#me high and depressed in my bedroom one evening last fall

[lesbianherald]

if you are comfortable with sharing that first draft, please do! I would absolutely love to see it, very curious to know how it all started!!

So - this is re: the first kiss in coming home, which is the first scene I wrote/inspired the whole fic! I offered to share the first draft of it this morning under an ask about writing and process.

Sometimes I have to jump ahead and write scenes I'm really excited about, because often they will jump into my brain and just circle and circle like food in a microwave. Then I use those scenes to prompt some of the rest of the story

For instance - I knew they needed to reconcile over something big - but the actual details of what happened between them and why I was completely unclear of.

things like "i should have kissed you that night in the snow" just sounded cool to me. so I got ideas for flashbacks in this too.

disclaimers - this is bad. i am not sharing this because I think its good but because I think its interesting, especially in terms of what I kept...

and there's a ton of notes to myself. little question marks. and this (//) which usually is just shorthand for I hate what i just wrote but I'm plowing forward anyways.

I redacted a few sentences that were just... too excruciating to publish, but I'll keep everything else the same.

Start

Jayce’s heart is thundering in his ears. Viktor’s expression isn’t one he’s seen before. Never. 

“But you - I can’t - and - eh (??),” Viktor tries. Jayce decides to take a step forward. Viktor stays where he is. He’s so close to Viktor. He can see he has a little freckle in his eye. 

And oh, no.  It’s all flooding out of him. “I was so stupid,” Jayce says. “So, so stupid. I should have just talked to you. I shouldn’t have trusted Noxus(??). I should have listened more and I should have acted less and-“ I should have kissed you, that night in the snow. “I should have done so much that I just - didn’t. I took your work. Our work. Something that was supposed to be helpful, and I almost - I almost hurt people. And I was so Naive and you were everything to me and -” 

He’s never wanted to admit that. Ever. Ever. Viktor’s eyes are wide. Full of emotion. And Jayce feels a glimmer of something like hope //. And he’s babbling like a baby. He can’t stop himself. He’s always been bad. At reigning himself in. And he’s done it so much with Viktor it aches and he can’t take it anymore (////////ugh girl). 

“I don’t need the credit. I already had my day in the sun. And I know it’s too late to ever go back to how it was. But god, I want to make something beautiful with you again. And I’m sorry I was so awful when you first showed up. And I’m sorry I yelled at you in the lab and called you selfish- And I’m sorry I -“ 

Viktor’s hands are on his face. Wiping at his eyes. He makes small, soothing little shushing noises. And he’s so close Jace can feel them on his cheek. And he’s hoping and hoping and please god please and then Viktor is kissing him. And its everything yet Jayce immediately needs more and more and more of him. Hands clutching him tightly as if he might escape between his fingers. A desperate pressure. 

Jayce makes a small, desperate whine that he didn’t even know he could make // and deepens the kiss, pressing Viktor’s body to his. {REDACTED} He feels along the soft hair on the back of Viktor’s neck. {REDACTED} He’s so soft and he smells like laundry detergent and paper. 

And Viktors hands start to shake. Jayce pulls apart from him for a second. He kisses the mole on his cheekbone. By his lips. He utters a hushed and desperate “I missed you,” before he knows what he’s saying. “I missed you so much” uttered between kisses. And he hates the sound of his voice right now. High and desperate and on the verge of breaking. 

Viktor pulls apart from him. He studies Jayce as if he’s struggling to comprehend him. He gently strokes his thumb along Jayces cheekbone. Jayce pulls Viktor into a hug. His lithe body fitting perfectly in the space between his arms and Jayce is no creationist but it’s like he was made to fit there. Something holy. Jayce kisses where Viktor’s neck meets his shoulders. 

Viktor draws in a shuddering breath. Runs a soothing hand through Jayce’s hair. And Jayce needs more of him. He needs to inhale him and fit him back in the spot in his ribcage that’s been vacant and bleeding since he left. He wants to never let this go again. {REDACTED}. 

“Hey,” Viktor says, “Hey. Jayce. It’s okay. Look at me.” 

Jayce looks at him. Viktor hovers over him. His hands on Jayce’s face. He’s never seen Viktor look like this. Like he’s overcome. And he’s so beautiful.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, Jayce. Look at me. Look at me. I’m here.” Jayce can’t help the agonized, shaky breath he lets in. [REDACTED] Viktor wraps Jayce in his arms. Jayce holds him there. Feeling Viktor’s shoulder blades. His back. He doesn’t know if it's Viktor that’s shaking or if it's him //. 

“Breathe,” Viktor says, placing a kiss to Jayce’s temple. Jayce buries his head in Viktor’s shoulder. He lets himself breathe. Lets himself take in the smell of Viktor’s laundry detergent. The sweet salt of his skin. Viktor strokes his fingers through Jayce’s hair. Jayce takes a moment to take it in. “I’m sorry,” Jayce says. “I’m so... stupid emotional. I can’t even -“ 

“I’ve always liked that about you,” Viktor says. “You have a big heart, metaphorically speaking.” Jayce kisses the mole on Viktor’s neck then finally lets himself look at him. Viktor’s looking at him with an unbearable amount of affection.

Jayce kisses him again. Slowly this time. Letting himself savor every second. Kisses him deeply. Moving carefully. He parts for air. Goes in for another. Another. Another. And Viktor is so shockingly soft. From his lips to his little sighs to the hand he has placed on the back of Jayce’s neck. Viktor is the one to deepen the next kiss. Swiping his tongue against Jayces bottom lip. 

“Let me take you home,” Jayce whispers into his neck. “Please.” 

Viktor shivers underneath him. 

“Yes,” he says, kissing the top of Jayce’s head. Viktor is looking him like that. Jayce takes a moment to soak it in, that look. Burn it into his memory. 

“What are you waiting for?” Viktor asks. “Go get the car.” 

[END]

[hughiecampbelle]

Essential (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,507

Inspired By: Siren Song by Natalie Wilson (this is one of the most beautiful songs on my playlist)

Inspired By: Okay I will never shut up about this fic (Kendall Roy x Depression!Reader) by @chaithetics - I can't praise it enough. I adore it for so many reasons and I'm incredibly grateful to have read it 💕

A/N: Ahhh okay. So. Currently it's pouring out and the rain smells wonderful and I have a candle lit and my room is (mostly) clean - will be sorting that out lol. I haven't been feeling very well mentally recently. The holidays are always hard. My step-dad said some things and it really got to me. His judgement shouldn't matter at all, but it voiced every opinion I fear. It put all my insecurities on blast and I ended up sobbing to my therapist about it. I'm trying to focus on my goals, studying for the LSATs and getting everything ready to apply to law school. Trying to focus on the new year and all the possibilities it holds. It just hurt, y'know? And I thought writing would help, plus I love Will lol. Sorry for the rant!! Not my best work, but it feels good to get it out! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤🥩❤

*This is not part of the writing event, this is just a silly therapy fic. I will make a proper post about it, I pinky promise!*

The sun has set. Bright, twinkling stars poke holes in the cobalt sky. It’s your favorite version. The warm lights of houses splash outward through the windows. Some are muted by curtains. Others remain unobscured. Throwing itself across the snow, butter-yellow and bleeding. The snow falls in fat, robust flakes and you hear the wind howl, picking up the longer the night goes on. Downstairs the dogs bark and whine. Pawing at the door until it creaks open, they key sticking just a little. His voice carries through the house like music, song-like, in a key you cannot name, but love nonetheless. He laughs, telling them to be quick as they scatter in the yard. You count the heartbeats until they’re back inside. Safe. He sets down his bag, hanging his coat and shaking off his boots. His glasses, you assume, are not on his face, but placed on a table. The kitchen, most likely, though if he stopped at his desk, perhaps they sit among his things. His familiarities. He works in routines, straying little, if at all. You know what he will find, picturing it from memory. The cupboards and fridge undisturbed. A single mug in the skin. Tea, coffee, something hot cooled off, frozen even, half-filled or half-empty, the decision is up to him. It’s all you could manage today. An act you talk yourself into, a feat you are not prepared for, but crave regardless. Sugar and milk. You made it last the day and yet, it remains unfinished. You hear the faucet run, the stream steady. Imagine his hands. Holding the sponge, circling the inside of the ceramic, filling and pouring until bubbles have subsided. Less severe, less violent, less and less and less. He places it on the drying rack upside down, the clink of it alongside the rest of the dishes filling you with guilt. You could have washed it. You could have unloaded the burden from him. It was your mess. Despite it, despite this grief, he will wave it off. Happy to do it, to help. Still, you might argue, and he will shrug, out of words, but not out of fight. 

His footsteps patter through the first floor, pouring food into bowls, calling them each by name. Dinner is served, you think. Unzipping his bag, the sound high and sharp, retreating what he needs before you follow him to the stairs. Each step groaned quietly, as if announcing his presence in whispers. Contaninig their excitement or, perhaps, swapping secrets. Gossip. Down the hall, he makes his way towards you. His cologne, subtle, is a welcomed scent. Woodsy, earthy, like soil. Hints of tobacco. Fabric softener, too. Lavender, you think, though they are all the same. Knocking quietly at the bedroom door, lazily left ajar, before walking inside. Hey you, he says. You were right. He’s not wearing his glasses. You can see his eyes - an amalgamation of color. Blue mostly, though there are hints of green and specks of brown. Puppy dog, exceptional in conveying emotions. You search for anger in them, fury or wrath or disgust, but there is only understanding. Relief. His smile is serene and his movements gentle: placing his files full of photos and notes on the nightstand. Overflowing with gore and mutilation, there is so much work he has brought home, so much responsibility, and yet he makes time for you and your dishes. You’ve been up here all day. He says it as a statement rather than a question. You wait for reprimand, for abolishment or scolding, but his features remain soft. Were you warm enough? The blankets and duvet wrapped around you, piled atop one another. You nod, unable to find your voice. Good, he says, leaning over to kiss your forehead. He is warm despite the cold, his cheeks rosy. The bridge of his nose has two small, red marks. It must’ve been a glasses kind of day. Little time to take them off, to get up close. 

He talks without expectation. About Jack and his demands. About Hannibal and his repetitive, yet fascinating, takes on the world. Undressing as he does so. You watch him unbutton his shirt, a white t-shirt bright underneath. He does not say that he went to his psychiatrist about you. What to do, how to help. Should he be doing something differently? Should he be approaching the subject with more grit, less tenderness? Pulls a sweater over his head, the navy blue one you always liked on him. Unbuckling his belt. Searching for the flannel pants he loves, the pajamas he wears as often as he can. Should he make you go to a hospital? Is that the right course of action? Dr. Lecter hushes his worries. Reminds him he is doing everything right. That this will pass, and you will find your way back to him. He knows this, he must remind himself. He will be patient. He will take care of this, of you, as long as you both need. Bev who made a funny, albeit inappropriate, joke at the crime scene. Another killer on the loose. Too early to track, to pattern match. Talk of two offenders instead of one, a duo. He climbs in beside you, his voice steady, his hands moving as he speaks. Reminiscent of a conductor with no orchestra. Caught up in the drama, the obscurity, the way the bodies were found and how they were killed, he loses himself in the anticipation - a pressure in his chest - he must get out every word before it is too late. It is only after he has finished, catching his breath, does he notice you've fallen back to sleep. 

Trapped in a half-sleep, you catch parts of the truth. The bedside lamp has been turned on, the room even darker than you last saw. His side of the bed is empty. The faucet running in the bathroom. He sits, his files on his lap, string through each image and note. Smells of mint. He hums quietly to himself, a sound you have learned to cherish. The light is off. The bedroom black. He lies beside you, but he is awake. Softly, the words come out. Are you mad at me? He takes a moment, pausing, and dread begins to fill your chest. Why would I be mad at you? He asks,and then adds, Of course not. You can’t bring yourself to explain without tears welling up in your eyes, a sob trapped in your throat, so you say nothing. Because, you start, but cannot bring yourself to finish. Quickly wiping your eyes, grateful for the lack of light. Because I’m a burden, you think. Because I’m not myself. Because I ruin everything. Because you deserve better. Because, because, because. Will moves closer, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing circles into your back. You feel his knuckles across the spokes of your spine. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Another night crying. In the morning your eyes will be bloodshot, your face puffy. Another mess you’ve created that he cleans up. Finally, he whispers: I could never be mad at you. But what about-? Never. His tone, not unharsh, is serious and something about that settles your nerves. The gnawing guilt inside chews with its gums instead of its teeth. Get some sleep, okay? He squeezes you a little tighter. You fall asleep like that, intertwined. 

You don’t hear him get up. You don’t feel his absence until it is too late. A note left for you, his handwriting distinct and melancholy. I made you a drink. Be careful, it’s hot. Love you - Will. The mug he washed, the one you dirtied, sits beside the paper. Steam no longer pours from the top, but the cup itself is still warm. Downstairs you hear the symphony of dogs chewing. Loudly, you note, but happily. Another chore taken care of. Softly, you sip, grateful for him. For his actions, his selflessness. Today will be a little better than the last, that you are certain of. One step at a time. Will will talk to Dr. Lecter again. He will question if he’s helping. He will fear he isn’t doing enough. The two of you wrapped up in your worries, not distinct from one another, similar words with different meanings. Am I doing enough? Am I failing them? He will be talked down, reminded that this thing, this cyclical phase, it always ends. No matter what, there is always an endpoint. He must remind himself that, he must remind you, too. The two of you journey through this not out of obligation, but of necessity. He needs you. He adores you. A world without you is not one he’d like to take part in. Where you sense burden, resentment, anger, he will meet you with generosity, with compassion and understanding. It is a surprise every time, and yet it shouldn’t be. He needs you more than words could ever describe. You can’t get rid of him that easily.

[tikosblogg]

Hii, I saw that you wanted to get requests and I just got one. Reader is going through tough times and having the problem that everytime she comes home, she just goes to bed and falls asleep for hours and wakes up in the evening. Noah notices this and that she's more closed off, more tired and wants to help her. I like your works, they're well written. Hope you're doing well❤️❤️

Sorry this one took a bit. This one means a lot to me, because sadly I can relate. I’ve been going through this for the last few months, so in a weird way if felt nice to write.

ANYTHING>HUMAN

*Pic from tumblr*

Warning: talks of depression, anxiety.

A/N: plz enjoy, this pic is so cute, I had to use it.

The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment, a familiar, hollow sound that seemed to mock the silence that had become my constant companion. I leaned against the cool wood, the weight of the day already crushing me. It wasn’t a particularly bad day, not really. Just…empty. Like a hollow shell of a day. I kicked off my shoes, letting them fall where they may, and trudged towards the bedroom. My limbs felt heavy, each step an effort. The pull of the mattress was magnetic; a silent promise of oblivion.

I didn’t bother with changing, just collapsed onto the bed, face down, still in my work clothes. The soft material of the sheets offered a small comfort, just enough to let go. And then, as always, sleep claimed me, pulling me into a void where problems ceased to exist, at least for a little while.

The next thing I knew, the room was bathed in the soft, orange glow of the setting sun. My head felt groggy, my mouth dry. I blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented, trying to piece together the last few hours. Or, more accurately, the absence of them. It was always the same. Come home, sleep, wake up, and the day was practically gone.

I dragged myself out of bed, the weight in my heart a constant, dull ache. The smell of cooking food wafted from the kitchen, the aroma of something savory, something that spoke of care. Noah. I’d forgotten he was even here. Again.

He was standing at the stove, his back to me, a canvas of tattoos stretching across his broad shoulders. Even in the dim light, I could see the intricate patterns, the way they moved and shifted with his every motion. He was a force of nature, all 6’3” of inked skin and quiet strength. He turned, brown eyes meeting mine, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hey baby” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that always managed to settle some of the chaos in my head. “You were out for hours.”

I shrugged, running a hand through my tangled hair. “I was tired.” My voice sounded flat, even to my own ears.

“Tired?” He placed the spatula down, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. The casual pose couldn’t hide the concern etched on his face. “Or…something else?”

He knew me too well, always had. We’d been friends since forever, a bond forged in the fires of high school awkwardness and late-night talks. He’d seen me at my best and my worst, the exuberant and the insecure. We finally became official, right after high school. But lately, the quiet and the defeated had been winning.

I looked away, focusing on the worn wooden floorboards. “I don’t know,” I mumbled, the words catching in my throat. It was getting harder and harder to articulate what was going on inside. It felt like a storm brewing, a constant churn of anxiety and exhaustion that was slowly suffocating me.

He took a step closer, his presence filling the space, his warmth a comforting balm against the coldness that had settled around me. “Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle, “you’ve been doing this every day for weeks. You come home, you sleep, you wake up, and the day’s gone. You barely eat, you barely talk. You’re like… fading.”

That word hit hard. Fading. It was exactly how I felt. Like the edges of me were blurring, the vibrant colors of my life slowly turning to muted shades of gray.

“I’m just stressed,” I offered weakly, picking at a nonexistent thread on my t-shirt. “Work’s been hard.”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I know you better than that, Y/N. Work has always been hard, but you’ve always been… well, you. You’ve always bounced back. But this…this is different. You’re not yourself.”

The truth in his words was like a punch to the gut. He was right. I wasn’t myself. I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

“I just…” I trailed off, unable to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling within me. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I just wanted to disappear, to curl up and let the world pass me by.

He closed the distance between us, his big hands coming to rest on my hips. I could feel the strength beneath his touch, a grounding anchor in the sea of my turmoil. “look at me,” he said softly, tilting my chin up so I was forced to meet his gaze. "It’s okay to not be okay, you know? It’s okay to need help.”

His words, spoken with such quiet conviction, resonated with a power I hadn’t expected. Maybe it was okay, maybe I didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I whispered, the tears finally escaping and tracing hot paths down my cheeks. "I just feel so… lost.”

He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close. It was a familiar comfort, a safety net I hadn't realized I needed so desperately…home. “I’m here baby,” he murmured into my hair, his voice a soothing balm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, the silence broken only by the soft sounds of my sobs. Slowly, the tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a fragile sense of calm.

“Come on,” he said, pulling back slightly. He wiped the tears from my face with the pad of his thumb. “Let’s eat. And then… maybe we can talk? Or we can just sit in silence. Whatever you need.”

He didn’t push, didn’t demand, just offered a hand, a lifeline. And for the first time in a long time, I found myself taking it.

We ate dinner in a comfortable silence, the taste of the food warming me from the inside out. It wasn't a miracle cure, by any means. The darkness still lingered, but it felt a little less overwhelming, a little less suffocating. After we finished, we moved to the living room, settling on the couch.

He spread out in the corner of the plush couch, stretching his arms towards me, beckoning me to lay on his chest. Without a word I did so. He wrapped one arm around my waist, while his other hand ran through my hair. “So,” he began, his voice calm and steady, “is there anything you want to talk about?”

I looked down, picking at the hem of his t-shirt. “It’s just… everything feels hard. Like I’m wading through mud. I try to keep up, but I’m always falling behind. Work, life… it all just feels like too much.”

He listened patiently, his attention never wavering, his presence a silent reassurance. As I spoke, the words tumbled out, a tangled mess of anxieties and insecurities. I told him about the constant feeling of inadequacy, the relentless pressure I felt to measure up, the way the simple act of getting out of bed felt like a monumental task.

He didn't interrupt, didn't offer platitudes or quick fixes. He simply listened, letting me vent, letting me express the emotions that I had been carrying for so long. When I was done, he reached out and took my hand, his fingers lacing with mine.

“Thank you, for telling me baby,” he said softly. “It takes courage to be vulnerable like that, to let someone see the parts of you that feel broken.”

He turned my hand over, tracing the lines on my palm with his thumb. “You’re not broken, Y/N,” he said, meeting my eyes. “You’re just… hurting. And that’s okay. It doesn’t make you less of a person. And you don't have to carry it alone. We'll figure this out. Together.”

His words were like a balm to my wounded soul. I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Maybe things could get better. I looked up at him, his familiar face a beacon of hope in the darkness. He leaned down placing a soft kiss to my forehead, nose, and then a long lingering kiss to my lips And for the first time in what felt like forever, a tiny seed of hope began to sprout in my heart. It wasn't a cure, not even really a solution. But it felt like a start. And right now, a start was everything.

[velvetgutz]

Mine and Yours… (Pt. 1)

Leon Kennedy x M!reader

Summary: In what was probably the worse situation of your life, drunk and depressed at a bar with people you hate, a stranger at the bar lends you a hand…

Ao3 Link (More parts to come!)

When I pictured going to college for the first time, I thought It would be paradise compared to the pitiful high school experience I had. Never in a million years did I imagine I would be cramped in a shitty, 3 bedroom apartment with assholes from my high school,who judged me constantly for no real reason.

An ex-crush of mine, his girlfriend, and her best friend. All the same people who berated and humiliated me until graduation… But that’s not important.

I’ve always kept to myself, stayed as far away as I could, and minded my own business within the confines of our tiny apartment, not really ever interacting with them, or wanting to. So when they suddenly invited me to go out with them one night for drinks, dread pooled in my stomach. Even using the most absurd excuses couldn’t shake them from dragging me to whatever local bar they were planning to go to. Before I could protest any further, I was shoved into the back someones car, and on the way to the bar.

~

Screeching tires brought me out of an absent minded daze. I guess we’re here. The bar logo flickered every so often, neon lights disappearing in intervals. The place was fairly busy, a couple cars parked here and there. Stepping out into the crisp fall air, I exhaled deeply as a last ditch effort to rid myself of anxiety.

Generic Tiktok trend garbage floods my ears, and a familiar stench of alcohol sets me a bit at ease. My roommates gather at an already occupied booth. oh fucking great. An audible sigh falls from my lips. The occupants are friends of my roommates, all the more reason to be nervous.

Sitting at that table is not an option.

I begrudgingly walk over to the counter, picking the farthest seat possible. Not paying close attention, I ended up in the second-last seat, empty bar stool to my left and an occupied to my right. Waving over the bartender, my order was placed and shortly 2 shots sat in front of me. The more wasted I get the better I’ll feel. A intricate mixed drink was added to the palate for tonight.

From my peripheral view, the figure to my right stole a quick glance at my drinks and then to me, a look you’d miss if you blinked. Fuck, tonight’s gonna be hard…

~

My whole body burned from the alcohol in me. Even after drinking until I was almost too drunk to stand, the bicker and insults from my roommates couldn’t be blocked out. Could they just fuck off. If it wasn’t already obvious, the slurs thrown my way surely gave away there was a gay guy sat in the bar. The embarrassment enveloping me weighed down my body, almost resting my head on the counter as I swirled around another random cocktail in it’s glass.

Downing the last drops of my drink, I attempted to order another before a hand pushed mine flat to the counter.

“Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight, kid?” A rough, deep voice sounded in my ears. Ever so slightly turning my gaze to my right, my eyes focused on the man next to me. A dirty-blonde, mature looking guy. His hand moved from mine.

“Drinking doesn’t make it feel any better, go home.” He talked sternly. Who’s this guy think he is… My displeasure must’ve been written on my face, he let out a small sigh. “What’s the big deal with them anyways?” He tilted his head in the direction of the table behind us.

“My roommates,” I was slurring my words, the liquor was really hitting me. “thought it would be funny to take me out and announce to the whole world what a ‘disgusting faggot’ I am…” Fuck I sound pathetic. My voice came out low and raspy, alongside the slurring. A scoff sounded from the man as he downed the last of his drink. Slowly he stood up and stretched, reaching for my shoulder with a small tug.

“I’m calling you a cab, c’mon” There was that same tone of voice from before. I wanted to refuse and continue drowning myself in booze, but in the state I was in, refusal was impossible.

“I don’t want to go home…” It came out quiet, almost whining. Now half sat up, I was looking him in his eyes, pouting. He pulled me up from my seat the rest of the way and began to drag me out of the bar, laying a few big bills on the counter before our exit.

“I never said you had to go home.” I would’ve missed what he said if not for the sudden change of scenery. Outside the bar was cold, quiet. So quiet. Letting go of my hand, he grabbed a cellphone from his pocket and began calling someone. My whole body buzzed from how quickly I was brought upright and outdoors. Slowly swaying side to side, feeling the wind brush past me. Turning to the man, I watched him pull out a cigarette and bring it to his lips. A cloud of smoke bloomed shortly after as we stood on the sidewalk outside the bar.

“… cab will be here soon.” I was too focused on the way he looked in the streetlights to fully hear what he said. He was glowing, his features accentuated by the dramatic light shining down on us. “You there kid?” His fingers snapped in my face.

“Yeah, sorry…” Fighting myself not to gawk at him again became a challenge. “Where are you bringing me?” He glanced up the road, blinding headlights coming into sight.

“You can take my couch until you’re coherent,” he tossed the last of his cigarette to the ground, putting out the embers with his boot, “then you can go home in the morning.” The cab was here now, screeching to a halt. Grabbing my shoulder again, he guided me to the back of the vehicle, opening the door and motioning me in. Climbing in was hard, I was disoriented from everything I drank. He quickly joined me in the backseats, murmuring an address to the driver and slouching back into the seat next to me. What the fuck is my life… I relaxed as the cab began its route, my vision getting darker by the minute. As I swayed with the rhythm of the car, sleep took over…

[cleolinda]

I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

--

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way: Chapter 9

Dark!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Tommy Miller x reader (secondary)

Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, and both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

Aka: my mom sold me to One Direction

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, dub con on tommy? idk he's not really into it but feels like he has to, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot) but fair warning, major age gaps, love triangle, pregnancy/birth, threats of abortion, major character death, mentions of potential csa/child abuse but does not even come close to happening, forced pregnancy, forced housewife shit, breeding, breeding kink?!?!

Pacing is a bit off for reason's I'll explain at the end so uh have mercy. I shifted thing a bit but I think it'll make the last chapter better.

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

If we had a daughter I'd watch and could not save her The emotional torture From the head of your high table She'd do what you taught her She'd meet the same cruel fate So now I've gotta run So I can undo this mistake At least I've gotta try... -Labour, Paris Paloma

It was cool out, and the fall leaves crunched under Joel heavy footsteps, shuttering and flittering as he pulls you across the lawn, screaming his brother's name in vain, horse shouts. 

You were supposed to rake tomorrow. 

“TOMMY! TOMMY! TOMMY!” was all you could say, all sense having left you as soon as you were thrown around in the kitchen. It was another slap that brought you back to reality, opening your eyes to come face to face with the man who had beaten and loved you in such harsh contrast this last year, pulling you both to stand on top of a chair. Your shirt felt wet from how much you cried and were still sobbing, but you have enough thought, just barely, to stop screaming for Tommy… he let go, and you wanted to run, wanted to protect your baby… but you’d get nowhere. You look down at the crowd that gathered, all men you recognized, some you liked, some you knew were just waiting for Joel to relinquish you to them… and Lorenzo, his normally droopy bedroom eyes opened wide with fear.

This is how you’d die, isn’t it?

Joel yanked your face back to him. “They ain’t gonna save yuh, little one. Not even Tommy would save you, you know that, right, for all you cry for him, he still chose me over you. He chose Maria over you, because you are NOTHING! You were nothing but a pastime to him but me?” A rush of calm as he held your chin tightly, nails digging into the skin and clawing your face open. “I love you, princess, and all you do is hurt me.” His voice was soft, small, and for a foolish moment you think maybe he already peaked in his rage… until a strong, painful punch in your sternum knocked all breath out of you... and again. and again.

You hear Lorenzo call out your name, and through your sore throat and abused body, you manage to get out and small ‘don’t’. You hope Renzo knows that’s meant for him. Don’t do it. Don’t risk your life for me, I’m not worth it.

Joel throws the rope over the tree branch, and as you look at your surroundings, you are struck with horror at the realization that this is the tree in which Nick’s skeleton lay at the foot; an area you always intentionally avoided since Joel brought you out here so, so long ago. The rope that his hands hung from as Joel skinned him alive was across from you… was that your intended fate? Would he really do that to you, 8 months pregnant? Or would he kill you and preform some sick, botched c-section?

He fashioned a noose around your neck.

“Joel, Joel please, I’m sorry”

“I don’t fucking care!”

“THE BABY, JOEL!” You sob, pleading for your child's life. “Please, please just wait until I give birth, then you can do whatever you want but they shouldn’t be punished because of me!”

“You’re right, she shouldn’t” Joel always referred to the baby as ‘she’, despite no evidence. He pulled the rope tight, causing you to choke and stand on your toes to keep breathing. “This is your fault.” He slapped you, making your head swing wildly to the right. “It’s your fault I’m hurting you.” He slapped you again, and you felt blood leave your mouth. “You hurt me!” He screamed, and another slap. The ringing in your ear doesn’t prevent you from hearing him as he tells you that you are hurting the baby yourself before delivering his final blow. You can’t focus your eyes at all… but you can hear him, although you wish you couldn’t. From the loud voice and the feel of his breath, he’s right in front of you. “I should tie us both up, little one, and kick this chair out from under us, end it all, is that what you want?”

No, absolutely not. Even after everything, you didn’t want Joel dead, and it hurt you to hear the pain in his voice, just as it hurt to see the betrayal in his eyes as he learned of Tommy… You loved him, you loved him, you loved…

“N-o!” you choke out, the harsh rope burning on your throat.

“As much as I know you want me to,” Despite the fact you said no, he was so convinced you hated him. “You don’t get to win, cheating bitch.”

He hops down, rope in hand, tying it to the bar of the chair and leaving you gagging and rasping on your tippy toes for air on the chair. He mutters his usual threats to the men, that anyone who helps you or touches you is dead, and you watch him walk away towards the house. 

So you stand there for what feels like forever, attempting to pull the noose off but you can barely breath, can barely see, can barely hear… you can, however, feel your precious baby kicking.

One by one, the men get bored and wander off inside, until two bodies are left.

You register Lorenzo’s smell, alcohol and those strange gross cigarettes he smokes, hoping up on the chair and quickly taking you down. You can’t stand, and Lorenzo barely stops you from completely collapsing on the ground. He yells at Jack to help him carry you inside, but Jack hesitates, no doubt not wanting to die… but after back and forth, another arm is lifting you up, and your heavily pregnant form is stumbling back to your home.

“Hey, stay with me sweetheart, we’re gonna get you back, okay? But I need you to stay awake, I think you’re concussed”

You don’t answer; you can’t answer, really… even as you slowly start to gain a little focus. Lorenzo is talking you through it. ‘Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.’ Although you’re certain Lorenzo could carry you on a normal day, 8 months pregnant was another story.

You weren’t sure what his plan was, but it didn't really matter as Joel was waiting inside for you.

“Jack, take the girl.”

Lorenzo spoke up. “Joel, calm down, I know damn well you didn’t want her dead-”

“Jack, take the girl, and cover her eyes.”

You try to say no, to tell Joel to stop, but words don’t form like they should… Joel wouldn’t listen anyway.

So, there you are, stuck in Jack’s arms which were oddly tight, protective and comforting as Lorenzo’s blood splattered on you both, Joel pistol whipping him hard before shooting.

Lorenzo’s body falls to the floor as a clump of deadweight, and as Joel grabs you, dragging you into the room, all you can glimpse is Jack frantically trying to stop Lorenzo’s bleeding as your only friend screamed in pain on the floor.

When the door closes, Joel is a new person, pulling you to him and onto the bed. He was sat up against the wall, holding your back to his chest as your body wracked in sobs. Lorenzo was dead, you were in pain, and you were so, so scared for your baby. Could they survive what Joel had just done to you? You were certain it was over for now, Joel was back to his lovey, post-violence state had already set in… but what about next time? Joel had been safe for months… months where you didn’t run, you cooked and cleaned and serviced him and fucking hell, you fell in love! You loved him! You were the best possible wife you could’ve been, all while carrying his child, and even the mere suggestion of waiting on having another instead of pumping them out like he wanted, and he nearly killed you.

Was he trying to kill you?

Lorenzo said he wasn’t.

But you weren’t sure…

Lorenzo…

Despite the protruding stomach, he began to massage your core, and you were too violently ill and dizzied to protest. You’d be too scared to even try, anyway. You weren’t sure how long he tried until he gave up, but it felt like forever, minute after minute of your shaking, aching body crying in his arms as he tried to bring you to orgasm with his hands before realizing you weren’t the slightest bit wet. Your body didn’t even have it in you to attempt to betray you this time.

So Joel just held you, and held you tight, so tight you couldn’t hardly breathe again and you had no choice but to try and relax yourself until the sobs bubbled down to gentle hiccups and a steady stream of tears.

“Why do you make me do this to you?” Joel spoke, his voice croaking and you suddenly notice tears on your neck. “Why do you make me hurt you?”

“I d- I don’t know.” You gasped and tried to answer through the shaking tears.

“I don’t want to do this, you know that right?”

“Uh-uh”

“You make me act like this. I’ve been good to you, haven't I?”

“Y-y-yeah-ah.”

You almost killed me and our baby.

“I feed you, I care for you.”

“Y-yeah”

Tommy fed me. I cook for you.

“I make love to you, I make you come, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

You rape me.

“You’re my wife”

You kidnapped me.

“I gave you a child.”

You forced this on me.

“I gave you a life here, free from your father.”

You ripped me away from Zach and June, you sent Tommy away, you killed Lorenzo.

“But still, you treat me like dirt.”

I cared for you. I’ve been a nurse, a servant, a cook, a whore

“You cheated on me with my own brother”

I was terrified of losing my virginity, and Tommy was safer than you.

“You disrespect me”

I asked a question.

“You know why I do this, right? It’s for your own good. Our baby needs a good mother, she needs a mother who will love her unconditionally, who will always be there for her, to be a good example. I can’t have you running around making her feel unwanted, can I?”

“No.”

Joel buried his wet, crying face in your hair. “So it’s not really my fault, is it?” It was like he was begging for forgiveness, for absolution, justifying it to you, to himself, maybe even to Sarah…

You answer him, sleepy, head throbbing and you feel like you could throw up. “No, it’s my fault.” and it was. It was your fault for not leaving with Zach, for not taking him up on countless offers he made in letters Lorenzo passed between you, offering to run away with you and June and Lorenzo… even continuing to beg into the pregnancy, but you ignored him, causing many fights between you and Lorenzo. It was your fault, and now Lorenzo was dead or dying and you were trapped with no way to contact Zach, no way to get to him…

He caresses your head and body. “Yeah, it’s yours, but it’s okay, I forgive you. You’ll do better, I just know it.” Joel sounded like he was about to fall asleep too. “You’ll be good for her. You’ll be a good mom for Sarah.”

If you weren’t so fucking tired, the revelatin of the extent of Joel’s dellousions would be shocking to you, but you couldn’t find anything shocking anymore.

“I spoke to Tommy the other day.” He sat up, laying you down into bed and tucking you in. “He’s doing good.” A kiss on the cheek and he continued his talking. “I was think’n, maybe after she’s born, we could see Tommy a little bit? Not much” Joel was quick to warn. “Maybe just… once every month or two… so Dolly can know her uncle?” He was back to using Dolly… “Would you like that? See’n him a little bit here and there?” He was offering you an olive branch.

“Y-yes, I’d like that.” Tommy… seeing Tommy again… You wanted him so badly, you missed him so much it hurt… Lorenzo was a blessing, he was like a brother, but Tommy was someone special. A kind, soft heart in a world of monsters…

“Go to sleep, little one. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

You thought you shouldn’t sleep, given that you were clearly concussed, but Joel was so warm beside you, big and broad and protectively wrapping his arms around you… You allow yourself to drift off; there was no use fighting it anymore.

But tomorrow wouldn’t be a new day. Tomorrow would be the same thing. Cooking, cleaning, baby, sex… every day for the rest of your fucking life.

The next morning Joel brought you eggs and toast... Breakfast in bed like a good husband… You waited until it was safe to ask about Lorenzo.

Hesitantly, Joel let you go see him… he was alive, but barely. The gunshot went straight through, thank god, but the wound on his torso was already looking infected, and his face was deeply swollen and bruised; Jack was no nurse. 

But Lorenzo was still Lorenzo. “Hey sweetheart, you look like shit” 

You smile at him. “Yeah, you’re not exactly Han Solo yourself.”

“Now, how come you know who Han Solo is but you don’t know Fleetwood Mac?”

You go on to explain the comics and Joel telling you all about it while you care for his wounds, making little jabs at each other until you are done, and he grabs your hand; sincerity in his voice.

“What happened? After he shot me… what happened?” 

Lip quivering, you answer. “Nothing, really. He took me into our room and he-he held me and cried-”

He furrowed his brow at that. “He cried or you cried?”

“B-Both” You whimpered.

“Jesus”

“And he-he-he he told me I made him do it, that it’s my fault and I was a bad mom-”

Lorenzo groaned, and went to scrub his face, but yelped and winced in pain from his pistol whip. “Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me. I know I call you stupid and dumb and… I don’t understand why you stay, I really don’t… but…” He reached out and took your hand. “But this is not your fault. Even when you stay, even when you make him mad, it’s not your fault, and you are not a bad mom.”

You allow yourself to cry as he tells you, being perhaps the first person to say…

This isn’t your fault.

Two days later was when Joel left you next. You had sworn up and down you would forgive him so long as he got Lorenzo the medicine he needed, and tried your best to give him the best makeup ‘I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Joel, I’ll do better next time, please don’t kill me’ sex you could give to smooth it all over.

The closet was locked; he kept your shoes in there, as he did any warm coats or gloves or anything that made aid in running away, but you didn’t care. You were going to the barn, you were taking a horse, and you were getting far, far away from here. You had a tinge of remorse for leaving Lorenzo; Joel will surely take it out on him, but you had gotten him his medicine and with it, a fighting chance. 

Right now, you have to run. Nothing mattered more than your baby’s life.

It was cold, crisp, but not unbearable in your sweats, socks, shirt and jacket. You had to find your way to your family farm, find Zach and go. Joel didn’t know June existed, so she was safe from his rampage… if you were lucky, your dad might be who Joel takes it out on. Joel had told you if you tried to run, Zach was the first person he’d go to… but you wondered if now that Tommy was gone, Joel might go to wherever the hell Tommy was first.

You loved Tommy, there were few people who you loved like Tommy… but you loved your child more, and you prayed that Joel would go to Tommy first, buying you and Zach some time.

As you ran through the woods, your thoughts were scurried, desperately trying to find the barn in the darkness; there were few stars and no moon, and you had never been taught a sense of direction… You weren’t sure how to get to your family farm, but Christ, you were running for your life right now. 

SMACK! You ran into a tree, no doubt adding to the horrific bruises on your face as is, but that's nothing compared to the horror of Nick’s skeleton under your body. You barely manage to cover your mouth from the scream as you fall backwards and scramble, trying desperately to get away.

As you run into a pair of legs, a hand covers your mouth this time and you scream, loud.

You are turned around and are suddenly face to face with Jack.

“Jesus fucking christ!” He whisper-shouts. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

You immediately begin begging. “Please! Please don’t tell Joel, I’ll go back! Please Jack he’ll fucking kill me, he’ll kill my baby please don’t tell-”

“Shut up!” He hisses, standing up from his crouched position to run his fingers through his hair. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK!” Jack begins pacing, considering his course of action. “We’re going back to the house.”

You nod obediently.  You could figure out how to escape later, right now you needed Jack to keep a secret. You’d do whatever you needed to.

“Please don’t tell him, please” You sit up on your knees, wobbling with the belly but giving your best attempt to look pretty. “I’ll do whatever you want.” You’d suck him off, he could fuck your ass

“Jesus Christ, he’s got you fucked up.” Jack turns out, groaning, before helping you stand. “Get up, we gotta talk to Lorenzo, he’ll… fuck he’ll figure something out.”

Jack started walking, and you hesitated… you aren’t sure of you can trust him… but damn if you don’t have any other options. You look back and into the woods, debating your choices.. When you see a glint of silver in the grass near the skeleton.

A jackknife, the one Joel used to skin and castrate nick. You had no weapons… so you took it. It had a smooth wood handle with an ivory inlay, with a blunted out edge… the button struck a little as you practiced switching it in and out.

Not hearing your footsteps on the leaves, Jack turns around and urges you on.

He instructed you to stay put on the side of the house. He said Joel isn’t due back for a few hours, but just in case. Not long after, a stumbling and swearing Lorenzo is walking outside under Jack’s support.

“Of all the fucking times you wanna leave, you had to chose when I’m barely alive, huh?”

“I’m so-”

He holds up a hand. “Stahp.” His boston accent was thick with irritation and pain. “I’m just fucking with yuh, kid. Let’s get you to Tommy.” He began to walk, with Jack’s help, to the barn. 

“But Zach-”

“Tommy is closer. I know where Zach was gonna take you, I’ll give Tommy the instructions.” He turned to Jack. “You need to go. Joel is gonna kill you if she and I left on your patrol.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, I don’t think he’d”

You spoke up. “He would. He told me he… he knows you and Tommy still talk. He doesn’ trust you.”

Jack groans again, rubbing his face.

Lorenzo continues. “Swing by and get Maura, anyone in proximity to this is in danger.”

“Fine, fine. Meeting in Boston?”

“Rapid City, we’re not there in 4 days, keep going. You know the plan once you get to Boston.”

You turned to Lorenzo. “Zach, Joel said-”

“Relax, sweetheart. Jack and I’ve had an escape plan ready to go just in case, and that involves your brother.”

The plan was for Jack to go to the farm and get Zach… if all went well, you’d meet up in Boston. There they’d find a friend of one of Lorenzo’s sisters, Tess, and she’d help you… You weren’t entirely sure about all of this, but Renzo would bring you to Tommy… Tommy would keep you safe.

Lorenzo wasted no time. He saddled up quickly and he and Jack helped you on the horse. You thanked Jack as he and Lorenzo hugged goodbye, and Lorenzo took off galloping for as long as his wounded body could take. He slowed down after half an hour, his weakening body slumping up against yours, telling you how to get to Jackson and what to tell Tommy should he fall over… If Lorenzo passed out and off the horse, there was no way to get him up in your condition… 

Somewhere along the lines, you  found yourself apologizing, apologizing for causing so much trouble, uprooting his life, uprooting all their lives, Tommy’s happy life in Jackson…

“Sweetheart, knock it off, I mean it.” He said in that harsh but loving tone. “Joel… he said you were nothing, that you were nothing to Tommy but that’s not true. I love you, Zach loves you, and Tommy absolutely loves you. We are doing this to give you and that baby a chance at survival.”

You continued into the night, until a group of men on horses approached with dogs.

“Lorenzo Alverano!” He shouted, and the men looked at each other. Quickly, you and Lorenzo were sniffed out for infection and hurried off into the city limits and brought to where you sound found out was Maria and Tommy’s home, the men banging on the doors.

It was Tommy who answered. 

You didn’t look like yourself at all.

Even under the dim porchlight, Tommy could see the expanse of bruises and scratches on your face, your black eye, the hanging and strangulation marks and rope burn, the busted lip, the considerable amount of fat you’d lost… and of course, your 8 month round belly.

“Oh honey…” Tommy murmured before rushing to take you in his arms. “What did he do to you?”

You cried heavily in his arms as he guided you inside where another woman watched, questioning Lorenzo on the situation at hand. You were introduced to her, Maria, and although she was straight to business, you didn’t feel unwelcomed. Tommy would care for your emotional needs, Maria was planning your escape.

It was decided when she spoke. “Lorenzo, you’ll never make it to Casper the way you are, you’re staying here.” She turns to Tommy. “Take one of the travel bags and go.”

“Maria. ” You didn’t know if he was going to protest or what, but Maria stopped him short.

“Go. She needs you.” She looked… Sad, almost, as she turned to the men. “Get Lorenzo to a safehouse with a medic.” Back to Tommy. “You, get the horse and the bag and go. There isn't much time, Joel is gonna come barreling and we need to prove you’re gone.” 

Back and forth, Tommy looked at you, then Maria, then you, then Maria… before standing up. “Okay.” and he headed out the door in a hurry.

Maria looked at you sympathetically. “Do you remember me?”

You tried to think… she looked familiar but- oh. “The first day.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Joel… I wanted to stop him, but I was trying to broker a deal to keep Jackson out of his grasp and…” Maria shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly amazed you lived, knowing Joel.”

“Yeah.” You huff out. “Me too.”

“Tommy’ll get you to Boston, get you safe, take care of you…” She looked sadder, the more she talked…

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t help but over apologize, it was ingrained in you now. “But once my babies safe, I’ll leave you and Tommy alone. He’ll be back and you’ll never hear from me again.”

She didn’t look like she believed you. “Sure. He’ll be back…” did she believe herself?

Despite Maria and Tommy’s insistence to hurry, they took their time saying goodbye, Maria grasping tightly to his body.

“I’ll be back, Maria. I swear. Get through the winter and I’ll be back first thaw, okay?”

Maria didn’t sound like she believed Tommy either.

One hand was around you, holding you tightly to him while the other guided the horse, urging it on to run as much as it could… you needed distance, as Joel likely already returned to the house and discovered you were missing by now.

It was a long while before he spoke.

“What did he do to you, honey?” It was that soft, low, ever-calming tone he used on you that never failed to make you felt into him… “How did this happen…”

You couldn’t help but tell him the story of the last 8 months since he’s been gone. The pregnancy, Lorenzo, the freedom, and exhausting housekeeping with a giant belly… How Joel began to see you as his wife, his maid, a person to make babies and clean the house… not as a person like you had thought.

Finally, you told him how Joel beat the ever-living fuck out of you, how he hung you from the tree and left you for dead… and how you called for him in your hysteria. 

Tommy rested his head on yours, taking in the smell of your hair as he apologized for not being there for you.

When it was clear you weren’t getting much further, Tommy guided the horse to an old abandoned house he knew off in the woods. Tommy knew this area well, having made this trip many times throughout the years. The sleeping bag you were sent off with was intended to be shared between two people for body heat, but not necessarily a heavily pregnant person… the fit was tight, but nonetheless 

you were comfortable in his arms. You were always comfortable in his arms.

“I’m glad you’re here, Tommy.” You spoke softly, drifting off to sleep.

“I am too, honey.” Tommy kissed the side of your face, and as the tiniest peak of light shown through the horizon, Tommy and you drifted off to the small amount of sleep you could before continuing on your journey to Boston, to start a new life.

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

CW For a bomb threat on kids between the *******'s

*********************I work at a day care, it's week 2, and between waking up from nap and snack time we received a bomb threat. Our building evacuated around 100 kids to a nearby church. People where there to set up a anniversary party and were incredibly kind. They set up a tv for the kids to watch a movie, brought out water and crackers for our poor kids who didn't get their snack, and tissues for the teachers who were crying. its me i was teachers. I did great getting the kids to safety butt as soon as the action ended i was a mess. not long after a bunch of people arrived. My day care does child care for workers at the nearby hospital we are a part of so pretty soon lots of people where there including the hospital president, HR, and on sight counseling which I took part in. Turns out it was a middle school pulling a "prank". Law enforcement said they have never seen a building full of children evacuated that quickly and safely. Several of us are new. **************

this being said... I am exhausted. I cried a lot and my anxiety drained me... but I wrote this chapter bc writing helps me cope. So.... it's not my best writing but that's okay.

chapter 10 will probably take a while to see, because I need it to be perfect, absolutely perfect for you guys because you all deserve it. You maaaaaayyy just a small drabble bc there was a scene i wanted to include but it just didn't fit!

I go on a trip next week where I'll finally get to see Matchbx 20 who ive had tickets for since 2020 but covid ruined it lol...

I'm also working on a joel one shot for ya'll

anyway thak you all so so so much for your continued support!!!!! I love you all very very much

Reblogs are the best way to spread and support, but comments mean the world. I know not everyone likes to share dark content on their blog, but even a kind anon is such support!

Anyone got any guesses for the grand finale? I would looooove to hear some theories!!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @tidlewav3 @bunnnyy-dummy @slutfortimotheechalamet @foggymoonbanana @dinsbaby @miraclesabound @jenna-ortega @primosworld @marclovers @threeheadedlamb @secretwriterpp @the-fox-den

@bitchyglitterfox @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@lunar-ghoulie @pedritosdarling @dreamonseems @alwaysdjarin @amoramorquetepintas @milla-frenchy

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 next: Part 6

a bit of a weirdly chill chapter this time. might take a break after this part but my brain is always on you know like a liar creative mode so who the hell knows xD

“Have you seen my nephew?”

“Has my nephew stopped by here recently?”

“Did he mention anything worrying?”

“If you see him, call me by this number, would ya?”

Wayne’s never been much of a theatre boy unlike Eddie, but he supposes he knows how the extra actors feel when they have to repeat their few lines over and over for their plays.

Eddie’s not anywhere in town. Nobody has seen him last night or this morning. Some of the people he’s asked look at him strangely and say why should he even be worried.

A part of Wayne wants to grab them by the collar and shake them and furiously spit on their faces while he cries out, “Shouldn’t you be worried if your own child disappears and might be hurt!”

He doesn’t do that.

He keeps his head down as he says his lines and leaves.

He checks at Hawkins General Hospital, something he’s been putting off since he drove off and left the police chief at the dirt. He reckons that if Eddie’s hurt, he could’ve at least have the sense to run in here.

But the nurse at the front desk shakes her head with a frown and says nobody with Eddie’s description came in.

He says his lines and leaves.

He starts checking the spots Jeff had listed for him.

The first is some old picnic table close behind the high school. When Wayne gets there, there’s a few students loitering. They see him and quickly scramble off. He calls out for them but they don’t look back. He eyes at the table, absent of any sign of Eddie, and leaves.

He goes to the rest on the list.

Some spot in the forest called Skull Rock. The abandoned Creel house. A gas station out of town.

Eddie’s not at either of them.

The Hideout is the last one he visits.

Wayne prays to heaven above this is where his boy’s at. But he doesn’t see him. The bartenders only confirm that while Eddie has make visits before (“not a bad band, by the way. Vocals need a little work though.”), he’d only came for an hour on Halloween night last week.

He gives the bartenders his lines and leaves.

At this point, Wayne’s considering looking far out of town. Bloomington’s close.

But it’s already nearing four in the afternoon, his gas needs a refill, and he feels so tired. It is God’s miracle that his body hasn’t collapsed yet, even in the drive back to Hawkins. He feels a bit grateful that today is his day off, but he has to call the plant later for a few more days off.

The sun starts to set as Wayne pulls over to the house. His mind is starting to get fuzzy from exhaustion and hunger so he walks inside automatically.

He even hollers out, “I’m home!” A vain attempt to hear Eddie’s response.

Only silence greets him.

Wayne sighs, worrying a thumb over his front temple as he readies the pullout couch. Then he stops himself. Looks down the hall to where Eddie’s bedroom door remains close.

He walks down and carefully opens the door. When he peeks through, he sees the hundreds of memories of catching Eddie doing whatever boys like to do on their own: Eddie writing in his notebook, Eddie playing the guitars, Eddie reading a stolen dirty magazine, Eddie dancing to that loud headthrashing music, Eddie staring up at the ceiling depressed, Eddie smoking, Eddie crying from a bad day.

This time Eddie’s not here.

Wayne shuffles to the bed - mindful of the messy clothes thrown about, Eddie we talked about this - and gently lays himself on top of the unkept blankets. His feet barely hang over the edge as he stretches. There’s a faint smell of sweet cigarette smoke as he breathes in.

When Wayne finally falls asleep, the memories surround him comfortably and he feels the phantom weight of Eddie hugging him tightly.

He prays that his nephew will still be hugging him, living and breathing and safe.

—

As they walk to Mirkwood, Eddie thinks it’s safe to say he and Will are little more prepared.

They’ve stopped at one of the houses on the way to stock on bottled water (thankfully drinkable, man they were parched) and weapons. Well, their ‘weapons’ were really just some knives. But Will had skillfully crafted a couple into spears by tying the handles with twine on the ends of broomsticks.

At least Eddie could sweep the demogorgon off its feet should it come back.

(Will groans first at the joke before laughing. Then he laughs even louder when Eddie cries in mock betrayal over the loss of his jester skills.)

He also snags a backpack from some guy’s bedroom so Will won’t break his back carrying the cans. They’d both nearly gagged when some rotten-smelling goop and wrinkled algebra textbooks were shaken out.

Will also brings up a couple startling facts about this hellish environment.

“I think the vines are a hive mind.”

Eddie had nearly dropped the water he’s holding to clean his cut. It’s not bleeding badly anymore, but he doesn’t want it get infected. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A hive mind. Like the vines are alive and they’re some messengers to the monster.” Will waves his hands around a bit as he speaks, though he keeps lowering them to his lap. “Remember when the demogorgon was outside your place and it only came in right after you stepped on a vine? It’s probably how it knows where we are.”

Eddie slowly moves his feet away from one particular thick vine. He breathes out a whoosh. “No stepping on vines. Easy enough.”

“I think these are spores too.”

“What?”

Will blows away a few speckles of ash from his face. “I thought this was snow, but… I’m more convinced it’s spores.” He stops to cough and fuck, that throws Eddie’s anxiety up into goddamn Mars because none of this was even fucking ash.

There’s no kind of gear around in this house or the one next door to keep them from inhaling more of this stuff. So Eddie grabs the cleanest shirts he could find, rips them into bandana-style masks, and fits them over his and Will’s face.

Eddie hopes to god that they don’t already have lung cancer and can at least live for another few decades.

It’s also on the way to Mirkwood that they really get to know each other.

Eddie learns that Will loves his mother and older brother from the moon to back. That he’s been drawing since he was practically born and wants to be an artist. That he has a secret hideout called Castle Byers. That he has a trio of best friends that he bikes to school and play DnD with and who are definitely also looking for him.

Eddie doesn’t give his whole life story (like he really wants to trauma dump on the kid, no thank you), but he does share a few things about himself. Will’s eyes are bright when he talks about playing guitar and a new hobby of sewing band patches on his denim jacket. He also speaks fondly of Uncle Wayne. (“I wish I had a cool uncle with Garfield mugs.” Will says with a wistful sigh) Though the ache in his ribs nearly shutter his voice away when he recalls the truck engine driving away.

“Ya know that if you ever go missing, I’ll search even the lands of Hell for you.”

He said that yesterday, didn’t he? Then why hasn’t Eddie heard from him? Why isn’t Wayne been trying like Will’s mother apparently been doing?

He stamps down the nasty feelings down he hasn’t felt since he was eleven and instead talks about summer visits to his extended family in Alabama.

“Wait, so you’re from the countryside? Like a farm boy and stuff?” Will asks with a tilt of his head.

Eddie cackles and ruffles Will’s hair. “A farm boy? Well, maybe for the help, but it’s a job I will never do even when I’m retired. Haystacks and cow smell are too much for me.” He points a mock accusing finger at Will. “Also wipe out any classist stereotypes from your precious brain. I don’t want to hear any questions about lack of running water or food or schools because we do have them. That’s right-wing businessmen propaganda for ya.”

Will nods seriously. Though he keeps whispering “Alabama” under his breath like it’s a magic word. Eddie lets that one slide. Alabama is a nice name to say a lot.

They finally reach to what Eddie assumes is the Byers residence. It looks worn down with the darkness and vines. He grabs the handle of Will’s backpack to keep him from running into sudden doom.

“Environment check, Little Byers.” Eddie says in his DM voice.

Will huffs but he stops moving and glances around. After a moment, he announces, “No demogorgon in sight!” Then quietly, “So far.”

Eddie lets go of him and moves in front, broomstick spear brandished. He walks carefully over the vines, not willing to make the same mistake in his house.

Oddly, the front door to the Byers’ is already open. It makes Eddie’s guts turn with unease. He slowly steps inside, nearly dying of a heart attack when he hears something from the kitchen. Then relaxes when he realizes that it’s actually some normal people chattering.

“Mike’s been taking this hard. I know it’s ridiculous to say that, Joyce, but he really cares about his friends. And Will going missing is making him act out a bit. But he’s been looking too.”

“Oh, that’s.. uh, sweet of him..”

Will brushes past Eddie as he goes inside. The kid stands in the living room, staring at the kitchen where the voices are coming from. Then he runs down the hall, looks up, and starts jumping up with a hand outstretched.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Eddie calls out. His eyes automatically lower to the ground where Will’s jumping on. The floor is surprisingly spacious from vines, but he doesn’t want any risks or a heart attack.

“Trying.” Will pants out with every jump. “To get. Lights.”

Eddie looks around, both inside and outside before carefully walking over to Will. He watches for a minute, glancing dubiously at the very dead lightbulb in the ceiling. Then he scoops up Will in his arms. Damn, twelve year olds are heavy.

“Okay, that’s enough hopping, Little Byers.” He’s about to move away - to where in the house he doesn’t really know - when a small orange flash makes him pause. It’s a literal ‘blink and you miss it’ but he swears he sees it.

He looks at Will, who’s staring intently at the ceiling light. His fingers brush against it. Then it happens again. The orange glow, this time blinking long enough to be noticed.

A small gasp falls out of Eddie’s lips. Will excitedly taps at his shoulder and points to a door at the end of the hall. He obliges.

It’s a bedroom, clearly for Will’s mom. Eddie’s not sure what to look for, but Will points again. This time, at a spot at the foot of the bed. “Right there. See?”

Eddie doesn’t see but slowly makes his way anyway.

Will scrambles out of his arms and holds out his hands, eyes furrowed in concentration. Then, faintly like a spell, small dots of glowing orange appear. One by one like a fairy doing tiptoes.

Eddie’s certain that his jaw falls to the floor. He’s so entranced that he doesn’t even startle when the voices suddenly move behind him.

“Holly! I’m sorry, she always wanders off-”

“No, no, it’s okay. But.. did she- did you see something?”

The glowing disappears. One is still present, beaming from Will as he smiles under his mask, “Told you the lights work.”

It doesn’t take too long for Eddie to find his voice again, “Ho-ly. Fuck.”

— —

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @demolitionjetstar @hbyrde36 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @wuttttttttttt @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @tentativeghost @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium

[paradox-oflife]

Top 10 albums 2024

Tagged by my mate @lememecollector, last time I did this was.. I was still in high school 💀I had a lot of stuff from the Killers, Mitski, twenty one pilots lmao so let's see how much I've changed

In Rainbows - Radiohead

To me, this is the golden record and the most perfect album. It gets better and better every single time I listen to it. If you want to listen to it on a more normal level, it's so fun to groove and jam to. If you want to dig deep, you'll realize every single track is actually pretty complex from a musical perspective. 15 Steps being in 5/4 signature, Bodysnatchers being in something of a syncopation, Weird Fishes in a very layered polyrhythmic soundscape, Faust Arp changing time signatures every few measures etc. The closing track, Videotape still confuses me with it's rhythmic patterns. The lyrics seem to contrast the vibes of the music, e.g. 15 Step opening up with "How come I end up where I started?" and that feeling of never being able to escape your old faults. Even the track order is so perfect, it's ordered in a way where it never feels like it drags or rushes, and everything just flows so seamlessly into each other. Upbeat, depressing, innovative, experimental all at once.

What puts this at first place is really the musicality of it. It's very much what I think of as an objective perfection. I think some of the other albums I put on this list isn't as polished, but it's more about the emotional and rawness of the music. Like, I would blast In Rainbows if I'm on aux, but I wouldn't blast like. Shoegaze. I've never been much of a fan of Radiohead for their lyrics bc ngl I don't even know what Thom is singing half the time, but it's always been about the actual musicality for me.

Favorite is Jigsaw Falling into Place! The bass player in me is obsessed.

2. bury me at makeout creek - Mitski

My first love <3 musically speaking. I was in like 7th grade when I heard "Francis Forever" play on Adventure Time then immediately going to search it up. Then I heard First Love/Late Spring, then Townie, and something in me flickered. It was the first time I ever heard an Asian American in the indie rock scene. Back then, Mitski was such a small artist and relatively unknown. I remember journaling about her music in 7th grade lmao. The explosiveness of Texas Reznikoff, the teenage angst in Townie, crushing First Love/Late Spring, the yearning self-affirmation on Francis Forever..etc. It's actually quite musically simplistic but it's so catchy and manages to have some of the most personal and confessional lyrics at the same time. And it's not like Mitski doesn't know how to be "musically complex", she was literally a studio composition major and you can really feel that bleed through in Retired from Sad, New Career in Business.

Bmamc feels like something you would sing to yourself on a guitar in your bedroom, or perform in your garage, or something you would write in your diary. It's meant for yourself, not for a large crowd of a sold out stadium. It's raw, cathartic, intimate, and says everything it needs to say about love, insecurity, anger, grief, youth in a short 30 minutes. It meant everything to me and it still means everything to me. I hold it very close to my heart.

It's so hard to choose favorites for this. I have a special place in my heart for Francis Forever but every track means so much to me. I think Jobless Monday is so underrated though.

Side note: I have a lot to say about Mitski. I hate gatekeeping music but honestly like. I hate how her music has been dumbed down into "sad/yearning" or "for the gays", and that makes it feel sorta bland and discredits a lot of the depth. Like sure, a lot of her songs sound sad on surface level but when you really pay attention to what she's saying.. e.g. First Love/Late Spring is about loving someone so much that the feeling scares you. It's not even negative, by any means. Or Your Best American Girl is about never measuring up to the standard of your non POC partner. And her relatively recent success seems to have had a terrible impact on her, with concert behavior and the whole recording controversy, it's unfortunate to see her grow really uncomfortable with her fame as she's known to be a very private person.

3. Grace - Jeff Buckley

I've always known about Jeff Buckley since I was a small kid because of his cover of Hallelujah, but I never really dug that deep into his discography until later in high school. The first time I heard Grace I was so blown away by how powerful his voice was. I had Grace on repeat for a month when I first discovered it. The soft rolling guitar in Mojo Pin.. the intensity of the title track Grace, the summer break up vibes in Last Goodbye, the fragility of his voice in Lilac Wine, the odd chord progression in So Real.. "I love you, but I'm afraid to love" being whispered.. His voice is SO profound. Etc, He is probably one of my favorite lyricists ever, every line he writes is straight poetry. Not to mention the Sufi influences from Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.. He has such an odd vibrato and singing technique. He was such a sweet and sensitive guy. Also quite an underrated guitarist. He's like the King Midas of covers, every cover he makes turns into gold.

It's funny how a lot of my favorite artists have been influenced by him in some way. From Radiohead to Mitski to Lana Del Rey.. even people like Adele, Brad Pitt?, Jimmy Page, Phoebe Bridgers, literally you name it. The way he died was so tragic. I always wonder what he would have went on to accomplish if he had a little more time. The demo for My Sweetheart the Drunk was such a large departure from Grace, I genuinely wonder what public perception would've been if that ever released properly. Maybe he would have only been remembered for Grace and considered a flop after that, a one-album wonder. Maybe dying young cemented his legacy.

Favorite track is either Mojo Pin or So Real.

4. OK Computer - Radiohead

alright alright yeah I know two albums from the same artist on a top 10 list can be cheap but here me out. OK Computer is typically seen as the white edgy incel doomer album and is "overrated" but. From a musical perspective it's extremely impressive. Its place in alt rock history cannot be understated. At a time where grunge was dying, this album brough rock back in relevancy but in a different approach. This idea of a more artsy, experimental rock was a new and fresh flavor. The layered instrumentation and complexity.. it was very "out there" because the new computerized electronic noises were new for artists, and Radiohead was out there messing around with it. Paranoid Android was the first time I ever heard a guitar solo in 7/8 and it absolutely blew my teenage mind. There's a bit of political commentary though I don't know enough about UK politics to really say anything about that.

The themes in this album have aged beautifully. The paranoia of our world being engulfed by technology, a society where we're so advanced but even more alienated and isolated from each other, the fear of what would happen to humanity once technology became our rulers. The feelings of overstimulation and digital numbness. Fitter happier is often joked upon, but I think the lyrics really do sum up the album so well. The mundanity of life, a painful reflection of reality.

Picking a favorite is hard because I always listen to this album from start to finish. I think Climbing Up the Walls is very underrated. It captures the feeling of paranoia and losing your mind so well. I'm stopping myself from putting the rest of Radiohead's discography on here.

5. Did you know there's a tunnel under ocean blvd - Lana del Rey

Lana is... a messy person to say the least. She's made very questionable and controversial choices but honestly? She's somehow always in every single one of my playlists. But ocean blvd might be my favorite album to come out in the past 5 years, and i rank it above NFR. I love a good orchestral album, and when it lost every single grammy it was nominated for I almost saw red. I think A&W is a masterclass in songwriting and storytelling. The beat switch is so Jack Antonoff core. The themes of loss of innocence, trauma, family, identity... BEAUTIFUL!! Even the title itself is so interesting. The idea of something iconic slowly fading into irrelevancy, the question of will Lana's legacy end up just like that tunnel? I really love how personal the lyrics are compared to her previous works. I started crying at the opening track lmao.

I know she considered Chemtrails Over the Country Club to be the album that represented who she was, but Ocean Blvd nailed who she really is. I'm curious for how her next album is going to sound like. Never been a country fan but I believe Lana can nail a very specific aesthetic in the country genre.

Favorite is A&W and Kintsugi. I thought Kintsugi was a bit too slow paced for me at first but then when I heard "Daddy I miss them" I bawleddd.

6. Either/or - Elliott Smith

I'd always heard his name a lot but I never got around to checking him out until not too long ago. I knew Phoebe Bridgers cited him as a major influence, but then I kept hearing more and more people citing him like Frank Ocean, Alex G, Sufjan Stevens, even like Mac Miller, and I think I got tired of wondering who he was. When a lot of famous artists cite someone as an influence, I gotta check them out. You could immediately tell where Alex G got his low quality production vibes from haha.

I think what really drew me in is this feeling of a just a guy with a guitar singing to himself in his bedroom. I really like how soft and vulnerable his voice is. Could you argue he's not a good singer? Yeah, sure, I guess. But that's not really the point, is it? His chord progressions are very interesting and trying to learn like any of his songs on the guitar is such a nightmare, he's extremely skilled with the guitar. I love a depressing song, what can I say?

Favorite: Between the Bars, No Name no. 5, and Say Yes.

7. Melodrama - Lorde

I'm not an avid pop listener by any means, but Melodrama is the most perfect pop album I've ever heard. There are literally no unskippable tracks on this album and every time I listen to it, I feel like I have to listen to the whole album instead of single by single. Because her first album was slow paced and minimalistic, she received some flack for going more towards the maximalist pop approach, the very thing she was changing in the beginning. Despite all of the early criticism, Melodrama's aged beautifully. The lyricism is just gorgeous. It paints such a distinct picture.

It's interesting to follow Lorde as she grows older, and all of it is reflected in the music. Pure Heroine is the "growing up" album, Melodrama is the "growing pains", and Solar Power is really about settling into herself. Melodrama is her late teens/early twenties sophomore album, where she goes from the early teenage experiences to the more mature experiences. Talks about doing makeup, partying, breakups and heartaches... It's about the growing pains of moving past teenagehood. It's perfect. Listening to it while walking around college campus at night is an out of body experience. I would pay to have the album cover as a painting on my walls.

Favorite track: Hard Feelings/Loveless or Perfect Places. Love that weird experimental noise in Hard Feelings

8. Loveless - my bloody valentine

They were not lying when they said this was one of the best shoegaze albums ever. If you want to start getting into the shoegaze genre, this is the album to go to. The heavy distorted guitar banging in on the first track, the drum patterns and memorable melodies. It's very rhythmic. Shoegaze as a genre has always been so interesting to me - To have the vocals take a backseat and let the soundscape do the work, and you let this wall of sound wrap you up like blanket. It's less about what you're trying to say with the words and more about the sound itself and how it makes you feel. That fuzzy distortion makes me feel unlike anything else. When You Sleep is probably the most stand out track and the most popular, but there are many tracks that don't have any vocals, just repeated guitars. Yet somehow, somehow it's not boring to listen to.

My favorite one is Sometimes, probably the closest thing to a love ballad they'll get to. It makes me feel complete and empty at the same time. Drowsy and intimate, the mumbled lyrics. When that song came on in that one scene in Lost in Translation, it became one of my all time favorite scenes ever. That feeling of derealization and staring at a world that's right at your feet but you can't really enter it. Idk. But I think that's the point.

9. Vessel (And Regional at best) - twenty one pilots

This album has such a special place in my heart. I was going through the early teenage angst and it was the first album where I heard where it was saying "It's okay, we feel this way too." It felt a lot more personal that what I was used to hearing in middle school, like Despacito or whatever was trending that time. Yeah it's a bit reminiscent of the mid 2010s but it was also my gateway to more alternative music. It combined so many genres where it didn't feel like a particular genre. I don't really listen to twenty one pilots as much anymore but Vessel always will take me back.

I'm combining Regional At Best in this because it has a few overlapping songs and it's technically not a real album. But I would kill for a remastered version of RAB, esp songs like Slowtown. The songs meant so much to me and my younger self. However, I think Trench is the objectively best record twenty one pilots has put out.

Not sure what my favorite track would be. RAB has some golden ones. I think I would choose Kitchen Sink, but Anathema also means a lot to me.

10. Continuum - John Mayer

This album was quite influential towards my perception of guitars. I used to be obsessed with the bass guitar and I used to want to play the drums until I really listened to this album. I guess I used to think about guitar solos as flashy - Something you could shred on to show off your talent. I thought people like Van Halen and maybe Slash were talented, but the intensity and difficulty didn't really appeal to me. But I guess because Continuum is more heavily inspired by blues and souls, you don't really feel any of that (except for the Hendrix cover Bold as Love). Each solo is melodic and laidback. Mayer's known for his virtuostic guitar talent but here, he's demonstrating that he knows when to strip back.

Overall, it's just a very clean and solid album. No very skippable tracks, very ummm "friendly" to listen to. Like anyone can enjoy soft rock playing in the car, y'know.

Favorite tracks: Either Belief or I'm Gonna Find Another You

Honorable mentions (some other 10/10s)

Sam's Town - the Killers

My once favorite album.. I still love it a lot. I guess I've discovered a lot more stuff since then it took a backseat in my list of favorite albums. But I'll gladly do a rewrite of why I love it so much

This album makes you feel patriotic but not in a nationalistic, America is the best country on Earth, racist way. It's more of a cowboy, rugged individualism, independence, No Country for Old Men, western saloons and faded glamor type of feeling. Red Dead Redemption 2 type of feeling. It makes sense since they were trying to escape from the Hot Fuss era where everyone thought they were a British band. So they went the opposite direction and made this whole album is this declaration that they were Americans. Sam's Town has such an iconic opening, very "guns blazing", very Bruce Springsteen feeling. Read My Mind changed me as a person and I have no idea why exactly. It must have been my favorite song for 2 years. That final verse after the guitar solo is soul ascending.

Kessoku Band - Kessoku Band

Bocchi the Rock was the first anime I'd watched in a while and really got hooked on. Chainsaw Man was going on at the same time, but I'd already read the manga so many times I guess it wasn't the same. But BtR being a spiritual successor to K-On just really made me fall in love. The rotoscoping, attention to detail, the amount of inside jokes that only musicians can really understand. The humor is unmatched, and imo it's the embodiment of anime at its creative peak. The plot is heartwarming and relatable, the character dynamics are so great. It reminded me of my high school band lol

Overall, extremely well produced album and they got some of the best musicians in the j-rock industry like tricot haha and the peggies. The lead guitars go HAM with every solo and riff, the drum fills and patterns, not to mention how good the basslines are.

Blonde - Frank Ocean

Admittedly I was late to the Frank Ocean train, but this album in unmatched in its circle. It's such a good concept album, I just know Frank Ocean had been cooking this up for a long time. The ideas of duality, masculinity, and femininity and how the album is perfectly split in the middle at Nights during the beat switch, and how the album starts diving into the "masculine" part. Less singing, more rapping. Femininity is expressed through those pitch shifts and the topics of the songs. Blonde was even released as blond in some versions. I think my soul ascended a bit the first I heard Seigfried - Could literally pinpoint where Johnny Greenwood contributed, also the verse about dreaming about a thought. Close To You is such an underrated track. Also one of my favorite album covers.

twenty one pilots - Twenty One Pilots

Their first album and of course, it has a very fundamentally different feeling than the rest of their work. It was made in the basement Tyler Joseph and the original members of the band were staying at, and you can honestly feel it lol. It's overtly a lot more religiously themed (or more so the struggle with faith) and I guess you could say it's a lot more darker in sound, Songs like Addict With a Pen.. whew.. The songwriting is already pretty strong here, and it's a lot more piano heavy. The thing I might not like the most on that album in the way he sings. The midwestern emo accent/enunciation pops out so hard LOL. But I really appreciate this album for what it is. I'm also obsessed with the album cover.

I think my music taste has definitely evolved a bit, but I also lowkey sound like a white male/alt girl on tiktok 💀 I think compared to my last post I ever made, I've definitely improved at expressing a lot of my thoughts on music and why it's so special to me. I also really just enjoy blabbling a lot about music even though no one will probably see this haha. I have a lot more albums that I absolutely love and picking just 10 is impossible. Maybe I'll do this challenge again in another 5 years and see what's different haha

[muzzlemouths]

@doofnoof STORYTIME

SO! My mom and I have moved around a lot for many (mostly depressing) reasons and could hardly find so much as a one bedroom apartment to share most years, so when we were offered a four bedroom, two bathroom, ENORMOUS backyard full house for a measly amount of rent, we jumped at the chance without really wasting time to question it. The house had a weird feeling from the start but we chalked that up to "just moved" anxiety and shrugged it off.

I don't want to call this a "warning sign", but a weird occurrence I noticed upon moving in was the distinct lack of animals. This was way out in the country, so there were animals galore all around, but none of them — not even birds — would come within a few yards of the house. (cw for animal death) I even adopted a little chick to raise out there, but it did in fact pass away within hours of being inside.

There was a master bedroom with three smaller bedrooms. The master bedroom had a Bad Vibe to it which sounds silly when I say it out loud, but I cannot express just how much being in this room sucked. You'd always feel a little uncomfortable in the house as a whole, but the second you walked into this one room it felt like the entire earth's weight was on your chest. It felt like someone was standing directly behind you at all times. It felt like you smoked three packs of cigarettes and then did jumping jacks. On multiple occasions I became physically sick after being in it for too long.

The room smelled HEAVILY of smoke. Despite there not being any visible fire damage, it always had a scent like there was something burning. We had the wiring checked, the vents checked, the outlets checked, everything. Anybody who came over could smell it but no one knew where it was coming from, because if you got up to the walls and carpets the smell didn't increase any, it was just always there.

My mother chose to sleep in this room because it was the biggest. Now, I want to emphasize here that my mother is in no way superstitious, and she waved off any and all of my anxieties concerning this house/that room in particular, but even she only lasted about a month in that room before she moved into a smaller room. She would have nightmares every. single. night, and that's if she could fall asleep at all. She would wake up feeling sick, rush to the bathroom to throw up, but then suddenly feel fine before she even got there once she was past the doorway. I remember her telling me that what finally did it was trying to leave the room one day and the door not opening. It didn't have a lock on it. She finally got it "unstuck" after a while of struggling, but the situation frustrated her so much — along with the smell — that she decided it best to move next to my room instead (to my unending relief).

Everything was normal after that, aside from the weird tension the house always had and the cold issue we could never figure out (wherein the house was always FREEZING, no matter how high we had the heat. We bundled up in sweaters and blankets during the day to stay warm. Again, we had the wiring checked, the heater, everything. There was no logical explanation for this one.)

That normalcy remained for about a week. After that, stuff started to get weirder. The tension and "pressure" when inside the house was so crushing that we would spend a lot of the time outside if we could just to get away from it. Doors began to swing on their own without a draft, and we did have one (1) instance of the classic Door Slams Shut. Sometimes the doors would be "locked" (again, no locks) and we would just have to leave the room alone for a while and come back to it later. My dog hated being inside and more than once I had to physically pick him up and carry him in because he refused to go. I would constantly feel like someone was walking behind me or running after me even if I was just walking around in broad daylight.

At one point, the door issue got so intense that I moved my mattress into the living-room and slept out there. It was a big open space (which didn't exactly make me any more comfortable) with the master bedroom to the left and the kitchen to the right, and in the direction of where my feet would be was the house's looooong hallway, where all three remaining rooms were located.

I slept like this for a few days longer before just not being able to sleep at all because I would feel like I was in fight or flight mode 24/7. I eventually called my partner and asked them to come stay with me for a few days, just so I could get some sleep. My partner came over and set up a spot next to mine and I conked out almost instantly.

The first night was fine. I had a nightmare, my partner witnessed one of the doorknobs shaking, and that was the end of it. The second night, they woke me up at 3:01am on the dot (I remember because we had a clock on the wall and I was wondering what they wanted so late at night) and I remember feeling this AWFUL feeling, just the worst, most sickening, bone chilling feeling I've ever experienced in my life, and I was going to get up and puke, but before I could my partner shook me again and pointed down the dark hallway and said "Look, look!" and I kid you fucking not, there was a man coming down that hallway. Real tall, big hat, no clear expression on his face but the kind of look that makes your stomach clench and tear itself apart.

He stopped at the end of the hallway right where it would have lead to the livingroom. I couldn't get myself to scream or say anything and neither could my partner, we both just huddled together and watched as the thing stood there for literal hours. At one point we must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is waking up closer to 6am with my mom getting ready for work.

I woke my partner up to double check that I hadn't just dreamed it, and after getting confirmation I just...broke down. Went to my mother as a grown adult just a sobbing wreck, begging her to leave because I couldn't take it anymore.

She knew we couldn't because if we left before a certain date we'd have to pay the deposit, and that was a lot of money when your options were this and being homeless. But I couldn't stay in that house for any longer. I just couldn't. As much as it pained (and worried) me, I left my mom alone in that house to live with my partner and their family instead. I just wasn't strong enough to last even one more night there.

A little under two weeks later, my mom tells me she paid the deposit and will live in her car until we can find another place to go. I'm not sure what changed her mind, and to this day she refuses to tell me what happened in that house after I left, but I can only imagine it was nothing fucking good.

We found out later that the house had many, many deaths inside its walls, and the last tenant before us was a drug house gone wrong where every person involved was killed, multiple of them in traumatic ways. I don't know if that influenced the house or was a result of it, but either way, it's not the prettiest of histories.

The house's owner couldn't find anyone to rent it to after us, and my mom stopped asking after about a year, so I have no idea if it still lies dormant now, but I can tell you I am never going back.

I've never told anyone but a couple friends about this because all of it sounds laughable if you didn't experience it yourself, but I promise you, every word of it is true and still freaks me out to this day.

[never-not-ever]

I'm starting to care less about that which means the other stuff is going to get worse.

It's like if my SI is bad and I'm actively self harming and feeling like absolute pure shit and don't give a fuck about anything that includes my body so therefore I don't care about it changing and making me hate myself even more, like we're already there, what's one more thing to hate.

Which just reminds me of the past so much and when I used to have problems with binge eating. I remember summers where I was depressed, suicidal, self harming (which in the beginning usually only happened in the colder months but by this point I didn't care anymore). And just coming home from work, isolating in my bedroom and binging tv shows and food. That's how my weight climbed so high.

Then I'd get this spontaneous urge to change everything cold turkey overnight which almost always consisted of eating healthier/better/normal??? Ugh I'm trying not to label food as bad vs good, healthy vs unhealthy etc.. just not massive amounts of junk food I guess.

I remember the summer of 2015 and my cousin, her boyfriend, her infant son AND. her. mother. were all living with me and my Nana. They were all in the bedroom across the hall from me (I think her mother slept on the couch downstairs) but I stayed in my room and hardly came out for the majority of that summer. And then towards the end, out of nowhere one night I bought a Fitbit and decided I was going to change everything for the better and "snap" myself out of it.

I lost some weight that fall in a healthy way and then honestly it's been a fucking roller coaster ever since. My weight loss/gain and body image history is so fucking complicated and so fucking invalidating at times it drives me insane.

It's been 6 years now (Jan 14th) since I got weight loss surgery and a little over 3 years since I had plastic surgery. It's such a mindfuck looking back at old pictures, even worse looking in the mirror and simultaneously not recognizing myself but also thinking I look close to my old self. I know for a fact if I didn't have weight loss surgery, during all these depressive episodes I would have gained back the weight I've lost... speaking of...

I'm worried about currently. For a solid month I was focused on losing weight. That is what helped keep SI off the table and the self harm urges at bay. When I left inpatient back in the end of November I was still (passively) suicidal that honestly got worse after Thanksgiving. My eating felt out of control (to me) and I watched the scale climb a little but I didn't care about anything anymore. Mid-December the SI started to lessen and with that came so many feelings of being uncomfortable in my skin and disgusted by the person in the mirror so I started to change that.

Ever since last Friday (with the exception of Sunday) I feel, not out of control but I guess you could say not as in control as I was for the month prior. Ironically the self harm urges have gotten worse in the past couple weeks and this last week the SI is getting louder along with this I just don't care anymore in the back of my mind. Which I guess makes sense when it comes to eating lately.

Right now things feel "normal" but they haven't been like this in a while and normal never really lasts for me. It's so fucking black and white. Things are either going to take a turn for the worst and I'm really going to just lose control or the voice in my head that hasn't really left the picture is going to start those words up again. Tearing me down, criticizing everything, making me stay in control. But I'm so tired. It's like this tug of war in my mind right now. I'm exhausted from the past month, I just want to stop everything but that voice. It's always there.

[archivequinn]

What's your secret, envoy?

emperor geta x fem!reader

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three (completed)

Summary: Desperation drives you to the gates of the Roman Empire when your brother is dragged away to fight as a gladiator in their blood-soaked arenas. With nothing left to lose, you strike a perilous bargain with the cunning Emperor Geta—your freedom and future in exchange for your brother’s life. But what begins as a desperate ploy turns into a tangled web of intrigue, betrayal, and forbidden ties. You never imagined that the ruthless emperor would become more than an adversary—and that the most dangerous risk of all would be losing him.

(click for ao3 link)

You're in the castle. But it's not just any castle. It's the grandest, most magnificent fortress in all of Rome. The walls are made of solid marble, etched with intricate designs and adorned with golden ornaments. The halls echo with the sound of footsteps, and the air is heavy with the scent of incense and wine. Within the castle, there are dozens of rooms, each one more lavish than the last. The main hall features a ceiling painted with scenes of ancient Rome, while the floors are covered in intricate mosaics of animals and mythical creatures. The dining hall is fit for an emperor, with a long, polished table that can seat fifty guests, and a massive fireplace carved from black obsidian. And of course, there are countless bedrooms, each adorned with silken sheets, plush pillows, and tapestries depicting epic battles. The outer walls are twenty feet high and ten feet thick, made of solid quarried from the mountains to the north. It is a place of power and luxury, and only those who are worthy may enter.

You know all this because you've been trying to get in here for a long time. You did a lot of research, reading, talking to countless people, studying drawings, observing.

You close your eyes, reliving a memory of which you can't remember how long ago it was. Surrounded by isolation, so shortly after you lost your family and your brother was captured as a gladiator.

“How harmful can a barn full of straw be?” your friend said. “Straw can't hurt you. It won't harm you. In fact, it helps you to eat, it helps the animals to eat. Right?”

You knew where this was going.

“But what if you are standing in that straw-filled barn with a lighter in your hand, a spark, a little breeze of fire, will turn it into your grave. And these harmless straws will be the cause of your death.”

The straws here were our thoughts. No matter how bad the thoughts were, as long as they remained thoughts, they were harmless. All of us, even those who are not depressed, have thoughts of self-harm from time to time, thoughts of hurting someone else when we are angry. We are human beings and these are our instincts. Our straw.

And what was our fire? To put our thoughts into action.

If you do what you think, that would be your spark. You were holding a lit match in a barn full of straw. It was either going to go out or it was going to fall out of your hand and set the place ablaze.

Emperor Geta is standing in front of you like a violent storm that could cause the apocalypse to break at any moment. “Caracalla?” he growls. When you hear his full and annoyingly calm voice, you are brought out of the memories and back to the present reality, you are really standing in front of him. You're looking at Emperor Geta, a faint sneer curling his lips. “He is my twin, yes. But we do not 'run together', as you put it. We rule the empire together, but that is where our similarities end.” He takes a step towards you, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. 

“Caracalla is a weakling. A fool who spends his days chasing after servants and slaves, indulging in every vice known to man. I, on the other hand, am a true emperor. Strong, ruthless, and unyielding. My word is law, and any who cross me will suffer the consequences.”

You take a deep breath and the words you've rehearsed for so long dance out of your mouth.

“Your Majesty, I have been sent as an envoy from a distant kingdom to bring you an important message from my king, a message that was given to me to be delivered to you and your twin brother Caracalla, but…”

“No need.” Emperor Geta narrows his eyes suspiciously at your mention of distant kingdom. “It's just me,” he says curtly, “speak your message.” He gestures to a nearby table, and a servant quickly rushes over to pour him a goblet of wine. He takes a long drink, never taking his eyes off you.

You take a few steps and look out from the terrace. You take a deep breath, careful to not let your guard down in the face of his power, to hide how afraid you actually were of him. “It's about the gladiators...”

Emperor Geta raises an eyebrow at your mention of gladiators. “Go on,” he says, taking another sip of wine. “I am listening.”

“You are going to free them.”

A dark chuckle rumbles in Emperor Geta's throat at your proposal. “Free the gladiators?” he repeats incredulously. “What nonsense is this? The gladiators are our property. They exist only to fight for our amusement and profit. To free them would be to throw away a valuable resource, one that has brought us wealth and power beyond measure.” He takes another swig of wine, his eyes flickering with contempt. “Your king must be a fool if he thinks I would ever agree to such a ridiculous proposal.”

“But you have not yet listened to what is being offered to you in return, Your Majesty.”

Emperor Geta sets down his goblet, his gaze fixed on you. “And what do you propose in return?” he asks warily.

“My king will give you what you need most in exchange for freeing all the gladiators. Information. You may be rich enough to get worlds, you may have an army of hundreds of thousands of knights. But how sure are you of their loyalty to you? All of them, really, even the servants who wait on you at night while you sleep, how much do you trust them? I know something very important about the people closest to you, and my lips are sealed.”

Emperor Geta eyes you suspiciously, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. “What information?” he demands. “And how can I be certain that you will keep your word and not use this knowledge against me?”

“You can't be sure, you have to take some kind of gamble here.” This time you feel like you have the advantage and you grin, but you know that Emperor Geta is very clever.

Emperor Geta regards you skeptically, his expression inscrutable. “Very well,” he says finally. “I will consider your offer.” He stands up from his throne, towering over you like a giant. “But be warned, ” he says, his voice cold and menacing. “If I find out that you are lying to me or attempting to deceive me in any way, you will regret it.”

You fix your eyes on his brown eyes, are you afraid of him? Maybe. But will your fear stop you? No. If he knew that your brother was the one you really wanted to save among the gladiators, and that you were actually a simple villager and not a envoy sent by a king, he would kill you right now. You're sure of it. 

But you don't back down, You're almost sure you fooled him by pretending to be noble. “You don't have much time.”

Emperor Geta narrows his eyes at your sense of urgency. “What do you mean?” he says, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

“You must inform me of your decision before tonight's game. That is my king's order.”

Emperor Geta glowers at you, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword. “I do not like to be rushed,” he growls. “But fine. I will make my decision before tonight's game.” He turns sharply on his heel and strides back towards his throne. “You may leave now,” he says dismissively, waving a hand in your direction.

As you leave the throne room, you are acutely aware of the weight of Emperor Geta's gaze on your back. You could stand up to him, but you were not stupid enough to get yourself killed. How far beyond your limits could you go to save your brother?

You breathe a sigh of relief as you finally step out into the sunlit courtyard, and make your way towards the edge of the city. As you pass through the bustling streets, your thoughts wander back to your brother, imprisoned in the gladiator pits and forced to fight for his life. You vow to do whatever it takes to save him, even if it means making a deal with the devil himself.

  The villagers are ready for the gladiator battle in the evening, everyone goes to the great arena. You look at yourself in the mirror, do your hair, put your pearl crown on your head, the only precious thing your mother left you, and put on the dress you made for yourself from quality and shiny fabrics left over from the dresses you made for some rich noble clients.

It's time to hear the emperor's final decision.

As you approach the throne room, you hear the sounds of muffled voices and clinking glasses coming from inside. You take a deep breath to steady your nerves before knocking on the door. “Enter,” comes Emperor Geta's imperious voice from within.

You push open the door and step into the dimly lit room, your eyes adjusting slowly to the flickering torch light. Emperor Geta is seated at his throne, flanked by his bodyguards and courtiers. He regards you coolly for a moment, before finally speaking.

“I have made my decision,” he says, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “I will release the gladiators, but only on the condition that you divulge the information you claim to have about those close to me.”

“I'll only say that if it's just you and me in the room, no one else.”

Emperor Geta narrows his eyes suspiciously, studying you intently for a moment before nodding. “Very well,” he says, waving away his attendants and courtiers with a flick of his wrist. Once the room is cleared, he gestures for you to approach.

“Now then,” he says, leaning forward on his throne. “What is this information you claim to have?”

A friend of yours, working in the palace under the emperors' orders, heard something she shouldn't have heard, something that would change the fate of Rome. You kept it a deadly secret in your heart until your brother was captured by them. Now this deadly secret would either be your antidote or your death sentence.

You take a deep breath. “Your brother, Your Majesty. He wants to kill you.”

Emperor Geta's eyes widened in shock at your revelation. “What?” he demands, his voice rising in anger. “Caracalla wants to kill me? How do you know this?”

You can see the fury building in his expression, and for a moment you fear for your safety. But then he seems to regain control of himself, sinking back into his throne with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“If what you say is true,” he says finally, “Then my brother has crossed a line that cannot be forgiven. I will deal with him myself.” He looks up at you with an intense gaze. “I am grateful for your warning, envoy. You have done me a great service.”

“Now will you release the gladiators as you promised?”

Emperor Geta nods slowly, still lost in thought. “Yes,” he says at last. “The gladiators will be released. Consider it a gesture of goodwill from me to you,” He stands up abruptly, his eyes fixed on some distant horizon. “But know this, envoy. If what you have told me is false or if I ever discover that you have betrayed me, there will be consequences. Severe consequences.”

Your heart beats so fast it seems to pierce your ribcage, you didn't think for a moment that it would work, but you had no choice but to take the risk. You had one shot and you won it, gaining Geta's trust is the key that will unlock the door to saving your brother. The only thing you have to do from now on is to do whatever it takes to make sure that the lie you told and who you really are doesn't get out, otherwise there is no chance for you and your brother to be saved. 

Geta looks at your face, studying you from head to toe, as if waiting for an answer from you. You feel as if he is looking into your soul, as if he can tell you are lying by the slightest gesture you make or the rhythm of your breathing. “Do you understand what I have said, envoy?” he asks you in a soft but threatening voice. You just nod your head and take a step back to leave. 

“I haven't told you that you can leave yet,” he adds, as he takes two steps towards you and closes the distance between you. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts your head slightly, looking into your eyes, his amber eyes penetrating your soul. “You still haven't told me your name, envoy.”

After taking a deep breath, you open your mouth, but Emperor Geta runs his thumb along your lip. His gaze slides slowly from your eyes to your lips like a sharp knife, and you feel like a lion waiting to hunt its prey, and you are the gazelle he is about to hunt. 

“I will continue to call you envoy, you have my word, the gladiators will be released. After you prove that the information you have given me is true.”

You avert your eyes in surprise, this is definitely not what you expected and things are not going the way you wanted. How could you prove any of this? “But that's not what we agreed...” you whisper, surprised at how weak and quiet your voice sounds. 

Geta grips your neck with a condescending look, as if he's setting you up with the simplest equation in the world. “What did you expect me to do, kill my brother on the word of a envoy I don't even know where she came from and her king?” He grins as he shakes his head. 

“But I have nothing to prove it...” you whisper again, desperately. 

“There are other things you can prove.”

You try to figure out if he's playing a game in his sentences again or if he's trying to imply something, you feel like a trapped mouse, you feel your hands freezing cold and sweat running down your forehead. Finally you lift your eyes and meet his eyes. “What kind of things?”

“Your loyalty to me. Can you prove it?” He looks at you with eyes asking something he already knows the answer to.

‘’How can I prove my loyalty to you, Your Majesty?’’ Geta moves closer to you, closing the few inches between you, tightening his grip on your neck and gently running his thumb over your jugular vein, which is pumping blood like crazy. “Everything I say and everything I ask of you, you will do without question or doubt. Every word that leaves my lips will be your seal.’’

You nod timidly, Geta's lips curl upwards, he loosens the hand holding your neck and holds it out for you to kiss. When you grasp his hand with both of yours, the cold metal of his rings against your skin makes you flinch. You gently press your lips to his hand, you can feel the smile on his face grow even bigger.

“Now, you can go. But wait to hear from me. If it's true, you'll get what you want, but remember, if it's not true, I'll get what I want.”

  The hours dragged on, the days felt like weeks, even months. Day after day you wait for news from Emperor Geta. And waiting for fear was worse than fear. All this after you had lost your family and were the only one left to save your brother. The day the Roman knights took him captive, you thought all hope was lost. Despair kills a person, but vain hope makes them crawl. 

Your friend Atia, who served as a cook in the service of the emperors, brought you news of your brother from time to time. “He was not in the arena today, maybe tomorrow...” Every day you were waiting for bad news from him, and every day you were sinking deeper and deeper. 

The news that would brighten your dark hopes, trapped within four walls, came again from Atia. While serving Emperor Caracalla's meal, she overheard a conversation she shouldn't have. It was a conversation about how Macrinus had tried to persuade Emperor Caracalla to assassinate his twin brother Geta and rule the empire alone. Macrinus was very manipulative and clever, he was like water. He could easily take the shape of any situation he found himself in. He was looking for an opportunity to take his place in the Senate, or even to become the new ruler of the Roman empire, and he was playing with Caracalla like a puppet master plays with a puppet. Caracalla was easier to persuade than Geta. Geta was Macrinus' biggest obstacle. 

Atia was in the right place at the right time, she could no longer bear the burden of the news she heard that would change the fate of this empire, so she told you. And you had to come up with a plan, a perfect plan, to save your brother in the midst of all this chaos. Whoever you begged for help, people rejected you, saying that dealing with evil twins would get you nowhere. 

You were alone, all alone. Every time you remain silent in the face of evil, the goodness of the good diminishes a little more. Because to remain silent in the face of great evil is to be complicit. Sometimes injustice comes because we refuse to give up our comfort. Because we turn a deaf ear to the moans of those who are hurting so that we don't get hurt. 

Life is made up of stories. Good stories, bad stories, happy stories, painful stories... And life is not always just one of them. In every story there is as much joy as pain, as much hope as despair, more remedy than despair. You either live these stories and keep them to yourself or you choose to tell them. The news that would change the course of your story came a few days later, Emperor Geta finally wanted to see you.

  When you enter his room, you notice that he is standing with his back turned, looking at the gold embroidery on the wall, and you think that his dress and crown look more splendid than ever. But you can't tell if this is because he has grown more powerful in recent days or because you see yourself as less than you really are. The servants close the door after you step inside, and you are startled by the sound of the door slamming. 

“You were right,” he says quietly, slurring his words. “Caracalla has a plan to kill me, but it's not his plan. He's just a puppet.” You expect to hear anger in his voice, but it sounds more like frustration. As he turns around and walks back to his throne, his eyes meet yours for a second, and you see the disappointment in his tone in his eyes.

“How did you find out?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“There are still dozens of guards and servants here who are loyal to me. And they are doing the best they can with the job I gave them. Don't forget that everything that is said inside this palace is somehow known to me. Whispers are heard like screams, your small steps shake the ground like earthquakes and my little birds tell me everything.”

You can only nod, a small glimmer of hope rising inside you. If Geta knows what you told him is true, he will keep his promise to you and release the gladiators. But before you can even smile, Emperor Geta sits on his throne and looks you in the eye.

“What I don't understand...” he says, grabs the arm of his throne with his hand and starts rubbing it. “How you and your mysterious king could have gotten this information. There are things that don't fit in what you say, envoy.”

He waits for you to answer for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath and continues. “Your king must have a lot of confidence in you to send you to the distant Roman Empire without bodyguards and knights, or you must be a good enough warrior to defend yourself on your own.  It's strange that he wasn't worried about any trouble on the way. You could have been robbed, kidnapped by bandits or captured.”

He emphasizes the tone of a few words mockingly, gnaws his lips for a moment and then draws the sword of the guard standing next to him. The sharp sound of the sword is enough to make your ears prickle, and as Emperor Geta walks towards you you think, “Okay, it's over. Now he's going to slit my throat, he knows everything.”

Sometimes you had to be very unhappy to be happy. Sometimes you had to let yourself go down to see the bottom. And sometimes you had to come close to death to feel alive.

You wish it were painless as you feel the sword pressed against your throat, the last thing you see before you close your eyes are the light brown eyes of Emperor Geta. You can feel the jugular vein in your neck becoming prominent and pumping your blood frantically for your life. Everyone and everything around you is blurring, you can't stop your legs from trembling rapidly, no longer responding to the commands of your brain. And Emperor Geta's hot breath hits your face like a desert breeze. “Tell me, who are you? Who sent you here? Do you work for Macrinus?”

The tears slide down your cheeks, one after the other, skipping down your chin and hitting the floor like bombs, and no matter how hard you swallow, the lump in your throat won't go away. Your mouth dries up and your hands sweat as if you have been without water for days in the desert. Your whole body is burning and freezing at the same time, yet not as cold as the cold, sharp tip of the sword. 

“My brother...” you say at last. Emperor Geta frowns, tightening his grip on his sword as he waits for you to continue. “He is my only family, the only one I have left... To save him...” You take great pains to choose the right words. “He was captured, fighting for his life every day among the gladiators and waiting to die every day. I was ready to do anything to save him. If it means I have to die to save him, I will do that too. Please, I may have lied about where I come from or who I am, but what I said was true.”

You get on your knees and take his skirt in your hands and kiss it. “Your Majesty, I beg you, I've already lost everyone, I've lost everything, I can't lose him. I can still smell my mother's scent at home, I can still hear my father's voice. If I lose my brother, I will have no reason to live. Punish me, but let him live.”

Emperor Geta cannot hide the surprise on his face as he looks down at you, obviously not what he wanted or expected to hear. He thought you were a spy, perhaps a collaborator, and he was ready to kill you. But he pauses. “Aren't you afraid? Aren't you afraid to die?” he asks.

“I am afraid, God knows I am terrified. But isn't that what sacrifice requires? If sacrifice was easy, it wouldn't be a real sacrifice.” you say as you wipe your tears on your arms and lift your head up to look into his eyes.

“You are ready to give your life for your brother and my brother is ready to kill me...” he whispers. 

His words of sorrow remind you of the words of a frightened child waiting to be loved, behind the mask he actually wears. Geta throws the sword across the room and turns around. “All right, envoy. I'll let you go. Go away with your brother, live the life you want to live.”

“And what about you?” you ask, do you really care about him? He is one of the reasons why your brother is trapped here in the first place, why do you feel sorry for him? Even worse, why do you worry about him? 

“I don't know,” he says, as if he's trying to dodge the question. You know he has something in mind, men like Geta always have a backup plan.

“I promised you my loyalty, if there is anything I can do for you...” you say, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Geta looks out, at the great Rome. You see his hand trembling as he holds the curtain. Is he afraid too? Sure, why wouldn't he be? The sword that's just been placed against your neck could at any moment be placed against his by his brother. Wondering if there's poison in every meal he eats, lying in bed at night with no guarantee that a dagger won't suddenly plunge into his heart, that scares the hell out of him. 

He says, “Macrinus has to die.”

He closes the curtain and walks slowly towards you. He rubs his thumb gently over the neck where he had just held the sword. “He is the smartest man in Rome. He can easily manipulate anyone, everyone. That's why anyone I send to bring him down can turn on me in an instant. I need someone who can do this for me. Someone who has complete loyalty to me.”

He brings his face closer to yours. “My brother is sick, a child who needs care and affection. I love him, I've always loved him, I can't hurt him. I can never let him be harmed. He's the only family I have left. And I want the head of the person who made him think of killing me.” He slides his hand up your neck and cups your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears under your eyes. He leans down slightly to look into your eyes. “Can I trust you, envoy?” he asks, desperately. 

Despair. Fear. The feeling of emptiness and nothingness. These are feelings from which it is difficult to extricate yourself once you are caught in them. It feels like you've fallen into a well with no water in it and you're sitting with your face buried in your knees. It feels like you are the most meaningless being in the world, like you are the only one having a hard time.

You know this feeling because you are this feeling, you have been fighting your worst enemy for weeks, despair. And the person who got you out of it was the same person who got you into it, how ironic could it be? Isn't the antidote to snake venom made from the venom of the snake? Geta was struggling for his life like a wounded and suffering animal. He wants you to lend him a helping hand, but if you take it, the consequences could be dire. You could die trying to carry out his plan, or worse, all your efforts to save your brother will be in vain and you may not be able to save him.

His piercing gaze fixes on you as he leans forward slightly, revealing his striking almond-shaped brown eyes. They are so dark they almost look black, but they hold an intense warmth that draws you in, and there is a subtle golden glow that seems to shimmer in the sunlight.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I will help you.” Your voice sounds confident, but also timid. 

Emperor Geta smiles, for the first time. His smile is mesmerizing, revealing perfect white teeth that shimmer in the light. His lips curve up at the corners, crinkling the skin around his eyes and making them sparkle with joy. But most of all, you could see hope in his eyes.

It was the relief of finding someone he could trust, a glimmer of hope that he had found a safe harbor. Maybe he was clinging to you for dear life, he didn't know if he could trust you, but it seemed he had no choice but to do so.

“If you do this for me, I will drown you in gold. As many servants as you want, as many jewels and houses as you want. You will have everything you want for life with your brother, envoy.”

You shake your head and hesitantly raise your hands, place them on his. “Accept this as thanks for saving my brother. And I fulfill my promise of loyalty to you.”

His gaze softens, perhaps for the first time in his life someone is helping him for nothing. Without expectation of power, without expectation of recognition, without wanting to rise to a position of importance. His gaze shifts from her eyes to your lips. 

“Where have you been all this time?” he asks, his voice so low and full that only you can hear it. “Are you really want to save me after I've caused you so much pain?”

“You and I... Your Majesty. We're not so different.”

“But you are different. You have something I've never seen before, I can see the courage in your eyes that bursts out in flames. There is no courage without bondage, I saw it in the eyes of all those gladiators. What I see in your eyes is different, there is something I can't make sense of.” Each word makes your heart beat faster, and for a moment you are angry with yourself for being so attracted to him. You realize that despite the great sacrifice you will make for him, he is still an Emperor and you are just a peasant. And you cannot ask for more. When he brings his face closer to give you an unexpected kiss, he makes you feel like you're holding a match in a straw.

‘’And what was our fire? To put our thoughts into action. If you do what you think, that would be your spark. You were holding a lit match in a barn full of straw. It was either going to go out or it was going to fall out of your hand and set the place ablaze.’’

But there was something you didn't know yet. Even if that lit match fell out of your hand and set the straw on fire, someone was about to enter your life to be your rain. And this was none other than Emperor Geta.

Let me know if anyone wants to be on the tag list <3

[hc-axl]

The Scare

girl, so scary

Hot summer nights, mid-July. This week, two of my friends turned twenty, being the last of my batch of high school friends to join the Twenty Club, every generation’s big scare. During our walk around Chinatown, before a night of moshing, I asked my friend Benji how he felt now that he was twenty “I still feel the same, it’s not like I’m turning Forty”, he answered, Val and I reacted the way any overthinker would, we tried to make him realize his vast growth during his teen years, which would lead him to be the person he is today. He understood the picture eventually but I was surprised he hadn’t thought about it before we mentioned it.

I can't be nonchalant about anything. I give everything way too much thought. Sometimes, it’s a good thing because I can find romance and beauty in the most mundane things. Other times, if I don't stop thinking about something, it'll eat away at me until I crash, hurting myself and others in the process. Turning twenty scared me. I knew there wouldn't be an instant change, but I’d look back in a few months or a year and mourn my nineteen-year-old self, just like I did with my eighteen-year-old self.

“Soho in our mid-thirties”, an inside joke and bit my friends and I started when we were shopping at one of those overpriced vintage consignment shops, and Benji pulled out a leather trench coat and said “This is so Soho in your mid-thirties” to Chloe as she was looking through the coat section. We laughed at this comment since it was normally so out of character for Benji to speak about fashion this way. After some thought, I knew that the friendships I’ve made up to now were precious and rare, yet change is scary, but easier to cope with the right people, we’re all navigating similar challenges and transitions, and knowing that we can depend on each other creates a sense of security and belonging. If I neglect their feelings, act selfishly, or take them for granted, I risk damaging these connections and losing the chance to have these amazing people in my life for the long haul. Soho in our mid-thirties: a childish dream or a likely possibility? 

The high summer temperatures agitate everyone, whether you are heated or in heat, you are never as relaxed as you were in the winter, even if summer is meant for relaxing, we all know it isn’t. This week I got the internal reboot I needed, after weeks of losing my cool and constant bitching, I’m back to the early May days when summer’s harsh realities hadn’t yet come in swinging. The "summer of love" I craved hasn’t taken off for me, but being single is the best it's ever been. I’ve often obsessed over someone who doesn't want me, chasing something I can’t have. My girlfriends have always been there, anxiously ready to catch me when I fall. I owe them the world. I've never felt a deep attraction towards anyone, and I'm not focused on finding one right now. My alone time is my favorite time. It's no longer filled with constant depressive thoughts like it used to be when I was sixteen.

I love being alone, I love my bedroom, my bedroom is my sanctuary, a sacred space I've crafted over the years. It’s where I write, where I read, where I used to starve, where I find peace, and where I feel most like myself. This room, these four walls, have seen me through several wars, holding my joys and sorrows like a tender secret. This is my gallery of imagination, where I wander without ever leaving. My bed, draped in soft linens, is a haven of rest. It cradles me through sleepless nights and sunlit mornings. It’s my place of peace, where the weight of the world melts away. Posters and photos adorn my walls, a testament to battles fought and victories won. This room is my museum, chronicling the challenges I’ve faced and the strength I’ve discovered within myself. Each mark, each scar, tells a tale of resilience.

I do way too much thinking, I wish it would stop. My anxious mind is a beast, constantly trying to take over and control everything. It's like this relentless dictator inside my head, barking orders and stirring up chaos. I try to plan every little detail, overanalyze every situation, and predict every possible outcome, but the sad truth is, I can't control everything. It's frustrating as hell, not just for me but for everyone around me too. I know my need to micromanage and my constant worrying is a drag, and it's so displeasing to see how it affects the people I care about. But I'm done letting these anxious thoughts ruin my life. I'm tired of being held hostage by my own mind. I'm gonna start pushing back against these evil attacks, fighting for my peace of mind. I know it's not gonna be easy, and there will be days when I'll slip back into old patterns, but I have to try. It's gonna be a long, messy process, but I can't keep living like this. I owe it to myself and to the people I love to fight back against these anxious thoughts. 

[fruitflavoredcancersun]

6

i have a crush on a celebrity. and it feels so good.

i'm not gonna name him in hopes that i one day meet him because i don't want him to track me down on this decomposing website. i'm not an advocate for parasocial relationships, just like how i'm not an advocate for depression. it does, however, happen to me so many times. one time, i dreamed about having a weird, time altering threesome with two male celebrities with every thrust leading me to a different point in time. another time, i went through the grieving process after i saw my celebrity crush dancing with a woman at a club with her hands around her hips.

i think part of what intrigues me most about celebrity crushes is that delicious distance between you and him. it allows your imagination to run miles and miles and miles away from reality, hoping one day you'll meet it. this time around it's different though. he's younger than me, which is quite outside my field-house of liking senior after senior (senior as is high school, because people couldn't tell when i explained this last time). it's also weird because he has more muscular arms than me. 

how i wish i had big arms. i don't even care about a big wingspan even though i do, in fact, care a lot. if i get big, muscular-toned-whatever-gym-buzzword arms by the end of march, i'll be set for life. 

i never really took a liking to him until the beginning if february. it was part of the whole "insecure about my masculinity" era that i wrote about last time. i remember heading to church listening to "incredible world" by kilo kish in my muffled airpods as i dreamed about a show starring me. it talked about toxic masculinity in that fleabag-donald-glover-tv-show-amazon-original fashion, following me trying to become traditionally masculine with the help of a straight guy who would eventually fall in love with me. i couldn't think of an actor my age that could perfectly play the character, so i chose him. allison williams is in it, too. she plays a laid-back xanax'd english teacher.

ever since then, the daydream just spiralled out like an invasive weed. it started with a sentimental scenario of us in my trailer at midnight listening to "eva" by yeule, hugging, and us crying in each other's arms. it then transitioned to interviews, us chuckling at each other's answers knowing that our teams have already picked out what to say. it didn't get to this point until i sent him a message on Instagram. from there, any romantic and platonic scenario played out.

me and him in toronto, me and him london, me and him in new york, in hotel rooms, in bedrooms, on facetime and and on call. us breaking the law, us holding hands, us kissing, us making out, us hugging. i'm not sure how a sexual daydream would work if he's younger than me and i'm too scared to top, so i avoid it.  i'm pretty aware that most of this is disgusting to anyone sane reading this, but i don't care. i even made a playlist; not for him but for this era. i would link it, but it's too corny.

i know thus is a result of stress and the fact that i'm not over t-shirt, considering they share similar features and personality. it's the same gay feeling that occupies the space of "i want to be you" and "i want to be with you"; homoerotic jealousy, if you will. but i could be wrong. maybe i'm just delusional

despite the song mentions, i do have one for a footnote:

broken social scene — anthems of a seventeen year old girl

[newxdiary]

56 + one day

February 25, 2023

Coffee Time: 6:58 p.m.

Joni Mitchell, FOR THE ROSES Elvis Presley, ELVIS PRESLEY

More from How I am:

My brother Michael and I shared a bedroom. It was terrible. We fought it ought every night. My parents didn’t have any sympathy for us. They grew up during the depression and the war and  so they didn’t even have their own beds. We fought every night until my father came into the room in a rage. The fear of my father would get us to quit for awhile, but we would soon start back up. The last thing I said before falling asleep most nights was, “no, you shut up.” The phrase I had probably said to Michael the most was, “No, you shut up.”

I was in denial about my father’s alcoholism, but not my brother's. There’s nothing noble about this, the rivalry is probably all that spurred me on to accept this truth. I was insecure and desperate for an advantage, but realizing his alcohol problems also horrified me. Buried under the antagonism was a love for Michael that was expressed only in my mind in the form of grief. I was worried about him and helpless to help him.

I can’t keep on this path here, I do not intend to tell my history as it’s long and tedious and should feel like a dull trip on a bus where you hit every light. Yesterday, I took a bus from downtown and it took a detour that got it stuck at a rail crossing where two freight trains transited, forcing us to wait.

My sister is my only surviving family. I love her, she has three kids and a husband, all of whom I also love.

Now:

I take 8 pills a day for diabetes and high blood pressure. Three are vitamins, one is baby aspirin, and the others are prescriptions: the usual ones. I wear glasses and have been for about 8 to 10 years now. (time flies)

I have a full set of hair. I got all my teeth, although who knows for how long. I’m super heavy and I’m in danger of growing out of my most expensive clothes. I stand 6 feet tall.

I aspire to be an artist as a photographer. I love music, art, poetry, and history. I love cooking and food. I love cats, but I also love dogs. I have one plant named Larry. My money comes from driving a wheelchair taxi at night.

I’m bad at throwing things away, I’m bad at relationships. I don’t date, although I’m not against it. I feel like I’ve nearly lost all of my friends. Not to disputes but the inconveniences of coordinating lifestyles. I work nights. I try making new friends, but I found that was hard after age 30, let alone age 50. I’m judgmental most of the time. Sometimes I try to catch myself, but most times I don’t. I’m glad I don’t have the bomb.

I aspire to be a good person, but looking back, I’ve realized I’ve mostly been a selfish person. After all this introspection, I’ve come to realize that I’m like everybody else.

[dmitrinfinite]

Secret Santa Snippet 2022!

This is a gift for @snowshowerwriting, an awesome friend and writer! I’m glad I got your prompt this year, and since this is my first time posting writing on tumblr I’m pretty excited to see how it turns out. Hope you enjoy!

content warning; implied depression, injury, reference and mild descriptions of nerve damage (hands) (i swear this is hurt/comfort we just have to get past the hurt)

Surely three weeks was enough time for Hero to recover after their last fight - wasn’t it? Villain couldn’t say they knew much about medical stuff aside from how to patch themselves up after a scuffle, but they assumed Hero would’ve at least made an appearance by now. Although, their hands did look pretty messed up after being crushed under falling debris... Falling debris that Villain had knocked loose, and that Hero had pushed Villain away from at the risk of his own life. Uncomfortably guilty about the whole situation, Villain had even held off on any major crimes while they waited for their nemesis to heal. Now, though, as they stood outside the recently robbed bank, there was no sign that Hero was coming to stop them.

“Seriously?” Villain shouted at nobody in particular, causing the crowds of terrified onlookers to flinch back. “Is no one even gonna try and stop me? Do I just get to take all this money without a fight?”

“Sorry I’m late,” said a voice from behind Villain, and they turned to see Other Hero, one of Hero’s colleagues, nimbly leap to the ground. She twirled an elegant blade between her fingers.

“What are you doing here?” Villain asked, raising an eyebrow. Normally Other Hero was busy breaking up gang fights or busting shady underground markets, not dealing with high profile criminals. “Where’s Hero?”

“You didn’t hear?” Other Hero snorted, stalking closer. “Boss says we can’t have traitors on our team - Hero almost died to save you, so… y’know. We had to kick him off the squad. I guess you’re happy about that, considering you’ve got one less threat to deal with. Not like he’d be useful to us now anyway, not with those fucked up hands.”

“Shit,” Villain whispered, dropping the bag of money in their hands. Wasn’t that what they’d always wanted? To have their nemesis out of the way? No… not like this. Villain was supposed to take over and sit on a throne while everyone kneeled at his feet, not shove the only tolerable hero on the force to the sidelines. Before they had any more time to think, Other Hero advanced. They dodged her strike and jumped back, summoning a swirl of icicles in their hand. Incensed by his own folly and Other Hero’s sadistic smirk alike, they struck.

-

The thing is, Villain had discovered Hero’s civilian identity a while ago. It was purely by accident, after they’d recognised him entering his apartment while on a little looting spree a while back. They hadn’t felt the need to bring it up, nor did they feel like playing dirty. If it were any other hero, Villain probably wouldnt hesitate - but they wanted a fair fight with Hero. They wanted to share an adrenaline rush with him as they both stood on even ground, powers crashing together in terrific bursts of energy.

Now, though, as Villain slipped through the window in the late afternoon, they couldn’t care less about keeping their discovery a secret. They had to see Hero - he would certainly be down in the dumps after losing his job and suffering what was without doubt a painful injury.

“What are you doing here?” Hero’s voice asked from the dark, and Villain cursed themselves for not checking if Hero was in his bedroom before using it to sneak in. “You need to go, I- we can’t fight anymore. I don’t work for them.” As he spoke, Villain realised just how hoarse and shaky Hero’s voice sounded. He turned on the lamp and looked at Villain with tired, searching eyes.

“I’m not here to fight,” Villain said quietly, “I came to apologise. You know, about your job. That was really my fault.”

“Oh,” Hero replied, glancing away. He got out from under the covers and trudged across the room, motioning for Villain to follow. “I’m not all that hung up on the job.” As he walked, his clenched fists were shaking violently. Was he angry? No, wait - Other Hero had mentioned his ‘fucked up hands,’ maybe they were jittery from the injury. That seemed to be the case when Hero reached up to flick on the light, fumbling with the switch for a few moments. He crossed the living room, Villain following cautiously behind.

If they were in Hero’s apartment under any normal circumstances, they’d probably be teasing them to hell and back about how it was small and messy - more like cute and cozy, but they wouldn’t admit that - but today they fought the urge. Something was very wrong.

“Here,” Hero said flatly, sitting on a black stool in front of an elegant upright piano. It was probably the most expensive thing in the room. “Between fights, after a bad day, when I was overwhelmed… I played. I’ve been taking lessons for ten years now, and I bought this piano after saving up for ages.” His face brightened a little as he spoke, and Villain felt their chest buzz with warmth until Hero looked at them, eyes wet and hands trembling as he gripped the piano lid.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he whispered, a shake in his voice, and Villain’s heart sank. “I don’t care about my job, I- I’m not even mad at you, and I don’t re- regret saving you, not for a moment!” He stood up, clasping his hands together, desperately trying to still them. “But I… I can’t do this. I can’t write, or type without having to redo every word a dozen times, and I can’t play anymore. I can’t distract myself from the fucking mess my life is right now.”

Wordlessly, guilt swelling in their chest, Villain moved to sit on the stool beside him and opened up the piano.

“I don’t remember much,” they said softly, “But I used to play a little too.” They guided Hero to place his unsteady hands on the keys and rested their own on top. Buried deep in Villain’s muscle memory was a classical piece they’d learned years ago, back when life was simpler and they didn’t have to fight and steal to survive. Back when they didn’t have ‘allies’ and ‘enemies’, when they didn’t have to pretend the one person they looked forward to seeing each day was their nemesis in a bitter rivalry.

Pushing those yearning thoughts away, they looked at Hero for permission. He nodded, still looking at the keys, and Villain tried to remember the piece. The muscle memory was still with them, and for that they were thankful, but they’d never exactly had to play it with an extra pair of hands under their own. Though the sweet melody occasionally peeked through, the song was mostly a jumble of wrong notes and fumbled chords. Villain tensed, worried that their attempts to be cute and comforting had only made things worse. To their surprise, though, Hero turned his hands over and laced them with Villain’s, which put them in what was without a doubt an awkward position, but Villain felt a pleasant flutter in their stomach.

“That was awful,” Hero remarked, but he was smiling. Smiling, so softly and knowingly in a way only he could. “But it… it helped, I think.” Villain averted their eyes as if it’d help hide the embarrassingly obvious blush on their face. As they looked across the room, it dawned on them just how cluttered and dark the apartment really was.

“Have you been sitting alone in your apartment all this time?” they asked, and Hero’s smile dropped a little.

“I don’t have anyone to visit, much less anyone who’ll visit me,” he replied, and now it was his turn to sheepishly glance away. “Not since the team labeled me a traitor.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Villain said. At Hero’s hesitant nod, they continued, “And, since you’re already apparently a traitor to those ‘heroes,’ it’s not like we have to pretend to hate each other anymore.” They offered a mischievous grin, which Hero weakly returned.

“Would you mind, then, um… would you mind sticking around for a while?” He asked before Villain could make the offer. All they could do was nod, slowly untangling their hands and putting an arm around Hero’s shoulders. He rested his head in the crook of Villain’s neck and let out a slow sigh, hands shaking again as he placed them in his lap.

“Thank you for saving me back there, by the way. I-I’m sorry you got hurt in the process. I wish I could go back and… Hell, maybe I’d stop you from doing it.” Villain whispered, anxious and guilty at the thought but elated by their close contact in equal measure. Hero simply shifted in a little closer, and Villain could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

“Nothing could stop me from keeping you safe. Not even you.”

[escapism-isgoodinsmalldoses]

I’d plant the stars in the ground for you -> Moon Knight x Daughter!Reader

-‘If I could, I’d plant the stars in the ground for you, They’d grow as tall as your eyes so they’d shine for you only.’

‘For then you’d see how the world is so big, but it was made for you. And you were made to be loved, loved by me.’ -

                                                           -by abbycates

PART ONE:

Part one/Part two

Relationships:  Father!Jake Lockley x daughter!reader/ Fatherfigure!Steven Grant x daughter!reader/ Fatherfigure!Marc Spector x daughter!reader Motherly Nut/ Slight Layla x Marc

TW: Depression and anxiety disorders, absent father, slight angst, Steven is a good dad, Marc tries, Jake is scared and hides but will come around. Konshu is intimidated by Nut hehe.

Nut, Nwt, (Ⲛⲉ), is the goddess of the sky, stars, cosmos, mothers, astronomy, all heavenly bodies and the universe in the ancient Egyptian religion. She was seen as a star-covered nude woman arching over the Earth. Nut was seen as a friend and protector of the dead, who appealed to her as a child appeals to its mother. (She is sometimes associated with the cow and represented with the horns of one)

A/N: the story takes place right after Konshu frees Steven and Marc. They are going back to London in the company of Layla. Jake fronts in panic and tries to pretend to be Marc. She/Her reader pronouns but they aren’t used a lot, the term ‘daughter’ comes up tho.

If you want to write/create anything that is inspired by this little story, feel free ! I just want a bit of credit hehe.

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« I’m sorry kid but, » He took a deep breath and ran his hand along his forehead, he was sweating. « I’m… not your father. My name is Marc. »

It really was the worst excuse you had ever heard.

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You were certainly not the first person who never knew their father, and certainly not the last. At least you knew he took the time to pay child support. For almost 18 years now. And he never bothered to show up after you were born, all you have of him is a silver chain necklace with a tiny opal on it. Failing to look like him in any way, being a perfect copy of your mother. A birth gift surely.

You didn't know his face but you knew his first name: Jake. A name so common that it was funny. Your mother only knew him as a taxi driver. A taxi driver named Jake, a dream father.

She didn't talk much about him, she preferred this family life of two, never complaining about her situation. You saw her almost only in the evening, after her long days of work. You loved her a lot, that was undeniable, but you didn't have much in common. She who absolutely wanted you to succeed in your life by having a stable financial situation, a job that paid a lot of money, and not needing anyone but yourself to meet your own needs.

You stopped going to class when you were in your last year of high school, because of anxiety and your sleeping disorder. You were planning to continue your studies, you didn't really have a choice, but you preferred to stay indoors, watching the outside world through your bedroom window, from your small house in a rather poor part of London.

‘I would like to see the world. Could you show it to me?’

But a voice absolutely wanted to take you on a journey, asking you to go out and see life on Earth, nature, people, music, food, luxuries, animals, and to look at the sky from your point of view. Its colors at night and day, the stars, the clouds, the storms. The sky was never this alive to you.

The voice eventually told you that its name was Nut, and after the initial shock of having a voice speaking to you without anyone else being able to hear it, you got used to it. Little by little. You thought you were crazy, but that voice gave surprisingly helpful advice.

'Breathe deeply.' ‘It will rain today, take an umbrella.’ ‘Shooting stars will fall tonight, you will be able to observe them at 2 a.m. from where you are.’

It managed to calm you down, it soothed you, made you peaceful during your long sleepless nights.

The kind of crazy that wasn’t scary, just… strange and inexplicable.

‘You are not mad, child. You are my vessel. And I will care for you. Show me your world, and you will discover mine.’

Apparently, ‘she’ wasn’t allowed to walk the Earth, doomed to watch the spectacle of life from the astral plane. 

You found it almost poetic. A depressed teenager, just stepping into adulthood, daydreaming about a celestial woman. 

A goddess who consoled you when this deep sadness resurfaced, when you wept silently in fear that the sound of your voice would upset the fragile balance of your life. The one your mother built for you.

She asked you to be her eyes, her voice, her emotions. That's when you noticed it would start raining when your tears were flowing. That clearings appeared when a reassuring feeling flew through you. Storms would rage when you felt tormented.

You didn't try to talk to your mother about it, you contented yourself with jokes, hugs and simple mother-daughter complicity. It soothed you to be an understanding child, to be a source of comfort for your overworked mother.

You resigned yourself to being a strange case, keeping Nut's existence a secret and simply wandering the streets of London when she wanted to observe people, taste new flavors, listen to new melodies, see new forms of art.

She was quite curious and enthusiastic about what you were too jaded to enjoy.  She was amazed by animals, flowers and rivers.  Small shops, restaurants, and cafes. 

Happy families, annoyed people coming home from work, street artists and painters.

The cries, the laughs, the cries, the songs. And you too were a source of her wonder.

You were her avatar, you were under her protection, your existence had to be as wonderful as it could be.  And that was completely beyond you.

One fateful night, the stars began to spin in the sky, flashes of radiant light roamed the firmament. 

And Nut knew nothing of it. 

Seeing this incomprehensible celestial spectacle, you questioned the goddess hoping to find answers.

‘Khonshu.’

Was the only answer she gave you.

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If you are really insane, then your madness managed to bring you to Egypt, to Cairo.

Nut had a slightly different request than usual, and she asked if you could let her borrow your body.

A simple yes made you as light as air, and in a wave of thoughts you couldn't understand the true nature of, you seemed to appear in the street of a city that you weren’t familiar with.

You walked with a gentle but sure step. It was your body, but Nut was giving you instructions on where to go. You would take short glances at yourself in the various mirrors along the streets’ walls.

Your eyes shone with an unnatural glow. Your body was dressed in veils reflecting the star filled sky of Egypt. You were aware of the jewels that adorned your head, your neck, your ankles and fingers.

Passers-by turned on your path but her voice, lurking in your mind, kept you from panicking.

‘Be not afraid.’

Morning was peeking through the horizon and you were now traversing a cold and dark desert. Even though the sky never seemed so bright.

Suddenly, you were blinded by headlights, where did this car come from? A loud sound resonated through your ears and sand flew around you. You covered your eyes and coughed. You heard a car door opening roughly.

« What the hell…? »

A woman’s voice cut through the silence of the night. You opened your eyes and were face to face with an annoyed woman, probably in her thirties. The look of confusion on her face quickly morphed into shock as she took a step back.

« Marc!? » Another person got out of the vehicle and stomped quickly over to the woman. 

‘Oh dear, it’s Khonshu’s avatar…’

When he noticed you, he quickly stood in front of the woman, seemingly trying to shield her.

« Who are you?! I’m telling you right now, I am done with you gods! My deal with Khonshu is over, I have nothing to do with any of you now. »

‘You gods?’ Gods were real? You weren’t crazy? You couldn’t decide if that was a relief or deeply worrying.

« HEY! » The man shouted, clearly ticked off by your lack of awnser. Oh… You still looked like a living chunk of the sky walking the earth. 

« I-hum… No… I’m… »

What were you supposed to do?

« Nut… Please? »

In an instant, it was like her entire presence left your being, you were back to your oversized T-shirt and shorts. You rubbed your arms, finally feeling the harsh cold of the desert.

« I’m Y/N… I’m Nut’s… avatar. She wanted to see Khonshu. » You were able spit out, not really understanding this situation.

The man groaned and smacked his hand over his faced. He went rigid for a couple of seconds and he spoke up again. With an English accent.

« Listen, I know that could be upsetting but Khonshu’s not here with us anymore. He’s off doing whatever, sorry kid. You seem nice, and I’m sure you mean no harm, but we’ve had a long, long week. »

‘That’s not true.’

‘I can feel Khonshu’s presence within him.’

You were starting to shake a bit from the cold and missed whatever Nut had done to your body to keep you warm. You took a couple of steps towards the couple.

« She s-says that it can’t b-e right. She s-enses him. »

‘Oh great, here comes the chaperon…’

A deep, gravely voice swept through you. It definitely wasn’t Nut. The man took several steps towards you, and looked into your eyes.

« What do you m-. »

His eyes widened, he stopped dead in his tracks and loomed over you. You were scared. You hoped Nut wouldn’t leave you here, but she wanted something, but you couldn’t understand what.

The woman walked towards you as well and looked at the man with a questioning stare.

« She’s just a kid. Steven? Marc? »

He didn’t respond and simply took a closer look at your face.

« Santa mierda. »

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Nut representation by Tess Brownson.

Nut representation by germesia.

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