#now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost well i guess i should go yeah i guess i should go

[dadvans]

things i want with eddie:

if eddie is wearing dead wife goggles, and kim IRL only kind of looks like shannon:

eddie tries to justify doing this if christopher finds out (after eddie JUST had a freak out earlier this season about christopher having multiple girlfriends lol. lmao.) and he's like, it's mom 2.0! it's her! i finally did what i've been trying for years and got you your mom back! and christopher is like, "dad, she's just some woman i don't know"

a scene from anyone else's POV meeting her and she's played by a different actress

if kim actually looks like shannon and eddie isn't crazy but he's still making bad decisions:

he calls her shannon. more than once. she finds pictures of shannon. she promptly gets the FUCK outta that situation

he gets to know her and she's nothing like shannon and he's thinking like, you didn't used to like this food, you always told me you hated this song, you never wanted to do this the last time; and then we again see kim getting the FUCK outta that situation

[thinplacesradio]

stacked white pool chairs alongside discarded, tangled blue and white pool lane dividers. blue haze. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[029] THE CAT. A CALLER GETS A NEW PET. THE HOST FOCUSES ON THE REARVIEW.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

I’m coming to you worn to the sole like an old novelty sock from my studio, which is what I like to call the same motel I stayed in before, the one that looks so different than it did that summer night in this thin, winter light. It's not past the point of recognition, but it's not exactly the same place, not really. I’m sitting outside, on the concrete lip of the empty motel pool. Deep end. [dripping] [tinking sound] There’s a puddle of water at the bottom, rotting fall leaves swirling around in it, a plastic bag with a yellow smiley face on the side. And, as usual, there’s someone watching me. I can see their reflection in the windows. [cars passing] A little taller than me. Can’t see their face. But hey. What else is new. 

If I wave do you think they’ll wave back? 

[jacket swishing]

[static tuning]

[The host chuckles] Oh. Huh.  

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you yearning for an experience that you can't explain? 

Are you wondering how to balance your living pets’ needs with your dead ones’?

Are you dealing with a location-based curse?

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

Hi, I’ve, uh, never called into a radio show like this, so uh, here goes, I guess? So I moved into this house 2 years ago, and for the first few months I was here, my roommate and I swore up and down that there was a ghost cat hanging around. Not - I mean, it didn't do anything bad. Just you know, we kept seeing cat-sized movement out of the corner of our eyes, or hearing the cat moving around upstairs or downstairs when we're on the other side of the house. And it stopped, unfortunately, after both of us got cats. And I didn't notice anything again until she moved out and it was just me and my one cat. And then suddenly the ghost cat was back, again. Same thing. It's just seeing it out of the corner of our eyes, just movement. A sense that something was there. Small and Cat-sized and honestly friendly. And - I  mean, do you think it gets scared off by too many other cats? I don't want to discourage it from hanging around. We all need company sometimes, I guess. So, I guess thanks for your time. Thanks.

[click] 

Thank you for your voicemail, caller, and thank you for taking the time to really notice - to pay attention to the blank spaces and strange noises. [eerie, curious music] It's a skill that gets harder and harder the louder the world gets. The more there is to notice, the more we overlook. But love lives in the still small voice, the quiet moments. I know you know this already, caller, but the inconveniences are a gift. The imperfections are a gift. Our lives must be rocked by the ripples of others in order to take us where we need to go. Even a small ripple changes our course. Even a cat-sized movement makes our whole lives different. 

So I’m glad you’re waiting and listening for her. You’re already doing something good. You’re making space for her. That’s all that she needs. Company. 

[click]

Right now, as you’re listening to this, an act of kindness is taking place. Acts of cruelty, too, and desperation, and hopelessness, and hopefulness. But also kindness - the kind that comes for free, out of love for another human heart. 

[frantic, mechanical music, slowed down]

Your partner calls you from the station where you’re supposed to pick them up, and they’re crying, and crying hard. I fell on the steps, they tell you, please come help me, it really hurts. Their foot is broken. And you try, but you’re not strong enough to carry them, and you see the tears streaming down their face and feel them pooling in your eyes, too. 

But then there’s a voice from above, and it’s saying, here, I’ve got this, go get your car. I can help. The man is built like a linebacker, easily 6 4, but he speaks gently. You notice the gray in his beard. Is it okay if I touch you, just here on your arms? He asks your partner. He is gentle when he takes on their weight. He gets them into the car. You dry your partner’s tears. You thank the man. It’s clear you needed help, he says. How could I not give it? 

[click] 

The sun’s starting to come back up, so it’s time for me to go. I’ve been watching the figure, this time, letting them come into my field of vision instead of staying at the edges. [dripping] I’m paying attention, this time. I hadn’t realized until now that they’ve been with me for so long - longer than I can - remember. When you don’t fix a dripping faucet, you stop noticing the sound after a while, the ripples in the sink. But it’s still dripping. 

[to the figure:] Hello? Who - who are you? …Are you?

[garbled, tuning in and out, voice layered upon itself:] Don’t worry --- Remember? 

Man, you know I don’t. Thanks a lot. 

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal. The voice of [STATIC] is Omar Najam.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Myr. The act of kindness was submitted by Alexis. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme and Unearthed, by Miles Morkri, and Junoon by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[static clearing] [the figure:] Remember?

[exactlyhow]

but I DO MY MAKEUP IN SOMEBODY ELSE'S CAR and we order DIFFERENT drinks at the SAME BAR and I hear SOUNDS in my MIND, BRAND NEW SOUNDS in my mind and honey I'll be seeing you down 'EVER I go, yes honey I'll be seeing you down EVERY road and I'll come get my things but I CAN'T LET GO and I'm acting like I don't see every ribbon that used to tie yourself to me and WILL YOU SWAY WITH ME? go astray with me? and I'm gonna dream with a FEVER and jack and jill get FUCKED UP AND POSSESSIVE when it gets DARK and in the morning, you'll be DANCING with all the HEARTACHE and the TREASON, THE FANTASIES OF LEAVING, in the morning, you'll be dancing WITH US and i think that you might be the same as me, behave abnormally? and we'll end up PAINTED on the road, RED and CHROME and i am your SWEETHEART, PSYCHOPATHIC crush and CAN YOU HEAR THE VIOLENCE? megaphone to my chest, broadcast the BOOM BOOM BOOM and make em all dance to it and BLOW ALL MY FRIENDSHIPS TO SIT IN HELL WITH YOU and BABY REALLY HURT ME and CRYING in a TAXI and GO BACK into the arms of the girl I LOVE and all that a STRANGER would see is one girl swaying ALONE, stroking her cheek and you're a LITTLE much for me and EVERY PERFECT SUMMER'S EATING ME ALIVE and you're all gonna WATCH ME DISAPPEAR into the SUN and PLEASE could be tender? and i will sit close to you, let's give it a MINUTE before we admit that we're THROUGH and it's LATE and this song is for YOU and now we sit in your car and OUR LIVE IS A GHOST, well I guess I should go, yeah I guess I SHOULD go and i care for myself the way I used to care about you and why even TRY to get it right and IT'S TIME TO LET GO OF THIS ENDLESS SUMMER AFTERNOON and three years loved you EVERY single week, IT WAS REAL FOR ME, yup, real for me and now I'll fake it EVERY SINGLE DAY 'till I don't need FANTASY 'till I FEEL YOU LEAVE and BUT I STILL REMEMBER EVERYTHING!! HOW we'd DRIFT buying GROCERIES, how you'd dance for me and I'm gonna let go of LITTLE things 'till I'm far away from you SO FAR AWAY FROM YOU and gonna wanna TAPE MY MOUTH SHUT and LOOK OUT, lovers and lights are on and they've all gone home BUT WHO AM I? and we TOLD you this was MELODRAMA and the TERROR and the HORROR, GOD, I WONDER WHY WE BOTHER and all the GUNFIGHTS and the LIMELIGHTS and the HOLY SICK DIVINE nights and SORRY I WAS NEVER GOOD LIKE YOU and DID MY BEST to exist JUST FOR YOU and I am my MOTHER'S child, I'll LOVE you 'till my breathing stops, I'll LOVE you 'till you call the COPS on me and BET YOU RUE THE DAY YOU KISSED A WRITER IN THE DARK and in my DARKEST hours I stumbled on a SECRET power, I'll FIND a way to be without you, babe, and i ride the subway, read the signs, I LET THE SEASONS CHANGE MY MIND, I LOVE IT HERE SINCE I STOPPED NEEDING YOU and IN MY HEAD I DO EVERYTHING RIGHT!!! and COME HOME TO MY HEART!!!! and in your car the radio UP and maybe we just do it VIOLENTLY and every night I LIVE AND DIE and I HATE the headlines and the weather and SPILL MY GUTS underneath the OUTDOOR LIGHT and I'M 19 AND I'M ON FIRE and ALL of our heroes FADING and ALL the nights spent OFF our faces TRYING TO FIND THESE PERFECT PLACES and WHAT THE FUCK are perfect places ANYWAY and

[soulofapatrick]

Backseat of his Brother’s Car - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Tommy picks you up from work, both of you having missed each other recently with your work schedules meaning there's a lot of pent up frustration 

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Smut; riding; p in v; fingering; a little bit of overstimulation; fluff; established relationship

Notes: I had this idea for a while but didn’t have the motivation to finish it until @thesapphirequeen send me an ask with a similar prompt

Y/N’s POV

The cafe is always quiet after seven pm as the workers are mostly home by now but there’s always a few stragglers who have had to work late or the students who have been in all day, not realising the time until the evening sun turns the room a mixture of oranges and red. It’s my favourite time of day, the sunsetting means I can finally hang my apron up, leaving Frances to close up. Before I go I make sure to brew three coffees and a frappe knowing I’ll get those sad puppy dog eyes from Joel and Sarah if I don’t come back with their usual coffees. Upon moving to Austin I never expected I’d find a family let alone a boyfriend but three years later here I am. The tray of coffees in my hand and my soft goodbyes called to Frances breaking the comforting quiet of the cafe then the cold evening breeze wrapping her hands around me. 

There he is, sitting in the front seat of Joel’s truck, cigarette hanging from those kissable lips, curving up into a loving smile when he sees me. The click of the car doors unlocking has me rushing over, wanting to get into the warmth and head home to have dinner with my three favourite people. 

“Hey there baby girl.” Tommy coos as I pull the passenger door shut behind me, securing the coffees in the cup holders before leaning over the console to steal a kiss from him, his lips tasting of strawberries and cigarettes. It’s so addictive, everything about Tommy is addictive and I just want to climb over and settle on his lap but we can’t. We’re outside my work and Tommy’s brother and niece are waiting for us to have our dinner, Joel probably trying to cook it which will end up with Sarah taking over. I don’t know how the brothers survived before I arrived in Austin as neither of them can cook anything without almost setting the kitchen on fire. It’s amusing and I guess adds character to them both, watching the way they panic and flail around trying to act smooth which I don’t think is a word either brother have heard of when it comes to cooking. 

A hand lays on my thigh, higher than it should be and Tommy’s bottom lip is between his teeth as he joins the road from the carpark. His sun kissed skin glowing in the evening light, illuminating his freckles and I want to run my tongue over every single one. His hand is inching further up, slipping under my skirt until his pinky finger ghosts over my now aching core, my legs spreading further apart instinctively. I could never say no to Tommy, the way he treats me like I’m the only person in the world, taking his time to explore and work out every dip and bump in my skin over the last year. 

We’re not that far away from home and Joel and Sarah will be waiting in the living room so we wouldn’t be able to sneak upstair anyway so he’s just teasing me. Teasing himself too from the way his jeans look exceptionally tight and well… two people can play this game, “Tommy,” I warn and he glances at me, cognac eyes so dark they’re almost black and his lips part with a soft moan when I place my hand over his ever-growing bulge, “Is this why you wanted to pick me up today, hmmm?” I breathe against the taught skin of his neck before biting down, not enough to break the skin but enough that the car jerks a little. 

“Fuck baby girl,” He grips my thigh tighter, “We haven’t had much time alone together with me working late and you working early.” 

“I know,” I sooth the bite mark, before moving back to my seat, leaving him wanting more. A scowl appears on his face as his hand tightens on the steering wheel, his hand on my thigh moving to cup my soaked panties. Two thick fingers plunge inside without a warning, my hands flailing to find something to ground myself to, one wrapping around his wrist that is pumping those two fingers in and out of me and the other digging my nails into the fabric of the seat below me, “T-tommy… we can’t. O-oh fuck.” My head drops when he curls those fingers and my backs arching, tightening around him as he smirks, attention on the road as we pull onto our road. The heel of his palm presses against my clit and I’m jolting in my seat, a pitiful whine leaving my lips as he reverses into the driveway. 

“Backseat. Now.” Tommy’s growling out, turning the engine off and I just stare at him wide eyed until he’s pulling his fingers out of me, leaving me empty and wanting. He doesn’t have to say it twice, I’m scrambling into the backseat, minding the coffee and waiting for Tommy to join me. As soon as he’s settled in the back with me I’m being yanked onto his lap, his fingers resuming their brutal pace, rubbing against that sweet spot that has me whimpering. His other hand tangles in my hair, voice low when he says, “Eyes on me baby girl, I want to see you when you cum for me.” 

It takes everything in me to force my eyes open, meeting the endless pools of deep cognac staring back as his thumb rubs rough circles over my almost overstimulated clit. A gasp tearing from my lips as the waves of pleasure crash through me, my walls clamping around his fingers and he’s whispering sweet praises as I ride out my high until I’m slumping forwards, my head on his shoulder. The hand gripping my hair now moving to card through it as he murmurs against my neck, “One more baby girl, I need one more from you.” 

I just nod, hands moving between us to fumble with his belt and popping the buttons on his jeans. We both feel the urgency, this needing to be quick as there’s no way the pair inside the house didn’t hear the car pull in. It means Tommy barely gives me time to adjust to his girthy length before he’s gripping my hips and raising me up to slide me back down, finding a brutal pace that has me gasping as the tip grazes my cervix with every thrust. It’s quick, it’s hot and it’s heavy. Kisses are harsh and biting, the windows of the car fogging up as my hands tangle in his hand and I’m pulling as that coil in my stomach begins building again, causing my walls to close around him. 

He panting my name, teeth marking any bare skin he can get his lips on as his dick begins twitching with every downwards drag. Neither of us are going to last much longer, especially when his thumb moves back to my sore clit and he’s pressing on it, not even rubbing but it’s too much. My nails digging half moons into his shoulder while my other hand in his hair tightens almost painfully but he seems to get turned on by it with the way his hips stutter and he’s pulling me down once more. The guttural moan that leaves his lips in the form of my name is making me almost cry with pleasure, the feeling of him filling me up making my legs shake with effort. 

We stay like that for a little longer, his face buried in the crook of my neck, my forehead against the back of the seats and both of us trying to catch our breaths, just revelling in the feeling of my overstimulated walls still fluttering around him. Tommy is very much into the after sex bliss, wanting to stay inside for as long as he can, sometime we’ll fall asleep like that but right now we can’t. His hands tightening on my hips when I try to move has me whining as we’ve been out here for a suspiciously long time and his dick is twitching against my g-spot, sending waves of too much pleasure up my spine. I finally pry my eyes open, legs still shaking and am met by the front door opening, Tommy still grinding my hips against his a little in overstimulation. Joel appears, eyes narrowing with suspicion when he catches the fogged up windows and I’m panicking. 

“Joel! Joel! Joel!” I’m tapping Tommy’s shoulder as Tommy’s older brother walks towards the truck… his truck. Tommy helps me off, quickly tucking himself back into his jeans and doing the zipper up while I flatten my skirt just as the door to the backseat gets open. 

“In my car?!” Joel crosses his arms like a father telling his children off and I just duck my head, straightening a crease in my shirt. Tommy just flashes his older brother an innocent smile, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the car after him. Joel shuts the door and locks his car before following us inside. 

I kiss Tommy’s cheek and tell him I’m going to take a shower. Tommy’s eyes darken hungrily at this but I smack his chest lightly, not wanting to get into even more trouble with Joel, “Go help Joel set the table for dinner.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He grins, grabbing my wrist when I head for the stairs, eyes soft when I look back, “I love you baby girl.” 

“I love you too cowboy.”

------------

TAGS: Tag List Form

@princessmk21 @iraot @gemimawrites @pedropascalsrealhusband @zynbsblog @twopercentmilk @sxnshinebxcky @nelsoomon @urnewghostfriend @sonhee-a @dizzyforyou-blog @grooveandshit @reyas-world @canpillowscry @jell0buss-37 @androgynousgaz @not-a-unique-snowflake89 @intergalacticspacemonkey @certifiedhunter @miya-park @emmulus22 @outl4wage @mediocrewallflow3r​

[bettyrightnow]

CAUSE I REMEMBER THE RUSH WHEN FOREVER WAS US BEFORE ALL OF THE WINDS OF REGRET AND MISTRUST NOW WE SIT IN YOUR CAR AND OUR LOVE IS A GHOST WELL I GUESS I SHOULD GO YEAH I GUESS I SHOULD GO

[ramblings-of-1-mad-woman]

First week of January, 2024

1/1/2024

What is the first thing you remember? And is it actually your memory, or did you see a picture and hear a story and fill in the blanks? I can hardly remember anything from when my parents were together, from when I spent half the week as an only child and half as the youngest of three. But the first four years of my life are a murky mystery. I have a couple memories from when I was five, but these are the kinds of memories backed up by pictures and stories -- not ones that I truly know are mine. 

Did you know that intrusive thoughts can disguise themselves as memories? Memories that come unbidden, that overstay their welcome, that send you back to a place of shame or fear. 

Recently, I’ve had a memory popping up -- it’s a great white shark that rockets to the surface and clamps its jaws around me. This memory is from when I was very little -- it might very well be the earliest thing I can remember. It might have been the first time I felt real fear. 

I was about three or four, buckled in my car seat, and it was the summer. My dad always smelled like sunscreen in the summer, and my mom always complained about the varicose veins in her legs. I can’t remember where we were going, but we were on the highway. It was either I-90, I-91, or I-84. 

My dad sat in the passenger seat of the car -- It was a Ford Taurus station wagon. And now, I have to pause to go on a tangent about the car. Trust me, it’s important, I think. To maybe give you some context. 

Back in the days when I lived in a double income home, we had two cars. They were both Ford Taurus’, my dad’s was green and my mom’s was blue. I thought they were cool as heck. I always wanted to name them, but never felt like any of the names I came up with quite fit. They had these cool trunk seats that folded up and faced the back. I loved riding back there when I was old enough to not need a car seat. It was so much fun to watch the cars turning around me, to take in all the neon signs and concrete and brick. 

One day, though, my mom told me I couldn’t sit there anymore. That no one could sit there ever again. This triggered quite the tantrum -- I couldn’t sit back there and listen to Silver Apples of the Moon and pretend I was a princess riding in a chariot. I couldn’t watch the geese flying into the horizon and wonder about when they’d stop. I couldn’t sit back there with friends and watch the world whoosh by. 

When I asked her why, she said it was because on her way home, she’d seen a horrible accident. Someone had been rear-ended, and the whole back half of their car looked like an accordion. 

“What if you’re sitting back there and that happens? How could I live with myself?” I think those are the words she said. I can’t be certain, because that’s not how my mind works, but I’m pretty confident that was it. 

As I went to sleep that night, I thought of being buckled into the trunk seat, a tractor-trailer turning off the highway to where we waited at a stoplight. It wasn’t slowing down off the ramp, and it collided with our car, and my little body was crushed between car parts, shattered like the glass around it. I wondered what it would be like to die. I wondered what it would be like to see my body like that. To be a ghost, hovering over my broken form, watching my mother lose her mind and scream scream scream. How I would be responsible for her pain, how she would have to live the rest of her life without me and carry a hole in her heart. 

As an adult, I realized that these were intrusive thoughts. For me, intrusive thoughts mostly come as images. I guess this is just one of the ways the human brain is quirky and unique -- for some, it’s mostly words, for some it’s images, and for some, it’s a mix. These thoughts come with intense emotions -- namely terror and shame. 

In this instance with the whole getting turned into a scrap metal and human sandwich, the intrusive thought was all hypothetical. It’s so much worse when it’s a memory because it’s something that actually did happen. 

To recap: I’m about 3 or 4, my mom and dad are driving with me in a car seat in our station wagon, and we’re on the highway. Great, on with the story! 

I’m crying. I don’t know why I’m crying. Sometimes a girl just has to cry. I might have been over-tired, might have needed water. I probably had a good reason, but maybe I just wanted attention. Regardless, my mom’s attempts to soothe me with her voice did not work, so she asked my father to turn around to investigate. I was sat directly behind my father, and he moved his seat up so he could have more room to turn his body around and look at me. I kept on crying all the while. 

Maybe he took too long or maybe he just couldn’t do what she wanted him to, because she tells him to take the wheel and turns around to attend to me. 

We’re still on the highway, guys. My dad is yelling at her, asking her if she’s lost her mind, and she snarls at him. She does what she thought she needed to to get me to stop crying, and turns back to the wheel. I don’t remember if I stopped crying, or how long she was turned around for.  

But I do remember the heavy silence that hung in the air like humidity, making the car feel too small. 

This intrusive memory is a bolt of lightning, and pure terror is the thunder. Reliving that memory sends my heart racing and my stomach freefalling. We all could have died. My fault. My fault we all could have died. 

Now, you wanna know something about me that isn’t surprising? I have a hard time asking for what I need. It’s a people-pleaser thing, if you know, you know. Just as I’m not a scientist, nor am I a psychologist (because psychologists are scientists, duh). But it’s not hard to see a connection between me expressing my needs as a child and subsequently being put in a life-threatening situation and having a hard time asking the waiter for a refill. 

1/6/2024 

It’s snowing today. This was the storm that my uncle was so concerned about avoiding. He and my aunt arrived on Wednesday and surprised my mom with a visit. Of course, the whole point of them being there was to take her out of the building for the day so that my husband, my aunt, and I could move my mom without her knowing it. It’s funny how people get about driving in the snow -- they worry about things like the weather, and it seems as if they almost want to come out victorious against Mother Nature. Is it too punny to call this paragraph of random observations a “cold open”? Get it? Like cold weather? Nevermind. 

The past 24 hours have been strange. Typically of all the various mental health issues I’m facing, OCD is the most annoying. It feels constant, like a needy toddler holding onto your pant leg, tugging, tugging, tugging. Always doubting, always asking what if, always gnawing on my fears and desires. But lately grief has been center stage. An overwhelming, heavy coat of sadness, nostalgia, anger, disappointment, loneliness, and fear. I don’t want to wear it, but it’s always on. Suffocating me. 

Yesterday, I moved my mom without her consent. She knew she was moving -- in the sense that people would ask, “Oh, I heard you’re moving! When is it?” and she’d say, “No, I’m not moving.” -- but she didn’t know when. So while she was at the museum with my uncle and aunt, my family and some movers worked a miracle. 

The days going up to the move, I was so scared. I played through all the possible reactions my mom could have to being moved without her knowing. She called me a traitor, she said she hated me, she said she wanted to kill herself. But in reality, she ended up just being confused. She’s still pretty confused. “Have you seen my new place?” she asked me on the phone today. “Yes,” I replied, “I set it up for you!” And I had. I had gone through all her things, decided to get rid of some of the things I figured she wouldn’t notice were missing. 

My mom is a deeply sentimental person. She saves almost everything that has made her feel something. She has a whole file cabinet, I think for stress. The bins and bins of photos and birthday cards and other momentos are for loneliness and love. The cookbooks and cake tins for hope. 

Whenever she’d get me a present, it’d mean I couldn’t get rid of it. Every time she came over to my apartment when I was an adult, she’d point out all the things she’d given me, as if those objects anchored her to me, to my life. And she would get me a lot of things. Almost every time I saw her as an adult, she’d have things for me. Random things she saw on sale and thought I needed or could use. Measuring cups, snow shovels, beach towels, cartons of organic soup, smoked paprika, and a stuffed animal for my cat are just a few. 

Now she doesn’t remember that. She has barely any recognition of the things she got me. When she would give me these things, if I tried to politely decline, she’d only insist all the more. She would pout and complain until I relented. All of that effort, only to not even remember it. I’m scared to pull on that thought. If my sanity is a game of Jenga, then pushing or pulling on that particular block -- the one postulating that eventually I won’t remember any of my life, any of my feelings, any of my actions -- will send the whole tower crumbling. 

In 12th grade, my English teacher said my creative nonfiction essay which wove in various metaphors about my life was “fatalistic.” As if a 17-year-old could be anything but fatalistic. My mind has evolved since then. I can appreciate nuance, I enjoy being spontaneous, and serendipity is one of the most beautiful forces in the universe. But perhaps at the core of some of my fears, at the core of some of my obsessions, is fatalism. The idea that all events are predetermined. That we as humans have no control over anything, least of all our own lives. It terrifies me to think that I have no control, but it also terrifies me to think about the control I do have. 

I am in control of my actions. That’s about it. I can’t always control my thoughts or my feelings, but I can listen to them and react how I want to. I’ve developed that skill over the years. But everything else in the whole world, I have no control over. And in a way, it makes me think of that scene from Fleabag where her therapist asks her if she wants to fuck God. 

I don’t believe in God, and Fleabag is agnostic at best, but I do. I do want to fuck God. I want to fuck whoever came up with this whole thing. Whoever created this world and my sentience and my expiration. I want to fuck It and have It tell me everything is okay. Have It soothe me, caress my hair, hold me tight. Rock me to sleep in Its arms. 

Doesn’t the idea of cosmic comfort sound divine? I just want to feel a primordial peace settle over me, stripping me of my grief coat and letting my skin breathe in the air of deep space. 

I don’t believe in anything, but I want to. I think I’m too afraid to believe in myself. But I need to. The only one I can have faith in is me. 

I know I should probably talk more about my mom. Talk more about the move, about the family secrets my aunt spilled. And I will, but I think right now, I need to let the universe know that I need comfort. I need comfort and peace -- please tell me how to get it. I feel lonely, and I know the cure to that will be self- love, but I want something to fill that void. 

Am I praying? Is that what this is? Has it really come to this? I don’t believe in anything, okay? It makes me feel pathetic to do this, to reach out into nothingness and hope something latches on. There isn’t some wiser being watching over me typing into my laptop going “Hmm yes well this girl has had quite a hard time lately, shall I throw her a bone?” I’m not praying to a God. I think I’m praying to my fellow humans. Please, friends, look out for me. Be kind to me, and show me love. I will return it, I promise.

[lethalchiralium]

Please, could you be tender?

And I will sit close to you

Let's give it a minute before we admit that we're through

Guess this is the winter

Our bodies are young and blue

I'm at Jungle City, it's late and this song is for you

'Cause I remember the rush, when forever was us

Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust

Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost

Well, I guess I should go, yeah, I guess I should go

[Evil laugh]

RAAAAH. YOURE KILLING ME

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Five, Part 7

"Yeah, I guess it's not really my thing. But, hey, neither are clubs and here I am," I shrugged it off like it was no big deal.

"I'm still a little surprised by it."

"I guess I know I'm not actually going to a club. I'm going to a safe place with my friends. I really don't have friends here. I mean, people know me enough to nod their heads or say hello, but I can't say that any of those people are my friends."

"Chad said you were pretty loyal to your friends," she said, almost off-hand.

"Wait, what?"

"I admit. I talked to Chad about you. After I found out you were friends with him, and he told me how close you guys really are. Don't worry. Chad is an excellent hype man for you, "she giggled. Now my curiosity was peaking. What did Chad tell her? What does she know about me that I don't know she knows" Does she know both the good and the bad?

"Why?" It was all I could think to say.

"You intrigue me. I can't deny that."

"Well, what did he tell you?"

"I'm sorry, I can't answer that. Friendship clause, you know."

"Friendship clause?" I was starting to feel like a little kid with way too many questions I won't get any answers for.

"Yep. Using a friendship for information. Whatever they say is confidential. They can tell me about you, but I can't share that information. It's all confidential."

"Damn."

"I can tell you that Chad didn't have one bad thing to say about you," she softly smiled. The smile that warmed every part of me.

"I'm betting there's a clause somewhere there. Maybe something about how best friends don't talk shit to romantic interests. Or something like that."

"Romantic interests?" Addison said laughing.

"I'm no lawyer. I don't know how to sound professional."

"You're a dork," she smirked as we pulled into the parking lot, parking right next to Conner's car.

"Yeah, I know," I shrugged at her.

We all hopped out of respective seats, Addison once again taking my hand. And Kayla gave a peck on Conner's cheek. A really loving type of thing. It was good to see them lasting. They were good for each other. They kept each other off drugs. Conner was an opiate abuser, and Kayla once was a major fan of methamphetamine. She'd been clean for at least two years or so. They acted like an old couple. It was kind of cute.

Club Specter wasn't all that impressive on the outside, other than its neon back lit pink shape of a ghost. It was unassuming and if you had no idea what it was and drove past it one night, nothing would give away its secrets. Like any other club in the earlier 2010's, they did theme nights pretty often, one of which being Goth Night. And that seemed to be the only time I'd ever been inside of this place.

I won't deny that it did seem to be a good time every time we went. And being the plus that the placed was filled with goth and punk subcultures, it was easy to slide around in the crowd. Socialization without the actual need to socialize. The perfect type of socialization. The club would play a lot of old 80's goth music, even throwing in some modern darkwave. Besides the normal bar, they also opened an absinthe bar. The place was dressed in red lights, giving it the perfect ambiance.

We all made our way inside and headed straight for the bar. Addison sat next to me, and Kayla sat on the other hand of her. Conner stood behind us all. In all the times I went out with him, it was rare to see him actually sit at a bar. I guess he just preferred to stand.

[foolofswords]

Perseids

I asked for a dying star to tell me

If I was a fool to wait for a text

Is our fate so doomed for me to trust in signs

Is my will so blind to do it during Perseids shower night?

If I'd were to shed the parts of me

You kissed with adoration and helped me give birth to

There would only be last year's mistakes left.

I guess we had our life layed out,

We were supposed to escape this mess.

Now I live 5mins from your place,

And still never manage to see your face.

How am I supposed to find you in silences and license plates?

I want to kiss your ghost and disappear,

Back to 2015, your music, your car.

There is probably still a timeline

An alternate universe

Where other versions of us still sing Humbug together.

Sometimes I think about them

And I'm grateful they get to experience

The promises we made when we were younger

Before we got robbed from what was written for us

I've been in a coma for months, and now I'm looking for the secret door to your mind.

I'd love to visit it and stay a bit,

Is it ok if I sit in your thoughts,

Until I'm welcome in your heart too?

We still haven't made music together

I'm not Phoebe and I'm not Julian

But I'll do my best to write about

You, and everything that's not you

But I still manage to make it about you

Because it can't be fate, well it could be karma.

When time circles back again,

I'll fight the urge to look for clues

I wish you the best, you deserve it

You'll fall in love again

And I'll stay quiet in the back of your mind.

[dadvans]

@crimsonclad @thekookster not me at 11:51PM on a saturday night checking nathan mackinnon's beige "welcome to colorado jonathan drouin" instagram post and all i can think is

Geryon what’s wrong? Jesus I hate it when you cry. What is it? Geryon thinks hard. I once loved you, now I don’t know you at all. He does not say this. I was thinking about time – he gropes – you know how apart people are in time together and apart at the same time – stops.

[midnightspunisher]

when richard siken said “you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him” and when mitski said “you're in the house and I am here in the car ‘cause I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you” and when taylor swift said “you almost ran the red ‘cause you were looking over at me” and when lorde said “now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost well i guess i should go”

[strawbebyjam]

ah... hard feelings/loveless always hits

[bymine]

'Cause I remember the rush When forever was us Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost Well I guess I should go

[deathlywounded]

"Please, could you be tender? And I will sit close to you Let's give it a minute before we admit that we're through Guess this is the winter Our bodies are young and blue I'm at Jungle City, it's late, and this song is for you

'Cause I remember the rush when forever was us Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost Well, I guess I should go, yeah, I guess I should go"

"Hard feelings/Loveless" by Lorde.

[owl232]

Sally Face Fic

Chapter Three

A/n: We will be getting in to readers opinions and interests a little in this, and I’m sorry if they don’t fit your own, I just thought it would be nice for the reader to be this way.

————————————

Once you had arrived to your apartment, the man, whose name you learned was Larry, offered to help carry your groceries as a thanks for giving him a ride. You allowed his help and together, you both carried the bags into the elevator and rode up to your apartment.

When the elevator doors opened, you stepped out first, Larry following along soon after. He was talking about Sanity Falls, as you had learned about the mutual love you shared for the band. He was way more of a hardcore fan than you were, but he still was stoked that he met someone else who also listened to them.

After taking your keys out of your pocket, you fumbled with them for a second and then shoved them into the door, unlocking it and going inside with Larry in tow.

“So…your friends leave you in dumpsters often..?” You ask, trying to make a little small talk as you put the bags you were holding onto the counter since the SF topic had dropped.

Larry did the same as well. “Eh, not dumpsters specifically, sometimes when one of us gets absolutely shit faced we just leave them somewhere. I happened to be the winner for last night.” He laughed. It honestly shocked you that they would do that to their friends.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous though?” You reply. Larry shook his head smiling and leaning against the counter looking at you.

“Well our group only has one female friend and we don’t do that to her. The rest of us can handle ourselves if we got into trouble, so it’s all good dude.” You nod slightly, still unsure about that, but hey, who are you to judge.

“Thanks for helping me.” You say and walk with him back to the front door.

“Yeah dude, of course. If you ever wanna hang and blast some SF, I live in the basement, you seem chill.” Larry says and hands you a card. You take it and see that it’s a keycard for the basement. You nod and open the door, as he steps out, you can see Sal exiting his apartment, and so does Larry.

“Hey my man! Sally Face!” Larry says.

Sal looks over and raises a hand. “Larry face!” He then looks between you and Larry. “Oh, you met y/n.”

“Yeah, she gave me a ride back here so I helped her with carrying groceries.” Larry replies.

“Wow, can’t believe anyone would let you in their car after you slept in a dumpster.” Sal jokes, his mask shifting slightly as his eyes squint, most likely smiling.

“Haha, well I guess I was lucky huh.” Larry says, chuckling.

“I was just about to go to the basement to see if you were there yet.” Sal says.

“Well, we can go chill there now if you want since I have nothing to do.” Larry says, then turns towards you. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Ah, I have to put groceries away but once I’m done I can come by and hang out for a bit.” You say, gesturing back to your apartment.

“Alright, just let yourself in no need to knock when you do.” Larry says and both him and Sal head towards the elevator. You go back in your apartment and close the door, then go to the kitchen to start putting the stuff away.

-

It took you about 20 minutes to put everything away, and once you were done, you grabbed the basement key card and headed off to the elevator.

When you made it down, you stepped out and headed towards where you supposed was Larry’s room, because you could hear muffled talking from the other side of the door.

You knocked twice before opening the door. Larry was sitting on his bed while Sal was sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Hey y/n.” Sal said with a little wave. You smiled and waved back at him. Larry greeted you as well.

"You can sit in the bean bag next to Sal if you want, honestly, you can sit wherever. That's what everyone else does." Larry says. You nod and take a seat next to Sal.

They both continue their conversation they were having before. Chatting about whether ghosts were real or not.

You took the time to scan the room. Larry had a bunch of posters hanging on the walls, along with some paintings. His room was messy but you wouldn’t expect anything less from him. It seemed to fit his personality well.

You could appreciate the art he had, as you also enjoyed doing art as well. You even have quite a bit of art supplies, but haven’t had the time to unpack those yet.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Larry speaking to you. “Hey y/n. What’s your opinion on ghosts?”

“Hmmm, well, I believe in them. I don’t really have an opinion on them though.”

“See, even she believes in them.” Sal says to Larry. He just groans in response.

“Sal thinks this place is haunted, but I don’t believe it. I’ve lived here for years and have seen nothing.” Larry says.

“Uh, well I don’t think everyone’s able to see ghosts. I also haven’t been here long enough to have an opinion if this apartment is haunted or not, but what makes you think it is?” I say ask Sal.

“I swear I hear some weird stuff sometimes and feel like I’m being watched. Also, some bad stuff has happened here and everything just gives me the creeps.” Sal says.

“Man just cause some shits gone down doesn’t mean we got ‘ghosts’ you are just being paranoid.” Larry says.

“What kind of bad stuff has happened?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowed and raised slightly.

Sal and Larry glance at each other for a moment before Larry speaks. “The apartment you got, had a murder happen in it a while ago. The murderer was some crusty fat guy who lived on the same floor. It was crazy when it all went down. I was fixing the toilet in there when it happened.”

“Really? So that’s why it was so cheap.” You thought out loud. It didn’t really bother you that, that stuff had taken place in your home. It happened and it’s not like you could do anything about it. The killer is gone anyways.

“Aren’t you freaked out about it?” Sal questioned.

“No, not really. I did suspect something was off due to the price of apartment but didn’t know it was that.” You shrugged.

The topic soon dropped off after that. Larry had turned on music and was head banging, and so was Sal. It was kinda funny to watch. You just sat back and enjoyed the music and the company.

[pureheroine2013]

Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost well I guess I should go well I guess I should go