lather to nurse.”

“I guess,” Emma said, and her voice audibly trembled. Dammit.

“Oh, love, don’t cry,” Killian said, reaching out to stroke her hair. “It’s okay.”

“I’m terrible at this,” she muttered, her hand cradling the baby’s head.

“You really aren’t.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “We’re just having a rough night.”

Killian’s reassurances just made her feel more upset. She didn’t want to be reassured, she thought as she watched the baby’s jaw work, felt the rhythmic pulls against her breast and tingle of milk flowing. She wanted him to confirm that while maybe she was a good sheriff and could fling magical lightning from her fingers when the situation called for it, mothering an infant was beyond her capabilities.

“Do you know what thought went through my head while she was crying?” she asked him after a while. “What?”

“I was standing there in the nursery, bouncing her and rocking her and none of it was working, and she just kept squalling and I was so tired, like deliriously tired and … for a second, I had a clear image in my head of just… dropping her on the floor. Not that I wanted to do that or would ever,” she added hastily. “But suddenly I could see myself doing it. Dropping her.” Killian continued to stroke her hair, listening and saying nothing. “I think I understand for the first time how people end up abusing babies. Not sympathizing with it — I mean, it’s awful. Monstrous. But I see now where those impulses come from.”

“You would never do that, Emma.”

“I know. But… I didn’t know this would be so hard. I love her so much, but this is really hard.” A tear dripped off the end of her nose and down onto the pillow under her head.

Killian didn’t respond to that, didn’t try to reassure her or argue with her. He just lay next to her and continued to listen.

“I’ll think to myself, why did we do this? Which is horrible; we wanted a baby for so long. How many months was I completely crushed when I got my period? And now I’m begrudging her existence? What kind of evil person am I?”

“You’re a sleep-deprived person,” Killian responded, “and your body is still recovering from a massive trauma.”

Emma glanced down at her abdomen. “Massive is right,” she said with an eye roll.

“Stop it.”

Maureen’s mouth popped off of her breast, and Emma looked down to see her daughter had dozed off. “Oh no, you don’t,” she muttered, scooping up the baby against her chest and rolling onto her back and then onto her other side. “You’re not going to leave me lopsided tonight.” Now with Maureen up against the bed rail they’d installed for this purpose, Emma worked to get her latched onto the other breast. The movement had awoken the baby enough that she soon was suckling again without any fuss.

“Will it bother you if I hold you?” Killian asked.

“No, but you should go to sleep.”

She heard him shift, and then felt the press of his firm chest against her back, his knees folding into the backs of her knees. His hand came up to rest gently on her upper arm. “Would it help if I said it will get easier?”

“No.”

He paused. “Would it help if I said that I love you more today than I’ve ever loved you?”

Emma closed her eyes against another surge of tears and nodded.

“Every day I think I can’t possibly love you any more than I already do, and then you prove me wrong.” She felt his lips press against the back of her head. “You’re a wonderful mother,” he whispered. “And a wonderful wife.”

Silence settled, and Emma listened to the suckling noises of the baby. She ran her finger down Maureen’s cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin, leaning over and inhaling that wonderful baby smell from the top of her downy head.

“I’m supposed to go in for a doctor’s appointment Friday. Can you stay with Maureen while I do that?” she asked.

“Of course. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s routine. It’s that six-week checkup, remember?”

She felt him shake his head. “Sorry, I don’t.”

Emma sighed heavily. “It’s when the doctor checks to make sure everything down there is healed up, and if so she’ll give me the all-clear for sex.”

“Six weeks, right,” Killian said evenly.

Raising an eyebrow he couldn’t see, she asked, “You’re not excited?”

His chuckle rumbled against her back. “I’m a bit too tired to be excited right now, but I assure you I am hypothetically very excited.”

“I feel like I can’t remember what wanting sex feels like,” she said.

He patted her arm. “Between the nursing and the lack of sleep, I can’t say I’m surprised. There’s no rush, darling.”

“You’re going to wear out your hand.”

Killian laughed softly again. “It wouldn’t be the first time. All I mean is we don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.”

Maureen unlatched from her breast with an audible pop again, and Emma looked down into her sleeping face. Her jaw hung slack, a dribble of milk running from the corner of her mouth. Smiling fondly, Emma eased away from her and pulled her t-shirt down.

“Shall I take her back to her crib?”

“I don’t know if we should tempt fate.”

Killian reached over and lifted the baby’s hand, letting it drop. “I think it’s safe.” He got up and made his way around the bed, carefully scooping her into his arms. “Back in a tic.”

Emma rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, listening for Killian’s murmuring as he put the baby to bed. If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d get up and go watch him. She loved the gentle way he touched their daughter, his large hand dwarfing her tiny body. The way he looked at her with such softness that it would melt the hardest of hearts. And, of course, the way he sang to her.

Her thoughts drifted back to their interrupted conversation, and by the time Killian returned, crawling under the covers with a grunt and pulling her into his arms, Emma was very nearly laughing at herself. “So here’s how neurotic I am. At the same time, I don’t want you to be interested in sex because I’m not terribly interested in sex, but I also do want you to be interested in sex because I’m freaking out that you might not find me attractive any more.”

“Swan, aside from anything else, I promise I still find you very attractive.” His hand found the jut of her hip bone, and at his urging she slung her thigh over his legs, snuggling even closer.

“I’m also worried that things down there might not be… that my vagina might be… not as good.” She felt her cheeks flush, and was glad that the only light was the one in the hallway, left on for the next time one of them needed to stumble to the baby’s room. “You had a baby long before I became acquainted with that part of your anatomy, and I can assure you it is more than ‘good.’” His words slurred a little bit, sleep starting to pull him under.

“I was young then. This time, I don’t know.”

“You are bound and determined to worry when you could be sleeping, aren’t you?”

Emma kissed his chest in apology. “Sorry, I’ll shut up.”

Feeling him lift his head, Emma tilted her neck back to meet his eyes. “There are few universal truths in this world, my love, but one of them is surely that I will always find sex with you to be an earth-shattering, transcendent experience that absolutely flattens me.”

She blinked at him a few times. “Wow.”

Killian’s head dropped back onto the pillow.

“Transcendent,” Emma said.

“Aye. Now go to sleep, woman, and allow me to rest up for our eventual…”

“Transcendent, earth-shattering experience?”

He chuckled. “Aye.”

She continued to watch him as he closed his eyes and his breathing evened out. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Swan.”

“And I love our daughter.”

“I know you do.” He squeezed her arm comfortingly.

Emma laid her head back on her husband’s chest and closed her eyes. And in the quiet house, everyone slept.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs babyfic #my fic

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doubleddenden · 5 years ago

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I just do not get her. She disowns me and makes my entire family hate me, then she wants to get back together. She outright refuses my compromises, then sends me texts like i’m her wittle baby boy. she calls crying about how i’m a terrible son and need to be a good grandson to my grandmother who also told me i was going to hell, then she calls and yells at me to stop using her insurance she TOLD me to keep using and that I am legally allowed to do until I turn 26 (in a literal month), she threatens to sue my FUCKING DISABLED FATHER for not being able to provide me with insurance when I turned 18 UNLESS he gets me and her together in the same room together to chat, AND NOW. NOW.

“I miss you so so much it is LITERALLY killing me to not have you in my life, I want to hear from you and how you’ve been.”

Just. FUCK. I managed to go a DAY. A DAY without thinking about that bitch. I was finally maybe starting to recover after a year and a half of her bullshit. And any time I think I’m recovering she just KEEPS COMING THE FUCK BACK! I can’t permanently block her on FB because she somehow keeps finding ways around it somehow. I can’t block her from calling me because she keeps changing her numbers. I can’t change my cell phone number because I have had it for over ten years and that’s the only thing my family and friends remember. Its the only thing I remember. I can’t move off because I can’t find work and I can’t get hired and I have to stay and take care of my dad while my sister goes galavanting across the country with her family, SHE BEING THE ROOT CAUSE OF IT ALL MIND YOU.

What the fuck. Just take the fucking hint. I am done. I am not even that mad so much as I am scared of her. She’s clearly a psychopath! She clearly has something mental! It’s the only way I can think of that she has successfully managed to drive away her own two kids and her 5 step kids and so many other family members. Like my sister may have caused this bullshit to begin with but I had no quarry to begin with! And my mother STILL threw me under the fucking bus! She was DRIVING the fucking bus!

Like what the fuck else am I supposed to do??? “Oh hey hi I know you’re a fucking crazy lunatic that disowned me and made my head-space a living hell for over a year and a half and messed up my self-esteem and personality beyond repair and fucking turned my family against me and made me afraid to go out into the city and afraid to run into any cop and you keep guilt tripping me and threatening my precious small family I have left with whatever bullshit comes to mind BUT SUUUURE I FORGIVE YA MAMA.”

I would sooner take a flaming ladle up my ass than give her the satisfaction.

I just can’t stand this. I can’t stand this at all. I just want to leave, I want money to leave, fuck off to some other country, erase my existence to all but like 10 people, find myself a nice group of friends to party and get drunk with on the weekends, and just retire in a beach hut and play games until my depression is gone and my sanity is back. I’m so tired of constantly trying to hold everything together when shit keeps falling apart.

Like. The fucked up thing is I can’t even have death to escape. If I do, then nobody will take care of the dogs, or my dad, or my aunt, nobody will finish any of my stories, nobody will even REMEMBER ME beyond that one guy that didn’t talk much. Like. My pride won’t let me go through that. I hate myself more than any other person on the planet, but I can’t allow myself to be forgotten as just another person. I have responsibilities I trust nobody else to do. Plus if I die, I make my friends sad. I potentially put my family through another feud with her. I can’t do it.

AND IT SUCKS. I would love to just pack everything up and just hitch hike to a better life, but it has consequences. I would love to just tell her to fuck off forever and leave me alone, but that could also have consequences.

And this is where I realize. My life isn’t even mine. My life belongs to everyone BUT me. I owe too much money to people, people are too attached to me, I have to take care of people, I have to take care of dogs, I can’t even say I own my dreams because I am a prisoner of perfectionism and cannot finish shit!

Because of that woman I gave up any self-esteem of trying to be the best at anything because she kept telling me “Don’t get your hopes up”. I have self-esteem issues because she kept trying to put me on diets and kept telling me I smelled bad after SHOWERING or that I need to aim “lower” when it came to girls I liked. I gave up my dreams of becoming an artists or a cartoonist or an animator or writer or journalist or going to my dream school BECAUSE OF THAT BITCH.

Now i’m a soon to be 26 year old bachelor whose longest relationship was a week and probably ended because she was chased off, I have a bachelor’s degree that’s USELESS UTTERLY USELESS BULLSHIT USELESS, my last paying job was 5 years ago, I am up to my neck where the rope is in debt, all of my friends live half way across the state or country, even even across the world, AND GUESS WHAT. I’M GOING BALD! My hair is thinning! I had my first haircut at 3 months old and now I’m losing my fucking hair and I’m not even 30 yet! I’m actively considering saving up $40 for fucking rogain!

Fuck. I need alcohol. fuck this shit. fuck that bitch. fuck my life. fuck everything.

And fuck this stupid fucking diet. I’m going to get ice cream. At least I have control over that.

#vent #she strikes again #don't read #don't panic either #i'm just mad and need to blow steam

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live4thelord-blog1 · 6 years ago

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What Did Jesus Call Us? – A Homily for the 4th Sunday of Easter

The Lord says, “My sheep hear my voice.” That’s right, He called us sheep. Get a little indignant with me here! The Lord is comparing us not to majestic eagles, beautiful gazelles, swift horses, mighty lions, or clever doges, but to sheep. While reality may hurt, the truth can liberate. Although sheep are considered somewhat lowly animals, they are valuable as well. Let’s consider today’s Gospel in three stages.

I. THE SIGN OF THE SHEEP – What does the Lord mean in using sheep as a sign for us? Here are some qualities of sheep that may help illustrate what He is teaching.

Sheep are WAYWARD – They tend to wander off. A sheep will graze for a while and then look around and seem to wonder, “Where am I?” He doesn’t know how to get back to the fold unless the shepherd goes out and brings him back. Sheep just keep on going and don’t come back. Dogs and cats can find their way home, horses can find the barn, but sheep can’t manage to find their way back without the shepherd seeking them out and guiding them.

Don’t tell me that doesn’t describe us! Like sheep, we have gone astray, each to his own way (Isaiah 53:6). Yes, we easily become lost. We need the sheepfold of the Church; we need Christ the Shepherd, ministering through His Pope, bishops, and priests. Without that we would just wander here and there.

Sheep are WITLESS – Sheep are just not that bright. We train dogs, birds, horses, and even lions, but you don’t hear about trained sheep too frequently!

We human sheep like to think we’re smart. Sure, we’ve been to the moon, and we have all this advanced technology, but too many of us aren’t even bright enough to pray every day, go to Mass on Sundays, and follow God’s basic directions for life.

We’re so witless that we do things that we know will harm us. Even the simplest directions from God we either confuse or stubbornly refuse to follow. We cop an attitude and say, “We know a few things too.” That’s right, we know very few things.

In fact, we’re so dumb that we think we’re smarter than God! We think our way is better than His way. Now that is really dumb!

Sheep are WEAK – Sheep have no way to protect themselves. Mules can kick, cats can scratch, dogs can bite, rabbits can run away, and skunks—well, you know what they can do—but without the care of the shepherd and the help of sheep dogs, sheep are doomed! The wolf comes and all they can do is stand there get devoured.

So it is with us. If it were not for the care of Jesus the Good Shepherd, we’d be cornered by the world, the flesh, and the devil. If it were not for the Lord and the power of His grace, we would be toast!

We like to think we’re strong; we have armies, political power, monetary power, and star power that can feed that illusion. Then at the slightest temptation we fall! We need the Lord and His grace and mercy, or we don’t stand a chance. We are weak and prone to sin.

YET …

Sheep are WORTHWHILE – In Jesus’ day, many a man counted his wealth by the number of sheep he owned. Shepherds made many sacrifices to breed, herd, and protect these valuable animals, which provided meat, milk, and wool. So it is with us. At times we may not feel worthy, but apparently we were worth saving because the Lord paid the price of our redemption. He knew the price and paid it all—not with silver and gold but with His own precious blood (1 Peter 1:18-19).

Sheep WALK together – Sheep flock together and are safer that way. To be a solitary sheep is dangerous; it’s a good way to get eaten.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour (1 Peter 5:8). Scripture also says, Woe to the solitary man! For if he should fall, he has no one to lift him up (Eccles 4:10). Sheep are not supposed to go off on their own, and neither are we.

We are called to part of a flock and to be under the care of a shepherd. Most of us realize this in a parish setting, but in the wider sense, each of us is under the care of a bishop and ultimately the care of the Pope, who is the chief shepherd and Vicar of Christ, the Good Shepherd.

The Lord Jesus said that there is to be one flock and one shepherd (John 10:16). God wants us to be in the protection of the flock with a shepherd watching over us. An old spiritual says, “Walk together, children. Don’t you get weary. There’s a great camp meeting in the promised land.” Too many like to point out that the Pope doesn’t know this or that, but please consider that to wander from the care of the flock and the shepherd is a mighty dangerous thing.

Sheep are WARY – In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, He who enters by the door is the shepherd of the sheep. To him the gatekeeper opens; the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers (John 10:11-14).

Sheep have the remarkable quality of knowing their master’s voice and of instinctively fearing any other.

In this matter, sheep are smarter than most of us, for we do not flee voices contrary to Christ’s. Instead, we draw close to those voices and ask, “Tell me more.” In fact, we spend a lot of time and money to listen to those other voices. We buy televisions so that the enemy’s voice can influence us and our children. We spend large amounts of time watching television, listening to the radio, and perusing the Internet.

Yes, we can so easily be drawn to the enemy’s voice. Not only do we not flee from it, we feast upon it. Instead of rebuking it, we rebuke the voice of God. We put His Word on trial instead of putting the world on trial.

We must be more wary, like sheep, and respond only to one voice: that of the Lord speaking though His Church. We must flee every other voice.

II. THE SAFETY OF THE SHEEP – Jesus goes on to say, my sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me. No one can take them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand.

Note Jesus’ promise that He will not be overpowered, no one can snatch from His hand. The Book of Daniel says, His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom that shall not be destroyed, his kingship shall not be destroyed (Dan 7:14). In no way can the devil have power over Jesus or His flock.

This is all predicated on what’s been said: if we want protection and safety, we have to know only Jesus’ voice and stop running after all sorts of false shepherds and contrary voices. We have to stay with the true Shepherd, Jesus, and within the protection of His flock. If you want safety, stay in the shelter of Jesus’ shepherding.

Let us be clear on this point: no weapon waged against us can ever prosper (Isaiah 54:17). Satan cannot harm us unless we open the door. Satan is like a dog on a leash: he can only harm us if we get too close to him through our own foolish decisions! Satan is a chained dog; do not stray into his range or territory!

Yet so many people do! They savor the darkness of pop culture, visit pornographic Internet sites, consume a steady diet of revengeful “action” movies, and are drawn in by commercials telling them to buy the latest product with its promises of empty fulfillment. A steady stream of polluted water and then we wonder why we are sick and weak, full of the parasites of sin.

Is it any wonder that our thinking is distorted, unbiblical, dark, and foolish? At least sheep know to flee a false shepherd. Too many of us are intrigued by the ranting of false shepherds. We glamorize evil and fill our minds with false teaching and improper priorities.

Thus, while no one can snatch from Jesus’ hand, this is not some magical protection that prevents us from foolishly and sinfully walking away from Him. If we do walk away, woe to us; if we stray, our strength will fail!

Pay attention, fellow sheep: do not stray from the Shepherd. The protection of the Lord is only for those who desire and freely choose such protection. He can protect you, but not if you live a double life or open the door to your heart to Satan. The Lord is not a slave owner; He is a lover who invites us to freely accept His offer of new life rooted in a loving and trusting relationship with Him.

Do you know His voice? Do you know only His voice? Do you run form every voice contrary to His, or do you seek counselors who tell you what your itching ears want to hear? (cf 2 Tim 4:3) If you remain true, you have the protection of the Savior Jesus Christ, and nothing will ever harm you (Luke 10:19)—but if you stray, be not surprised at the presence of wolves.

III. THE SALVATION OF THE SHEEP – The text goes on to say, I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish.

For the flock of the Lord there is the gift of “eternal life.” Too many Christians equate this with some distant future that they vaguely hope to attain.

Eternal life does mean the capacity to “live forever and never die,” but it is so much more than that! “Eternal” refers not only to length of life but to its fullness.

In this sense, eternal life is now, as we become ever more aware that If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation (2 Cor 5:17). Of this I am a witness, being far more alive in my fifties than I ever was in my twenties! My body ages, but my soul is younger and more vibrant than ever.

Here is the promise to lay hold of: those who are in the shepherd’s care come, in stages, to experience life more fully, to become more fully alive. Jesus our Shepherd promises us eternal life, but this does not wait until Heaven—it is now. We sheep are brought to salvation, to healing, if we will accept it. If we choose freedom and the Shepherd’s cares, it is ours! If we reject some or all of it, then we live apart from His care and vision and become easy prey for savage wolves.

Are you smarter than a sheep? Do you know how to recognize the Shepherd’s voice and follow only Him, or are you foolishly running after worldly advice and sinful priorities? On this Good Shepherd Sunday, strive to be good sheep.

Yes, He called us that—sheep. Sheep have this going for them: they recognize only their shepherd’s voice and run from any other

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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BoJack Horseman is not a good person.

That seems self-evident. Over the course of his show’s first four seasons, he’s nearly slept with teenagers. He’s been privy to the overdose and death of a young woman who looked up to him. He’s drank and caroused and just generally burned his life down, over and over again. But he’s rich and powerful. He has money. He has fame. He has excuses, like the undiagnosed depression, or the chemical dependencies, or the shitty childhood.

But he still does bad things. And yet he is not a bad person, necessarily.

He does care for people, and he occasionally thinks beyond himself to care about them on a non-superficial level. He’s helped out many friends, and in the show’s fourth season, he was a surprisingly stable rock for the woman eventually revealed to be his half-sister, who found herself trying to track down her roots (she was given up for adoption) and instead found… BoJack.

The gap between BoJack as he wants to be seen and BoJack as he actually is has always driven BoJack Horseman. It’s one of the reasons I suggested, back in the show’s second season, that it would be a successor to Mad Men, and I’m astonished at how the series hasn’t really gone wrong since. It just might be the single best TV show in production right now, with great laughs but also rich, thoughtful character depth.

And in season five, BoJack Horseman brings all of that character development down around its ears, in a stretch of episodes that represents the most precise dissection of BoJack Horseman yet — and perhaps the first truly sustained artistic response to the #MeToo movement, albeit one that was largely crafted before the fall of Harvey Weinstein (though Mel Gibson was on the show’s writers’ mind).

Look out, folks. Major, major spoilers for season five follow. If you haven’t seen it, look away!

If you’ve seen the entire fifth season of BoJack, then you’ll perhaps recognize that my attempt to frame him as neither a good nor a bad person is deliberate. That is, after all how Diane — perhaps BoJack’s truest friend in the whole world — explains her friend to himself when, in a fit of self-loathing, he asks her to essentially destroy his career by writing the sort of exposé of his terrible deeds that has taken down so many other Hollywood bigwigs, in our reality and his.

But Diane refuses to do that, telling BoJack that he’s not a good person or a bad person — he’s just a person. (Or, rather, a horseman, but you get the point.) Yes, he’s done all of those terrible things, and yes, his career might end because of them. But she’s not going to be the one to set that outcome in motion, because it would, on some level, be doing him a favor. It would be indulging one of his self-destructive impulses, and she’s not going to let him commit career suicide by journalist.

As I watched this sequence unfold, I wondered if I would end up feeling like it was a cop-out, if I would grumble to myself at how creator Raphael Bob-Waksberg and his writers had tiptoed up to the precipice of holding their main character accountable in a forum larger than his own mind, then tiptoed right back. In the season’s last section, BoJack checks into rehab to work to contain his latest addiction (to painkillers). The show he was on gets canceled. The reset button is hit.

But the more I think about this sequence and the many leading up to it in season five, the more I think Bob-Waksberg and company haven’t avoided holding their protagonist accountable. After all, if any showbiz satire on television could plumb the depths of its main character being held accountable for past misdeeds by a #MeToo-esque movement, it’s BoJack Horseman, which is as haunted by the past as any great ghost story.

BoJack has an idea — sort of. Netflix

It’s easy enough to imagine BoJack’s ghosts stepping into the light. It’s easy enough to imagine the rest of the series taking place in a world where BoJack keeps fighting to get his career back, only to realize that the meaning of words like “redemption” and “forgiveness” has to be more than skin deep. And it’s easy enough to imagine these writers finding a way to make that battle resonate with our current era.

But that is also, on some level, too easy an answer for this show. BoJack wants Diane to write an article taking him down, because he wants to punish himself. He doesn’t believe he’s worthy of love or admiration or anything good, because he’s done monstrous things. He wants someone to slot him into the role of villain, because he knows that he has acted like a villain and might still do so again. And once he’s accomplished that, he can finally drift away, secure in having isolated everyone he cared about.

BoJack Horseman has always been about how our worst impulses feed into each other, all of the ways that mental illness can feed addiction, or that addiction can feed doing terrible things to other people. (BoJack physically assaults his female co-star and lover this season, in an on-set stunt that goes horribly wrong partly because he’s so high.) And the show concentrates on this theme not to excuse bad behavior, but, instead, to try to help us understand how it can be better combatted before it happens, how self-loathing becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of destruction — I am a shitty person, who does shitty things. Well, what if you’re not?

Yes, there are monsters in the world. But there are also so many people like BoJack, who have done monstrous things — perhaps many monstrous things — but who are not beyond redemption, who might yet be forgiven. What does that look like? And how do we find our way there? Answering those questions is the work of the rest of this remarkable series, I suspect, but it’s also ground zero for season five.

The role BoJack plays in season five is that of a disturbed and distressed detective named Philbert, in a series named Philbert (just as BoJack Horseman is named for BoJack Horseman). Run by the self-proclaimed genius Flip McVicker (a very funny Rami Malek), the in-show series allows BoJack to lampoon just about every trend of dark cable and streaming dramas, which leads to some of the season’s best jokes.

But it also adds a surprisingly important thematic underpinning to the entire season, as these sorts of dark dramas are often about those who seek to skirt responsibility for terrible things they’ve done. When Philbert suspects that he might be the one who killed his wife (the crime that haunts him), his show lets him off the hook by inventing a twist that proves he didn’t do it. It’s indicative of a culture addicted to pretending responsibility is a joke, that if you really try hard enough, you can absolve yourself of bad deeds without having to work at redemption.

These ideas course through the season, with each and every character longing to avoid responsibility for something they’ve done — be it playing a part in a crumbling marriage, not breaking up with someone who’s not going to be a good long-term partner, or the darker deeds of BoJack.

Don’t worry. Everybody else is back too. Netflix

But the series also twins that idea with the idea of blame, the idea of finding a scapegoat and sometimes even a completely justifiable scapegoat. The most daring episode of the season is its sixth, which consists entirely of a single long monologue delivered by BoJack, a eulogy for his recently deceased mother. (If Will Arnett doesn’t win an Emmy for his voice performance, it will be a bigger travesty than usual.) It’s a full episode’s worth of grappling with what it means to be someone’s child and maybe someone’s parent, with how hard it can be to have traumas you weren’t privy to visited upon you by a parent, with the challenge of accepting that you might have inherited their damage, might literally be carrying their time bomb in your genes.

But even as the series insists we can inherit damage, can have trauma visited upon us, it doesn’t let those who pass along that trauma to others get off easily. If there is a reason BoJack can remain our protagonist, it’s because he, however fitfully, makes a few steps forward every season. Season five might feature his blackest pit yet, but it also features genuine moments of kindness between him and his friends, and what might amount to his most successful relationship yet on the show — before he destroys it with his actions, that is.

I realize this makes the series sound a little like Philbert, at least in the sense that it’s a self-important slog. And the construction of season five might be a little less cohesive than the show’s gorgeous, devastating season four. (I will have to watch it six more times to be sure.) But the series remains as winning and funny as ever alongside all of this, and possessed of a confidence in its ability to do whatever it likes — including staging an episode where two characters who seemingly have nothing to do with the main plot fill us in on the other characters’ adventures anyway. There’s also side story involving a mad sex robot who ends up running the series’ version of Netflix. What’s not to love?

And yet it doesn’t matter if season five is BoJack’s best season yet or not quite as good as last season or [insert your ranking here]. It feels ever more like a miracle that this show exists and that it refuses to give lazy answers to complicated questions. There is no show as effective at plowing this particular ground and at finding answers that are at once satisfying and elusive. It is a beautiful show, and one that constantly finds new ways to surprise me.

Long may it run.

BoJack Horseman’s five seasons are all available on Netflix. Did I forget to mention that BoJack is a literal horse man, and the show takes place in a world full of bipedal animals who live alongside humans? Well, it does, but you probably knew that already.

Original Source -> BoJack Horseman season 5 is a bold, bracing look at a culture that shirks responsibility

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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thesassybooskter · 7 years ago

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THE WEDDING FROM HELL PART 1: THE REHEARSAL DINNER by J. R. Ward: Spotlight & Excerpt

NOW AVAILABLE / GALLERY BOOKS

Don’t miss #1 New York Times bestselling author J.R. Ward’s three-part ebook serialization: The Wedding From Hell. This exclusive prequel to her upcoming standalone suspense Consumed (available in Fall 2018) takes us back to where it all started between arson investigator Anne Ashburn and ‘bad boy’ firefighter Danny Maguire. The Wedding From Hell is a sexy standalone novella that sets up Consumed’s storyline, leaving fans hungry for more and dying to snatch it up.

It’s a classic recipe for disaster: Take one bridesmaid who thinks pink is the root of all evil, mix with a best man who’s hotter than a four-alarm fire, add in their explosive sexual attraction, a nightmare bridezilla, two cat fights, and an emergency call, and you have the wedding from hell.

Experience the sizzling start of Anne and Danny’s intense relationship. Is this the start of something good…or just an erotic one-night stand that rocks their world, but must never be repeated?

Buy Online: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

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Excerpt

Thursday, October 29

T minus 48 hours ’til blastoff

College Row, New Brunswick, Massachusetts

Because women are not frickin’ groomsmen! That’s why she can’t be in the goddamn wedding!”

As Anne Ashburn walked in the back door of the shotgun apartment, that happy little explosion was not only what she’d expected all along, it also offered her the out she’d been praying for. And it was probably the one and only time she was ever going to agree with the bride.

Not about the role of females in bridal parties, but that Anne wasn’t going to be in the “goddamn wedding.”

Everyone standing in the kitchen turned and looked at her: Deandra Cox, the impending wearer of the white dress; Robert “Moose” Miller, her exhausted fiancé and Anne’s fellow crew member down at the 499 fi rehouse; and . . . Dannyboy Maguire.

Who was the only one she really noticed and, for that reason, the person she refused to look at.

Too bad Danny always made an impression. Like most firefighters, he was in great physical shape, his big body thickly muscled and ready to snap into motion in an instant. With his heavy arms linked over that chest and his long legs crossed at the boots, he was leaning back against the chipped countertop, his too-blue stare missing nothing. He was fresh from a shower, his glossy black hair wet, and Anne tried not to picture him naked under the spray, his tattooed torso arching as he rinsed the shampoo out of his—

She put her hands up to stop herself as much as the argument. “Look, I don’t want to cause any problems. I’m happy to step aside—”

“And now I have one too many bridesmaids.” The bride-to-be refocused on her intended. “My count is wrong. You wait until two days before the wedding to tell me this when you know I’m not going to like it, and now my count is off!”

As the groom focused on the linoleum floor, it was impossible not to picture a wax version of the couple on a multi-tiered cake: Deandra in skinny jeans and that tight cashmere sweater, her dark hair streaked blond, her body cocked forward like she was going to throat-punch the man she was going to marry; Moose in his New Brunswick Fire Department T-shirt, all broad-shouldered and bearded around the face, easing back like someone with the flu was about to sneeze in his face.

Ah, true love.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Moose muttered. “Anne’s a member of the four-nine-nine crew, and everyone else is with me.”

“She’s a girl.” Deandra pointed at Anne. “It throws off everything.”

“I really don’t want to cause any problems.” Anne put her hands up again. “So I’ll just be in the congregation. It’s perfectly fine—”

Deandra’s glare swung Anne’s way. “The count is still wrong. And my friends have already paid for their dresses. They were a hundred and twenty dollars apiece.”

And that’s my cue to go, Anne thought. Moose may have volunteered for this, but no one else had or needed to—

“I think women can be whatever they want.”

As Danny spoke up, everyone looked at him—including Anne, who suddenly felt shades of what Deandra was throwing out.

Don’t you dare, she mouthed at him behind the bride’s back.

Danny just shrugged like he’d thrown on a pantsuit and was channeling Oprah, Michelle Obama, and Hillary Clinton all at once. “I mean, Deandra, you’re above all that sexism, aren’t you? No one’s going to tell you what’s right and wrong for your own wedding. You’re more secure than that.”

I am going to kill you, Anne vowed. “I think Deandra wants things done properly for her only wedding.”

Danny frowned in pseudo-confusion. “So you’re saying it’s okay to have a double standard for men and women? That’s a shocker given how you are at the station. I thought you believed in equality.”

“I do,” Anne snapped. “But this isn’t about equality.”

“You sure? I don’t know how you can support traditional gender roles when it comes to a wedding ceremony at the same time you defend the right for women to be firefighters, cops, and on the front lines in the military.”

“Spare me someone who’s never been in a dress having an opinion about women’s issues, okay?”

“I’m just pointing out that you don’t want women out of dresses.”

“It’s her wedding.” Anne jabbed a finger at Deandra. “She’s the bride. She gets to say what’s right and wrong for her, and she does not need some man telling her what to do.”

“Even if I’m defending the rights of women?”

“Until you grow a set of ovaries, you can shut the hell up about our rights!”

As Anne’s voice ricocheted around the kitchen, she realized that she’d marched right up to Danny—and that Deandra and Moose were watching the two of them in total stillness.

She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Anyway, Deandra’s made up her mind. And I support her decision.”

Deandra’s eyes narrowed on Danny, and something about the way the woman looked at him didn’t seem right.

“Actually,” the bride said, “maybe she should be in the wedding party.”

Anne prayed her expression stayed neutral. “Don’t compromise your vision on my account.”

“I won’t.” The woman stared at Danny. “Fine. Let’s put her in a tuxedo like the rest of the men. She can walk my sister down the aisle, just like a man should. Her shoulders are too big for a gown, anyway, and that way my count stays the way it should.”

Anne rolled her eyes. Let’s hear it for girl power.

“So it’s settled,” Deandra said with a tight smile. “You need a tux. Unless you already own one.”

For a moment, Anne waited for somebody to argue with the woman. Like Moose. But he was clearly done falling on swords over the wedding details, and Danny had just gotten what he wanted so he wasn’t going to say a damn thing.

And the truth was, after how many years of fighting fires with these men, they were her brothers in all but blood. Even though she thought Moose had lost his ever-loving mind marrying this beautiful but sour woman after knowing her for a matter of months, Anne was still going to stand up for the guy if he wanted her to—and he did. He’d asked her down at the stationhouse specifically.

“Where did you guys rent your suits?” Anne said to him.

“Tuxedoes,” Deandra corrected.

The groom blinked like he’d forgotten how to speak English. Then again, he’d been doing that a lot at the firehouse lately. “You’re actually going to wear one?”

“What the hell do I care?”

“Yes, she is wearing one,” Deandra cut in.

Danny spoke up. “I’ll go with you. I know where the place is.”

About J.R. Ward

J.R. Ward is a #1 New York Times bestselling author with more than 15 million novels in print published in 25 different countries around the world. The books in her popular Black Dagger Brotherhood series have held the #1 spot on the New York Times hardcover, mass market, eBook, and combined print/eBook fiction bestseller lists and have debuted in the top 5 on the USA Today bestseller list.

Prior to her writing career, Ward worked as a lawyer in Boston and spent many years as the Chief of Staff of one of Harvard’s world-renowned academic medical centers. Ward currently lives with her family in Kentucky where she has learned to enjoy and appreciate all things Southern. Connect with her online at her website, Facebook and Twitter.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

THE WEDDING FROM HELL PART 1: THE REHEARSAL DINNER by J. R. Ward: Spotlight & Excerpt was originally published on The Sassy Bookster

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thelostdaimon-blog · 7 years ago

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Just In Case

I get not wanting to go to my IG page...maybe you don’t even have an IG, so here is ALMOST all my post on my IG to catch you up on some of the writing i do. Not all of them have names, but they should be all separated by my name.

Tell me you want to love me

Tell me that I'm your one and only

Tell me that I will be your everything

Tell me why those words seem to sting

Why do they leave such a sour taste

Why does their meaning feel so displaced

Why do I feel like you are giving me excuses

Why do I feel like my emotions leave me useless

And when things ended so abruptly, was it me

And when I see you with her, am I to act carefree

And when my heart breaks, is it not suppose to hurt

And when this all happens, am I not to fall apart?

Don't worry about me, I'll be alright in the end

Don't worry about my feelings, no need to make amends

Don't worry about my heart, it used to being broken

Don't worry about my words, nothing else needs to be spoken

D’Anna Nicole

Every time you say I love you

I never know what to do

My heart skips a beat

My souls feels complete

And I have to wonder if it's really true

Every time I say I love you

Are you feeling anything new

Do these words have the power I want them to hold

Do they make you feel like you are finally whole

Maybe their meaning has fallen through

D’Anna Nicole

From “You”

Why do I wear my heart in my sleeve

And my feelings on my chest?

Why are my thoughts tattooed down my legs

And my past engraved on my skin?

Why is every word I write bleeding red

As if it came from my own veins?

Why is every word I speak painfully light

As if it was ripped out from my lungs?

Why do my fingers shake the pen in my hand

Like I'm afraid of what the ink may say?

Why do my arms wrap so carefully around me

Like they are so ready to give me crumbling body false security?

D’Anna Nicole

From “fairytales”

When I was younger I’d hideaway

Tucked in my own world everyday

From my mother’s excuse

For my father’s abuse

My books became Bibles

For a Godless world without disciples

D’Anna Nicole

From “a rose by…”

She bled once for her mother who only knew how to leave her

She blood twice for her father who never knew how to love her

She bled for every cruel word that was ever spoken to her

She bled for every man who tried to love her but only left her

Her blood painting picturesque poetry of passions and paradise

Overlaid on patterns of unsurmountable pain meant to entice

Her mind into believing that she was actually good enough

That someday she could actually be loved by someone

And if there is a single thing she learned from that day

It's that your soul will always be stained red, you can't wash it away

D’Anna Nicole

We layed in bed silently intertwined. My head on his chest, I traced the outline of the tattoos placed above his heart. I listened to each of his heartbeats, trying to put it to song so I could remember it, every moment; when he was gone.

D’Anna Nicole

It's the morning of surgery

When I went in and wondered

This is as simple as it gets

But I have tinges of regrets

What if something were to happen

What if the simple went wrong

There are things I haven't done yet

People I love that need to be kept

That when I realized I hadn't lived

I hadn't experienced life the way I was meant to

D’Anna Nicole

Sometimes I have to sit and ponder When is it that our minds decided change From believing in all the world's wonder To being weighed down by our own chains

D’Anna Nicole

I miss you and I love you I could never forget you The hug we shared and The kisses that showed you cared I don't ever want to know a day Where I can't be with you I know I couldn't ask you to stay So I'll find a way to pull through But it won't be the same Hearing you say my name No it won't be the same And I'm the one to blame How I felt, just wasn't enough And what I said, didn't compare And we chose not to discuss The love we knew we shared So I miss you and I love you I could never forget you But I've been left here and Without you, I'll disappear.

D’Anna Nicole

I see your name and I smile

If only it be for a little while

I can pretend as if I was still with you

As if this weekend we would do what we usually do

But that's not true

When I see your name I want to cry

Because your smile is too far away from mine

I would see you like I normally would

For its just an image on my screen

I have no reason to rhyme

There's no more rhythm in my heart

There's no more song in my soul

It's bleak

And motionless

I deserve nothing less

Than to see you everyday and to hear you say

My name on the tips of your lips

As if it were divine and forbidden

As if when you said it, you would possess me

You never wanted that for me

You always wanted to see me grow

To be the best version of me I could be

But at what cost

Never being with me

Is it good enough for you to know I’m alright

Even though I'll never be truly happy without you

Is it good enough to know that I'm safe

Even though it's not in the security of your arms

It's not enough for me

Tell me I made the right choice again

When most of the time it feels so wrong

Tell me it's for my future and education

When it all feels second to you

Don't regret it

I could try my best not to

But I regret not being with you

I could try my best to make the most of it

But I regret not sharing these moments with you

Was my love not enough?

For you to see it was always you

For you to feel the pain of letting you go

For you to know just how much I wanted you

For you to taste every bittersweet moment we had

Because now you're gone

Now I'm gone

It's gone

And we may never get it back

I see you

I see the disbelief on your face as you see your little brother lifeless on the ground

I hear you

I hear the screams you shouted wishing he'd come back to you

I smell the scent of your cologne still on the shirt you let him borrow

I feel the regret filling your heart knowing they were looking for you

I taste

I taste the darkness filling your heart when you look at his girl and mother this way

I wish

I wish it didn't have to be this way

D’Anna Nicole

I want to be the one to make you happy but you never give me the chance I want to be the one you've always wanted But you leave without a second glance I am here if you want me The truth is I always have been I am here if you are willing To ever try and do this again

D’Anna Nicole

With a bullet in my chest

The cold hard ground becomes my bed

Where I could wake up and restart this day again

And show him how much that I cared

My breath is leaving me

And I can hear the cops running past me

I can hear more shots being fired

And I see his body fall beside me

When I looked into his eyes

I think I saw a glimmer and realized

He didn't want to die

And neither did I

As I lay there

Feeling life leaving my body

I remembered

He asked me for help last September

D’Anna Nicole

Put a smile on your face

And pretend everything is alright

Put on your battle paint

Because we’re fighting a war tonight

D’Anna Nicole

When I think about happiness

I always think of you

Love, is the word you say that makes me happiest

Love, is the only thing I know I feel that is true

You are the reason I am who I am today

Opening up was never easy to do, but so easy with you

Unlike any others, I don't want to go without you even for a day

My life only truly began when you entered it

And through all my ups and downs, you were there for me

Remember our summer, our kisses, our night moonlit

Remember our love, so deep, passionate, and carefree

You say you'll love me always, and I feel the same for you

My life I refuse to live or end without you

Everlasting love is all I'll ever feel, so I have one question for you

D’Anna Nicole

Momma you always told me to be careful

And you know I always listened

But them why did this have to happen

I was being safe that night momma, I promise

I didn’t drink a single drop that night

I was walking home the night he forgot what the law is

Momma I didn’t know anything was wrong

Until I smelled the coke and Hennessy

But by then, his headlights were the only thing I could see

D’Anna Nicole

It's plain and simple

It only comes down to this

I love you more than you know

And I just want you to be mine

Only mine

Forever

D’Anna Nicole

Carry me on your shoulders

As if I were your own sweet mockingbird

Carry me in your heart

As if you’ve never had it broken before

Carry me to the mountain top

Let the wind carry you in its wings

Only then can we really be free

Only then can we truly see

Only then can we fully be

The colors of the wind

The strength in the mountain

The love in life

D’Anna Nicole

I was weak when you first came across me

But I became stronger when I was with you

Now I’m without you

And I’m left to wonder

Did you ever want to me with me?

Did you ever truly love me like you say?

Did you ever want want to continue what we had?

They say “if you love something set it free.”

“If they come back, it was always meant to be”

Here I am sitting waiting for you

Are you waiting for me?

D’Anna Nicole

I stand by your side. Even though it hurts me.

I stand by your side even though my heart is shattered.

Your secret admirer whoever could it be?

Why can't you see, all along it was me? I guess it never mattered.

If only you knew how much I love you.

If only you knew that I was there.

If only you knew the way I look at you.

If only you knew how much I care

D’Anna Nicole

Colorless eyes

No teeth

Hard to rise

Can barely breathe

Life's been great to look back on

But then I realize it's almost gone

Mom’s face is fading from my memory

Life is just a cycle, it lives on infinitely

D’Anna Nicole

But I’m rooted in who I am

And like the tree that I’ll become

I will follow the path toward the sun

And if I get intertwined along the way

Well then that’s OK

But right now I’m just a sapling

With the world out there to see

And I’m still grasping

At what I’ll become

And it’s true that I don’t know the outcome

And although you may think those who wander are lost

I disagree, because I believe

It’s not about the destination

It’s about the journey

And while the wheel in the sky keeps turning

I can’t stop believing

No matter how faithfully devoted I was to you

I’m the one that’s crying now

And although you aren’t that far away

I feel like we are worlds apart

And it just keeps getting worse

So maybe

Just maybe

It’s time to go our separate ways

D’Anna Nicole

You want to know what it means for me to love you? It means I can't go a single day without thinking about you at least once. It means that every song I hear some how brings me back to you It means every night I dream of you I dream of all the time we spent with each other I dream of a future we could have together I dream I am laying with you, close to you, hearing each beat of your heart and feeling each of your breaths synchronized with mine It means that every time someone asks me if there is someone in my life, my every fiber begs to scream yes in utter bliss It means I find myself crying some nights because I only ever want to be with you, but you let me go so far away It means that I have lost a part of myself because for me to love you means you own my heart.

D’Anna Nicole

Am I really so unlovable

That I can't even manage

To find a way to love

Myself

D’Ana Nicole

Success and happiness

The one thing we are all looking for

But what is success and happiness but an idea

A thought

Success is worth more to us than anything imaginable

Some would give up everything to have it

Tale of giving up your born child

Or selling your soul to the devil

But it never seems to be enough

We greed for more

Why?

In the hopes that it'll bring us happiness

But if you are looking for happiness in your success

Will it ever come?

In my experience,

No.

You will constantly try to be more successful

But your happiness

Your true happiness

Will never come

So I urge you

Find it within yourself

Not to find happiness in your success

But instead

Find success in your happiness

Only then can you truly be

Successful

And

Happy

D’Anna Nicole

I've never been someone's first choice

No matter how many time I've cried

No matter how many times I've prayed

I'll always come second to someone else

I just want someone to want to be with me

Is that too much to ask for

Just this once

I want to be first

D’Anna Nicole

She tried to pretend to be content with what she had with him

But she would never be satisfied with a future so grim

Oh, how much she wanted just to be with him somehow

As if she was Juliet pleading, “Wherefore art thou!”

But she knew any and all efforts to tell him this,

How much she wanted to be with him, would be fruitless

Because she was picked to be rooted and moved elsewhere

Too far away from her dear lovers care

He wants her to go, to watch her flourish and grow

She, willing to stay, to be loved by him, her Romeo

D’Anna Nicole

I love you now the way I loved you then. my feelings for you have never changed and my love for you has no end. We've been through a lot, both together and apart, but I've always known it was you from the start. Not a day had gone by that I haven't thought of you and everything we've been through. I'm so happy that no matter what happens between us, I can still earn back your trust. I may not deserve it and I certainly don't deserve you, but I couldn't be happier knowing that you feel the same way too.

D’Anna Nicole

From the minute she felt the wind on her face, she had given up

There was no point in living

No one would miss her, her life was meaningless

So she jumped

From the minute she opened her eyes, she cried

It didn't work, she was alive

Not sure if she was upset or relieved

From the minute she wrote the first word, her spirit was lifted

Transcended from the page to existence

A medium of truth that saved her

From the minute she finished it, she found her savior

Not in an entity of divinity

But I'm a daemon of writing that was lost

From the minute she found it, she found her reason

To continue, to write, to live

Her writings became her bibles, her truth became her gospel

So she was saved

D’Anna Nicole

The only thing left to say

Is that you left me

Heart broken

D’Anna Nicole

I want to be with Mars

The truth is I love him

Despite the distance

I want to feel close to him

But we are afraid

Afraid of being together

Of hurting one another

But that doesn't make me

Love him any less

It makes me want him more

You are my Mars

And I'm your Venus

I love you and I think you love me

We are meant to

be together

So why can't we?

D’Anna Nicole

The the thing about being in an emotionally abusive relationship is

You don't know that you are in one until it’s too late

Or maybe you do know, but you refuse to believe

You tell yourself this time it’ll be different

But it never is.

D’Anna Nicole

She will continue to break herself

Until someone learns to stay

And help her put herself back together

Only for her to break again

She's waiting for the one who will stay

No matter how many times she breaks

D’Anna Nicole

I'm not changing myself for you

I refuse to

I'm not changing myself for anyone

I am changing

But I'm changing for me, myself, and I

D’Anna Nicole

I had a dream last night and you were in it

I don't know why I dream about you but I do

It happens quite often so I wonder

Is it because I miss you, because I loved you

Is it maybe because you are thinking about me too

I had a dream last night and you were in it

You were protecting me from things

I didn't know I was afraid of

Was it because you were always trying to protect me

Was it because I let myself misunderstand you

I had a dream last night and you were in it

But no matter how odd the dream was

No matter how much sense it did or did not make

The only question on my mind when I awoke

Was if maybe you still dream of me too

D’Anna Nicole

You've asked me time and time again

When did I realize I loved loved?

What moment? What were we doing?

The thing is, there was no moment.

There wasn't a sudden realization.

Loving you didn't come that easily.

When you found me I was broken.

And I won't lie, I still am.

I built walls around my barbed wire heart

With the sole purpose of keeping you out.

I loved you then and I love you know

Because you didn't let that stop you.

Each brick you tore from my walls

Was a moment I realized I'd love you

For the rest of the life I've been blessed to live

When I first saw you, you loved another girl

But your devotion to her tore out a stone

The times you let me cry, the times you let me scream until I forgot what it all was for

You tore down my solid wall

When we kissed, when you laughed,

The moments in silence when I looked at you

In those moments when we both knew forever

You obliterated all my defenses

So you could ask me again

Though I doubt you'd give me the chance

But you could ask me a million times

You could ask me until the day I died

When did I first realize I loved you

And my answer will forever be

I have always loved you.

D’Anna Abril

I have been made to feel broken

I have been pushed down

I have been beaten

I have been bruised

And in this case I have been stabbed

In places both domestic and foreign

To my heart and my soul

I have tried to die

I have struggled to live

I have loved

And I have lost

I have felt the happiness of company

I have endured the loneliness of solitude

I have fought for what I believed in

And I have been silenced by my fear

I have had things handed to me

I have had many more taken away

And through all of this, through everything

I have never wanted something more

Than having you by my side

D’Anna Nicole

I don’t let myself love

I don’t let myself say what needs to be said

I want to love a man but I can’t

Because I can’t even love myself.

I’ve never had confidence in who I am

Never told myself I could be better

I’m selfish in my want for self-preservation

I contradict myself constantly

And I do this all without hesitation

Loving myself has been so complicated

I thought it was impossible

If I can’t love myself no one could love me

So I tried to kill myself by the count of three

I put on a mask so no one will see

How damaged I truly am inside

Because I’m afraid they’ll always leave

But it’s time to leave that all behind

Because I deserve to be loved

By myself and others

It may take me a while and I may need help

But you, I promise you

I will make it less complicated to love you.

D’Anna Nicole

We've both become so distant

From who we were when we met

I used to fall to sleep to your heartbeats

Now I can barely remember their rhythm

I don't know if it has been time or distance

Or maybe we’ve just both grown

But I wish it hadn't been so far from each other

I can't help but to remember the time we spent together

Each moment we’ve ever shared

I know things weren't always perfect

But they were always ours

And that love that I felt

That's what I'll never forget

D’Anna Nicole

If you love me

Hold on

Hold on to me

Cause I'm crumbling at your feet

If you love me

Hold on

Hold on to me

Cause I can hardly breathe

If you love me

hold on

Hold on to me

Cause I'm a little unsteady

I'm seconds from fleeing

Can't handle all the screaming

I'm tired of all the weeping

Hold on to me

Finding no reprieve in dreaming

Cutting just to start feeling

Now I can't stop the bleeding

Hold on to me

If you love me

Hold on

Hold on to me

Cause I feel myself slipping

Hold on to me before I'm gone

D’Anna Nicole

The only thing people

Can never take away

From you is your name.

Each name has its own power

What's yours?

D’Anna Nicole

She cheated on you

She abused you

She hurt you

More than you care to admit

Understandably

You are scared to death

Petrified

To ever let a woman

Into your heart and life like that again

She didn't just break your heart

She crushed your soul

Now it all feels like a dead weight

Buried deep within your chest

But what you don't see is me

That I am here

Burden me with the weight of your world

I gladly carry it upon my shoulders

Let me lift your heart and mend it

Until you are strong enough to do it on your own

Let me love you in all the ways she couldn't

In all of the ways you deserve to be

Just give me the chance to show you

D’Anna Nicole

I was trying to write a poem

About trying to find the perfect man

And how he doesn't exist

But I just couldn't finish it

Because he does

Because he is you

But now I have to write a poem

About trying to find my happiness

Knowing that I can never be with you

The problem is, despite all that

You are still the only man

Capable of convincing me

To name my child after Batman

You are still the only man

Capable of making me

Get tacos in the middle of the night

You are still the only man

Who I'd ever allow to drive

120mph on a highway with me in the car

You are still the only man

Who could make me dependent

On sleeping with someone else

You are still the only man

Who's heartbeat lulled me to sleep

Who's breathing made me feel secure

You are still the only man

I wish I could wake up to everyday

And have movie marathons with

You are still the only man

I could say if asked to marry him

I would unequivocally say yes without regret

You are still the only man

I imagine seeing at the alter

While I walk down the aisle

You are still the only man

I envision have that large family

That we both dreamed of together

I get it now

That because you love me

You feel you have to protect me from you

And that's what love is to you

But you don't get it

It's because I love you

That I can never be happy with any other man

And you can tell me all you want

That I will find better

But the truth is that doesn't matter

Because for the past year

My heart has beat in sync with yours

And I wouldn't have it any other way

And that's what love is to me.

D’Anna Nicole

I have been told my entire life

By family and friends

Social media and movies

That the perfect man

Well he just doesn't exist

But now I'm being told to never settle

For anything less than mr. Right

Well truth be told, they’re probably right

My mr. Right, my perfect man

He probably just doesn't exist

But if he did,

He'd probably be something like this

D’Anna Nicole

Sometimes I wonder why I am here

Or I guess the better question is,

Why am I still here?

Everyone has a past

Some people have had it hard;

Some have had it harder.

But why is it that some people,

They rise from the ashes,

While the others go up in flames?

D’Anna Nicole

Today I was reminded of all the people I've lost

Through death,

through misunderstandings,

through distance.

Today I was reminded of all the pain I've endured

Inflicted on others,

Inflicted by others,

Inflicted on and by myself.

Today I was reminded of all the people I've gained

The children born,

The friends I've met,

The family I've built.

Today I was reminded of all the great experiences

That I have experienced,

That we have experienced,

That's has yet to come.

Today I was reminded that despite all the negative you may see in your life, there's always something positive waiting to happen right behind it.

-D’Anna Nicole

I'm having one of those days

Where I'm finding myself waiting

Pushing people out the door

So that just for a moment

I am alone

And I can cry

Not for any particular reason

But I know they wouldn't understand

If they saw me

They’d want to fix me

But can I be fixed

Can I stop having one of those days

Where I find myself waiting

For everyone to leave

So I am alone

So I can cry

For no particular reason

Will there be a day

When it all just

stops

-D’Anna Nicole

They say mother always knows best

But this time I think she is wrong

It's true that I'm still young momma

But no matter how many times

I repeated that to myself

It doesn't change the fact

That I don't feel young, I feel more matured

It's true that I should enjoy myself momma

But I want to enjoy the finer things in life

Not these pointless parties

Wasting precious moments on Whiskey

I want to be creating my legacy

It's true that I won't find “the one” with one man momma

But I don't want to play the field

I don't want the meaningless one nights stands

I'm tired of wasting my time, my energy, my love

I want more

It's true that I'm too young to settle down now momma

But that doesn't mean I'm not ready to slow down

To find someone to enjoy life with

To find someone who I can eventually marry

To find someone to be the father I want for my kids

I know you don't want me to make your mistakes momma

I know you want better for me

I know you worry about me finding the right man momma

I know we don't have the best track record for men

But I know I can do it

You've always known what's best for me momma

And I've always trusted you and your advice

But this time I need you to trust me

I'll always be your little girl momma

But now I'm grown and

I'm ready to slow down

-D’Anna Nicole

I need you to love me

Love me

I need to love myself

-D’Anna Nicole

#poetry thelostdaimon dannanicole unapologeticallyme

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