#the long and short of it is my doctor lied to me three times and also to his entire staff and never submitted a referral for a test that I-

[babyloniastreasure]

it'll never cease to amaze how unlucky i am when it comes to the medical system

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch: Dean Winchester x Fem! reader

Description: A small town where dark secrets unfold isn’t anything new to these seasoned hunters, except when it has something to do with urban legends…apparently.

Warnings: cannon violence, mentions/talk of suicide, mentions of gruesome death, eye bleeding, Blood Mary (idk if this would be a warning but like 🤷🏼‍♀️), mentions of murder, witchy stuff

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra ,@fablesrose

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long to get out again my AP class is really AP-ing and has taken up literally all my time. I spent four days working on a 20 pages packet that took forever meaning I had zero time for this. Again so so sorry.

Word count: 7,719

Bloody Mary

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

“Sam, wake up.” Dean nudges the man in question, the car in park.

Sam wakes, confused, he sits up and looks around. “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one.” Dean confirms, and I nod too a frown on my face.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam offers

“Sam” I stretch out his name, “that cannot be your positive to this.”

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” Dean adds.

But Sam ignores us, avoids the whole conversation, “Are we here?”

Dean lets him avoid the whole ordeal and I have to wonder how long he will let his brother lie. Though I guess I'm no better. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

Sam picks up a newspaper that sat on the console of the car, the obituary of Steven Shoemaker circled.

‘The Shoemaker family is sad to announce the sudden death of their beloved husband and father Steven Shoemarker. Steven was 46. A short service will be held on Wednesday, [...] 31 at 2:00 p.m. at the Toledo [...] and cherish you [...] Your [...]’ The article read.

“So what do you think really happened to this guy?” Sam asks us.

“That's what we're gonna find out.” Dean answers, turning off the car. “Let's go.”

We exit the car, entering the large hospital building that stood in front of us walking up to the two desks that lie in the room. One of them is empty with a name tag that reads, ‘Dr. D. Feiklowicz.’ The other one however was occupied by a Morgue technician in blue scrubs, “Hey” the man greets us as we approach.

“Hey.” Dean answers back.

“Can I help you?” The technician asks, looking between the three of us.

“Yeah. We're the, uh...med students.” Dean lies.

“Sorry?” The man asks back.

“Oh, Doctor—“ Dean stammers over the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemarker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The tech informs us.

“Oh well he said, uh—“ Dean sighs, “—oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't. Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.” He tells us, gesturing to the seats on the side of the room.

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then.” Dean looks at me and Sam as if queuing us to lie with him.

“Yeah.” Sam and I say at the same time, “Jinx” I mumble underneath my breath just loud enough for Sam to hear me who in return gives me a scrunched face.

“Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—“ Dena explains getting cut off by the man in scrubs, “Uh, look, man...no.”

Dean laughs a little. He turns around to face us, mumbling, “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

But I mean we can’t really blame the guy he’s just doing his job.

Sam hits his brother on the arm, taking a step in front of him he opens his wallet and pulls out some twenties. He lays a few of them, at least five, down on the desk. The Morgue Tech picks up the money, “Follow me.”

The technician gets up and leaves. I go to follow, seeing in the corner of my eye Dean grabbing Sam when he too tries to follow, forcing me to stop and go back a step to see what they are on about.

“Dude, I earned that money.” Dean complains.

“You won it in a poker game.” Sam clarifies.

“Yeah.” Dean answers.

Sam rolls his eyes, pulling away from his brother to follow the technician.

“You’ll make it back” I say, patting Dean on the back shortly to go follow the morgue man.

Dean stays back a half a second before following after us.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding.” Sam said as the Morgue Tech pulled back the sheet over Steven’s face. Revealing a pale, long faced man with dark hair, blood stained on his cheeks below his eyes as if he had cried them.

“More than that. They practically liquefied.” The tech scuffs.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean asks him.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone.” He answers.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam questioned.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.” He replied.

“You mean like cerebral bleeding?” I ask, wanting to clarify.

“Yeah. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen.” He responded.

“The eyes & mash;what would cause something like that?” Sam asked.

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims.” The technician explains.

“Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?” Dean scuffs.

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.” The tech shrugs.

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.” Dean requests.

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” He answers, stretching out ‘that.’

Sam sighs clearly annoyed, as he pulls out his wallet.

Now leaving the hospital, walking down the stairs Sam suggests, “Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing.”

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean points out.

“Uh, almost never.” Sam answers.

“Exactly.”

“Well then, let's go talk to the daughter.” I announce”

We walk into Steven’s funeral, a picture of him on the desk.

All the men in the room are wearing black suits and the women adorned in black dresses, everyone except us. Dean points this very fact out, “Feel like we're underdressed.” I nod in agreement, my lips in a tight line, the guilt of interrupting these people’s mourning with not only us being undressed but also for not having a reasonable explanation of us being here.

But no one stops us as we keep walking through the house, all the way towards the back and outside to the backyard.

A man points us towards Donna and Lily Shoemarker, the daughters of the man we had seen on a metal table only moments before, who are standing near two people whom I can only assume is a friend or family member.

“You must be Donna, right?” Dean greets the eldest daughter as we approach the group of people.

“Yeah.” She answers sadly brushing her short brunette hair out of her face.

“Hi, uh—we're really sorry.” Sam says.

“Thank you.” She replies, and I know she must have heard that same phrase of ‘i’m sorry’ and must have answered the same ‘thank you’ over and over to each person here. As if the death of her father hadn’t broken what’s inside her enough.

“I'm Sam, this is Dean, and that’s Y/N. We worked with your dad.” He explains.

She looks at one of the adults near her and then back at us, “You did?” And I feel bad for lying to her about this to give her a connection to her father that had never existed.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke.” Dean goes on.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now” One of the men with her say, stepping in.

“It's okay. I'm okay.” Donna says, with a sharp nod.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asks, listing out various options.

“No.” She says simply.

Lily, the youngest daughter, turns around, “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

“Lily, don’t say that.” Donna snaps.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset.” Donna explains.

“No, it happened because of me.” Lily speaks up.

“Sweetie, it didn't.” Donna tries to convince.

“Oh Lily”, I say sadly crouching down to be closer to her eye level, “What makes you think that?” I knew what it felt like to blame yourself for someone else’s death, especially your parents, especially when it happens twice and you're too young to understand why this would happen to you. I feel the eyes of the people around me bore into me, especially from the brothers behind me.

“Right before he died, I said it.” Lily answers.

“Said what?” I ask her.

“Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror.” She explains, pausing, “She took his eyes, that's what she does.” My eyes go wide, not exactly expecting that answer.

“That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.” Donna reasons.

“I think your sister's right, Lily. There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?” Dean offers, giving the kid some logic to combat what she believes.

“No, I don't think so.” Lily answers. But I know it will take her years to really believe it wasn’t her fault, if ever.

Saying ‘bye’ to the grief rickened family we head back inside the house, but instead of truly leaving we sneak upstairs, approaching the bathroom.

Sam pushes the door open, dried blood stained to the white tiled floor, “The Bloody Mary legend...Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of.” Dean answers, him and I trailing in after Sam who stoops to the floor touching the dried blood, “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

I grimace, why would he touch the blood?

“Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening.” Dean offers.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam asks and we both shrug, Dean opening the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—“ Sam looks at the medicine cabinet mirror, it now facing him, he closes it before continuing, “The person who says you know what gets it. But here—“

“Mr.Shoemaker gets it instead” I finish his sentence.

“Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out.” Dean adds.

“It's worth checking in to.” Sam concludes, as we leave the bathroom.

“What are you doing up here?” A blonde woman stops us, the same woman who was comforting the daughters outside.

“We—we, had to go to the bathroom.” Dean lies, poorly, because it makes perfect sense for three people to be using a private bathroom all at once.

“Who are you?” She asks us, naturally not accepting the poorly down lie.

“Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.” Dean confirms.

“He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.” She counters, and we should really start researching these people before we make up lies of how we know them.

Dean tries to cover, “No, I know, I meant—“

“And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.” She tells us, leaving no more room for any nonsense.

“All right, all right. We think something happened to Donna's dad.” Sam begins.

“Yeah, a stroke.” She answers.

“But it isn’t a typical sign of stroke, it might be something else.” I say softly, ashamed for suggesting such a thing to someone who has no knowledge of our world. These people are going through so much the last thing they need is some random people questioning what they know, I wouldn’t blame her if she did scream.

“Like what?” She scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her.

Sam explains this time probably sensing my unease with all this, “Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth.”

Dean tilts his head, “So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead.” My eyes widened, snapping to look at him, and suddenly that unease I felt vanished, replaced by a burning hot feeling that rushed through my veins and brought a flush to my face. I gulped, trying to push down the feeling a simple sentence that wasn’t even directed towards me made me feel. The cockiness it held as well as the allowance in his voice…it shouldn’t have affected me, and really shouldn’t have created a burning-longing in my gut.

“Who are you, cops?” The woman questions us, but my eyes haven’t left Dean as if he was light and I a moth.

I catch Sam and Dean looking at each other, speaking without words, in my peripheral vision. “Something like that” Dean answers.

It’s then that Dean must have felt my gaze on him, my lips slightly agape as I looked at him through my lashes. His attention turned to me as Sam continued the conversation that I had long blanked out of. Dean looked me over, eyes trailing over my very being, only worsening the burning I had felt within. His eyes met mine again giving me that devilish smirk of his, I swallowed again my eyes falling to his lips.

Sam clears his throat, nudging his brothers hard enough that he knocks into me slightly. Effectively catching our attention.

“Let’s go” He tells us, the woman still in front of us this time her attention to a small piece of white paper that I assume has some sort of contact information on it.

“All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof—Like a local woman who died nasty.” Dean begins as we walk into the oddly dark library, the stale smell of cleaning products surrounding us.

“Yeah but Blood Mary is a widespread legend with tons of versions of who she actually is, with no clear answer. There’s the mutilated bride, a spirit conjured to tell the future, a witch, and a whole lot more” I answer.

“All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asks.

“Well in every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers—public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.” Sam adds, answering.

“Well that sounds annoying” Dean admits.

“No it won't be so bad, as long as we…” Sam trails off looking over to the table lined with computers all that say ‘Out of Order’, he chuckles “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

We quickly turned around, heading back to the motel we were staying at to do our research there. Dean sat leaning with his head on his hand on the small table in the room on his brother's laptop. The younger brother in question had fallen asleep on one of the beds, the rustling of the sheets giving away the fact he was tossing and turning. I however sat crisscrossed on the other bed Deans to be specific, not like he cared anyways, researching on my laptop trying to find any relevant info on a Mary in this town or deaths relating to mirrors.

“Why'd you let me fall asleep?” Sam suddenly speaks up, voice evident with sleep.

“Cause I'm an awesome brother” Dean scoffs, he’d never admit it was really because Sam hadn’t been able to sleep or at least sleep long for the last couple of weeks.

“And what’s your excuse Y/N?” Sam questions me, leaning on his side with one arm propped up.

“You were sleepy!” I admit simply, smiling at him. He rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh.

“So what did you dream about?” Dean asks him, though what he was really asking was ‘did you have another nightmare?’

“Lollipops and candy canes.” He answers sarcastically. So sassy and for what?

“Yum” I reply, my eyes going back to my laptop.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asks us.

“Oh besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean huffs, making Sam sit up, “No. We’ve looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but uh, no Mary.”

Sam falls back on the bed, the crisp sheets making a ‘whoosh’ noise beneath him, “Maybe we just haven't found it yet.”

“Thing is, there’s also been no strange deaths in the area, no other eyeball bleeding. Nothing. Which you know is good in hindsight but not quite helpful for us.” I explain.

Dean adds on, “Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary.”

Almost as if on cue Sam’s phone rings, he answers, still laying down. “Hello?”

Charlie, the blonde woman who questioned us before, sat on the park bench slightly hunched. I sat next to her to offer some comfort, while Dean sat on the back on the bench, his leg nearly brushing my back.

“And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her—her eyes. They were gone.” Charlie nearly sobbed, having explained everything that happened with her friend Jill.

Jill, who had wanted to tease the blonde women about believing in such a legend, saying the name in the mirror and winding up dead. Her death being in the same manner as Mr. Shoemaker.

“I'm sorry.” Sam answered, eyebrows scrunched together.

“And she said it. I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?” She whimpered, using the back of her hands to clear the wetness from her cheeks.

“You aren’t insane” I tell her clearly.

“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse.” She whines and I try to not let it hurt me, because she's griefing, even though it does.

“Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained” Sam explains. Dean adding, “And we're gonna stop it but we could use your help.”

Dean lifts me up again, this time to reach an elevated first floor window rather than a fence. His hands sliding from tight around my hips, to brushing down my thighs as he lifts me in reach of the window sill. The window wasn’t that high to reach in the first place but with my height, amidtely being shorter than both the boys, it wasn’t exactly comfortable or super easy to reach the window and pull myself up and in.

My hands grasp the cold white window sill, my rings clinking against the surface as I pull my body up. I swiftly slide my hips sideways making my butt land on the sill, in the same sort of movements you would use when you lift yourself out of a pool.

I move my legs inside the carpeted room, ducking slightly as to not hit my head on the open window. The room belonged to Jill, and as my feet hit the soft gray carpet I officially feel the disgust of intrusion creep up on me.

I slide off the windowsill moving into the room more, Sam quickly taking my place near the window to pick up the duffle Dean threw up at him. He catches it, putting it on the bed and immediately digging through it.

“So what did you tell Jill’s mom?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, the uncomfortability of being in someone’s bedroom let alone a dead girls bedroom crawling up my skin and in my bones.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things.” Charlie answers looking between us and the door nervously. Dean climbs through the window shutting the curtain behind and Sam pulls something out of the bag. “I hate lying to her” Charlie adds.

“Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights” Dean orders.

She goes over to the lights, “”What are you guys looking for?

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it.” Dean hums.

Sam hands him a camcorder on and ready, the object he got from the duffel, “Hey, night vision.” He recalls prompting the older brother to do so, his face scrunched with focus as he finds the button.

“Perfect.” Sam smiles.

The little screen of the camcorder is facing Dean, in a ‘selfie’ like mode, “Do I look like Paris Hilton?” He smiles.

I laugh, slapping a hand to his upper arm on instinct, “Sure you do, baby” I joke, the pet name not something I ever use slipping from my tongue before I could realize. His head turns to give me an amused and smug smirk. In his distractment Sam takes the camera back, going over to the closet door filming around the mirror.

“So I don't get it. I mean...the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?” Sam asks out loud.

“Beats me.” Dean answers, focusing back on the situation at hand. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke.” Charlie reasons.

“Yeah well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.” Dean replies.

Sam wandered into the bathroom now, looking at the mirror there. “Hey!” He calls out, getting us to turn and look at him. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

Dean immediately went off to go get it coming back rather swiftly, just as Sam placed the mirror on Jill’s bed laying it upside down after having carried it from the bathroom. With the black light now in hand, he peels off the brown paper that’s on the back of the mirror, shining the purple light on its back revealing a handprint and the name ‘Gary Bryman.’

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie reads out loud both as an acknowledgment and also a question.

“Do you know who that is?” I ask her.

“No.” She answers simply.

Back on the bench, in nearly the same positions, Sam recalls his findings. “So, Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver.”

“Oh my God.” Charlie gasps, horror in her eyes as she covers her mouth.

“What?” I ask the question we’re all thinking.

“Jill drove that car” She answers. Without looking for confirmation I know the boy's eyes are wide too, but there’s no room for the talking that comes after shock.

“We need to get back to your friend Donna’s house.

Somehow, with the help of Charlie, we convinced our way into Donna’s house back up to the bathroom we were in only hours before.

Hunched over the mirror with the black light, our suspicions were correct. There’s a handprint, one I have to say looks like the one in Jill’s bathroom, but I'm no criminologist. This time the name ‘Linda Shoemaker’ is written on it.

We all look at each other, knowing it’s likely that Steven killed his wife hence why Bloody Mary went for him and not the young girl who chanted her name. But the only way to have any idea of this theory is correct is to ask the brunette teenager downstairs.

“Why are you asking me this?” Donna asks us.

“I’m really sorry, Donna, but this is important.” I try to explain, but I know it won’t make sense to her. I mean we are total strangers asking her uncomfortable questions about her dead mother.

“Yeah. Linda's my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it.” She fumes, eyebrows scrunched together in fury, “I think you should leave.”

“Now Donna, just listen.” Dean reaches a hand up, as if to motion ‘calm down.’ But it doesn't work. Teary eyed and a little red in the face she yells, “Get out of my house!” Swiftly she runs up the stairs, not giving us another option.

“Oh my God. Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?” Charlie asks, finally picking up on our theory.

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs.

“I think I should stick around” Charlie announces, referring to staying with Donna, which is probably a good idea.

“All right. Whatever you do, don't—“ Dean tries to warn getting cut off, “Believe me, I won't say it.”

The crisp smell of old books and, oddly, cinnamon fill my nose as I take a deep breath, flexing my hand as I work out the cramping from writing a little too intensely in my small journal.

Dean sits next to me on the cold metal chairs in the library we decided to research in (different to the original one we were at), he’s typing away on the clunky computer the library has. Sam’s staring off at a bulletin board behind us with all sorts of things on it.

“Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?” He asks Dean, alerting us of him coming back to his seat on the other side of his brother.

“Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database—at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.” Dean answers.

“But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town.” Sam points out.

“I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. So unless you got a better idea—“ Dean explains and as much as I love him I cut him off.

“Well, Mary’s victims have a pattern, which I know you guys already know so I'll just cut to the good part. Both victims had secrets relating to where people died and, here’s the good part, there’s a lot of folklore on mirrors, specifically that mirrors are a reflection of your soul. And with that your secrets and lies are revealed to the mirror.

Fun Fact! It was the Romans who believed that the soul would regenerate every seven years, so if you broke a mirror then you’d have to wait seven years until your soul was cleansed of the bad luck and misfortune.

And while I have more fun facts about mirrors I will end it there.” I smiled, satisfied with my information vomit as well as my fun fact because fun facts are wonderful.

Both boys look at me strangely, a mix of confusion and what I think is amazement (they should be amazed cause that was a really great fun fact). Dean seems to shake it off, “Right. So if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it.”

Sam adding, “Whether you're the one that summoned her or not.”

“Correcto!” I answer, and by correct I mean that’s what I was thinking for our working theory.

“Then take a look at this.” Dean announces, clicking a few buttons on the computer before leaning over to the nearby printer, pulling out and handing us the paper. It’s a picture of a woman lying by a mirror in a puddle of blood. He prints out another picture, this time of a handprint and the letters “Tre.”

“Looks like the same handprint.” Sam points out and I nod in agreement.

“Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

“I was on the job for 35 years-detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder—that one still gets me.” The detective states, unfortunately I immediately forgot his name. It's not the nicest thing to happen but I was also really focused on his country accent that’s just a little too funny.

“What exactly happened?” Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You boys and girl said you were reporters?” Mr. Detective questioned.

“We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife.” Sam recalls the gruesome story.

“That's right.” He confirms.

“See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened.” Sam clarifies for him, somewhere between a curious and condescending tone.

Mr. Detective eyes us over as if he’s contemplating something. He spins his wheely chair around swiftly getting up and going to a large file cabinet. “Technically I'm not supposed to have a copy of this” He huffs, pulling out a file and then a picture, the same picture Dean had already found on the computer. “Now see that there? T-R-E?” Detective reads out, even though unbeknownst to him it’s old news to us.

“Yeah” Dean answers.

“I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer.” He theorizes.

“Do you know who it was, or any theories?” I ask, trying to get any sort of new answers.

“Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson.” He pulls out another photo, this time of this Trevor guy, he has an oval face with curly short hair definitely on the darker side but I can’t say exactly what color due to the black and white photo. He’s also wearing some sunglasses.

“And I think he cut her up good.” He finishes, his accent thick.

“Why do you think it’s him?” I question further.

“Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, ‘T’. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell ‘T’'s wife about their affair.” He answers, and for a detective that truly means nothing.

“No offense but how does that directly correlate to Sampson… I mean there’s other people with the initial ‘T’ right?” I question him again, hoping it doesn't offend the man.

“It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...it was almost professional.” He explains.

��But you could never prove it?” Dean asks, chiming in.

“No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous.” Mr. Detective nods.

“Is he still alive?” Dean follows up.

“Nope.” He sighs, sitting down. “If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could.”

“Where's she buried?” Sam asks this time.

“She wasn't. She was cremated” He answers. No digging up bodies for us today.

“What about that mirror”, Dean nods towards the one in the photo, “It's not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?”

“Ah, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago.” He explains, leaning back in his chair.

“You have the names of her family by any chance?”

We drive down the roads, the sun setting behind us. Sam’s call dictates where we go, either to whatever location he gives us or back to the motel.

“Oh really? Ah that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks.” Sam hangs up, pocketing his phone.

“So?” Dean asks.

“So that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.” Sam stated.

“So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” Dean raises.

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow.” Sam simply puts it.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” Dean asks.

“Yeah! People would cover up the mirror when someone died so that their spirit/ soul wouldn’t get trapped.” I explain, happy to spew some more of my fun facts.

“So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit” Dean works through the facts.

“Yes! But I don’t know how she’s working through various mirrors” I admit.

“I don't know either, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.” Dean proposes.

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe.” Sam gets cut off by his own phone, “ Hello.” A look of concern washes over his face, becoming pale “Charlie?”

The motel room is colder, the rain outside causing that meek fact. Charlie’s sitting on Sam’s bed, her head on her knees, after we picked her up from school all terrified. All the curtains are drawn shut, all the mirrors and reflective surfaces are covered with sheets or turned aquas towards a wall or the floor there will be no bloody mary getting in here.

Sam sits next to Charlie, “Hey, hey it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, all right?” She looks up reluctantly and slowly, “Now listen. You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Her voice wobbled, fresh tears running down her cheeks.

“No. No. Not anytime soon.” Sam comforts, but I don’t think it helps.

Dean sits on the bed too, “All right Charlie. We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom. Donna said it.” She answers simply, rocking herself slightly.

“That's not what we're talking about. Something happened, didn't it? In your life...a secret...where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?” Dean pushes.

She looks around uncomfortably, swallowing she begins, “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know?” She looks over at me for confirmation knowing without any previous conversation about it that I would understand. And she was right. It was as if bad boyfriends were sewed into the fabrics of being a woman, it would be a little strange if you hadn’t had one.

I nod and she continues, “And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She cries harder, going back to her previous position.

I move towards her, Sam getting up to allow me to sit close to her. I hug her, holding her close despite her awkward position. “That’s not your fault” I told her simply, and I meant it too. She uncurls herself, quickly wrapping her arms around me and stuffing her face into my neck. I hold her tighter. “You did the right thing, leaving him” I mutter.

Dean huffs, gripping the steering wheel slightly tighter, “You were right back there Y/N, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.”

“You guys should know as well as I do that spirits don't exactly see shades of gray. Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary.” Sam reasons.

“I guess” Dean sighs.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.” Sam suggests.

“Oh, what do you mean?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.” Sam explains.

“Well how do you know that's going to work?” Dean questions.

“I don't, not for sure.” Sam shrugs.

“Well who's gonna summon her?” Dean follows up.

“I will. She'll come after me.” Sam states as if it’s the most obvious answer and with no care for himself.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean nearly shouts, pulling the car over quickly and roughly making my body shift nearly knocking into the door.

“This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you.” Dean fumes, not quite yelling but also not quite talking.

“Now listen to me—It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam answers plainly, almost in defeat

“Well you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done.” Dean adds.

“I could've warned her.” Sam sighs, and the pain in his voice makes me want to cry.

“Sam…you couldn’t have known that would happen.” I chime in, though it doesn't quite feel like my place.

“And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean we know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway.” Dean exclaims.

“No you don't.” Sam states, no further explanation given.

“I don't what?” Dean asks.

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.” Sam shrugs.

“What are you talking about?” Dean questions, face full of confusion.

“Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” He replied sassily.

Dean looks surprised, “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.” But Sam doesn't get any answers, with a roll of his eyes Dean drives off. Conversation over.

Sam is trying to pick the lock on the shop's door, somehow without any word he became the designated lock picker. The dark oak door opens and all around the store are mirrors, mirrors of all shapes and sizes and varieties. Truly the worst place to be in this situation.

“Well...that's just great, '' Dean sighs, pulling out the photo of Mary’s corpse to look at the mirror, the one we’re looking for being a wooden frame. Not very helpful considering our location where there are countless mirrors that look exactly the same. “All right let's start looking.”

I nod in agreement handing both boys their crowbars. I shifted my baseball bat in my hand, there wasn’t a third crowbar and there was no reason for it anyways, a baseball bat is just as good at smashing.

We enter the dark store, flashlights on, splitting up we look for our specific mirror.

“Maybe they've already sold it.” Dean suggests, from some part of the store.

“I don't think so.” Sam says, stopping in his tracks. Dean and I walk over on either side of the taller man, Dean pulls out the picture again comparing the two. It’s our mirror.

��That's it.” Dean sighs, “You sure about this?”

Sam hands over his flashlight and sighs, “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” He looks between the both of us, “Bloody Mary.”

A light shines through the store windows, illuminating the room.

“I'll go check that out. You guys stay here, be careful. Smash anything that moves.” Dean shuffles away.

I grip my bat tighter as a breath that isn’t mine nor Sam’s surrounds us. He turns around quickly but I keep my back towards him, “Nothing?” I ask and he hums in confirmation.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mary in one of the mirrors, I step forward swinging my bat back and then forward hard. The glass shatters falling to the floor around my feet. Then Sam hits a mirror behind me, before swiftly turning back to her mirror.

“Come on. Come into this one.” He mutters underneath his breath.

He tilts his head watching his regeneration weirdly when suddenly he starts breathing heavily grabbing at his chest.

“Sam!” I shout, grabbing his arm. His eyes begin to bleed, blood trickling down his cheeks. He drops his crowbar, the metal clinking against the floor loudly.

“It's your fault. You killed her. You killed Jessica.” A voice rings out, one that sounds like Sam’s though I know it’s not him speaking. I help him to the floor carefully as he grabs his chest harder.

“You never told her the truth—who you really were. But it's more than that, isn't it?” The voice fumes.

I get up leaving Sam to the floor, “That’s enough of you” I mutter, gripping my baseball bat tight. I hit her mirror, the glass shatters around me.

I hear Sam take a deep breath in, when I look down at him he’s no longer holding his chest. He holds a thumb up to me, weakly.

But for some reason the voice didn’t stop, Mary was no longer hurting Sam but her accusations wouldn’t stop.

“Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying, screaming, burning—You had them for days before she died. Didn't you!?! You were so desperate to ignore them, to believe they were just dreams. How could you ignore them like that? How could you leave her alone to die!?! You dreamt it would happen!!!”

I smash three more mirrors, anything to get it to stop by it doesn't.

“SAM, SAMMY!” Dean shouts, rushing into the room and crouching down to his brother.

“It's Sam” He answers meekly.

Dean holds onto his brother's face gently, eyeing his face and the blood on it, “God, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam replies, a little unsure though considering the circumstances I get it.

“Come on, come on.” He pulls Sam up, bringing his arm around his neck with a nod of his head towards the door. I follow the boys towards the exit.

A sudden crunching noise forces us to turn around. Mary crawls out of the frame of her mirror, her long black hair covering her face, she walks over the broken glass with no care, her head tilting to the side as she crawls towards us. Her dark nearly black eyes bore into us, somehow she forces us to the floor.

My chest feels tight as if someone was squeezing my heart, I try to crawl backwards on my hands like a crab walk when a sharp pain surges through my hand followed by my eyes. I bring my hand in front of me, a large slash runs through my palm, a piece of glass sticking out of it. The ache in my eyes I know is not caused by glass but by Mary, I reach my gold hand up to my cheek blood trickling down my face. I suck in a breath, the pain not helping the already pain I was feeling. I look over to the boys on the left of me nearly on top of each other as blood runs down both their cheeks.

Mary stands approaching us with a head tilt and a limp. I grumble holding up a shaky hand, waving my hand once, slowly, making long mirrors form in a line in front of Mary acting as a wall between us.

“You killed them! All those people! You killed them!” A female voice cried out, Mary’s voice.

She looks at her reflections scared, when she begins to choke. She grabs on to her throat and her chest, crumbling down to the ground she shrieks, turning to a puddle of blood

With another wave of my hand the wall of mirrors shatters, glass falling to the floor loudly.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?” I hum feeling a little defeated.

“This has got to be like...what? 600 years of bad luck?” He asks me and I can’t help the big smile that falls on my face.

“Mmm I can’t wait” I laugh, the sarcastic comment coming to me with ease.

The sun rises in front of us, gleaming on the Impala. Our faves are cleaned up, ridden of blood and the event that unfolded. The only proof of it happening being my hand that’s carefully wrapped in white gauze, the glass now out and the cut cleaned.

Charlie sits next to me in the back seat as we pull up to her house, it's odd having someone else back here with me.

“So this is really over?” She asks us, her eyes puffy from her night of crying.

Dean looks at her through the rearview mirror, nodding, “Yeah, it's over.”

“Thank you.” She says, Dean reaching back to shake her hand. She turns to me next, arms open in a hug. I close the gap between us and give her a good squeeze.

She smiles a little sadly at me, getting out of the car.

“Charlie?” Sam calls out, stopping the woman in her tracks. She turns around, “Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

She smiles faintly, turning back around to go into her house.

Dean hits his brother's arm gently, “That's good advice.”

We drive off the car falling silent for a beat before Dean talks again, “Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?” He answers.

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.” Dean tells him, looking between him and the road.

“Look...you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.” He admits with a sigh, looking out the window.

The car falls silent again.

Healing isn’t easy. It's not something you can put a bandaid on and expect to be fine, and maybe all that Sam shared will be enough for now but that’s not something we can gauge.

That is times doing, and time isn’t something we can control.

God knows i’ve tried.

[nehswritesstuffs]

ghosts speak in whispers and lies; can’t know what’s real ‘til you’re the one who’s died - Part Three

Oh, yeah, so I should have mentioned this earlier, but please pronounce Angela here as the same as Angela Merkel, not Angela as in Angela Lansbury. Also, this is also the chapter where the sexy times start. Thank you.

Part One [FFN/AO3] - Part Two [FFN/AO3]

Robin has entered the dreamscape and is immediately put into a situation for which she is acutely under-prepared. [4684 words; Law/Robin]

It was the dead of night; muted stars speckled a sky brightened by light from the nearby towns and a damp chill hung in the air. Law and Robin laid on a blanket atop the grass, the remains of Oden Castle far enough away to be secluded, yet close enough to make it back if the need arose. They had yet to do much more than cuddle and kiss, but the night was young.

“How long do you think before we get a chance like this again?” Law asked. His head was nestled comfortably against Robin’s shoulder, their position much more relaxed and spread out than anything they could have achieved in his quarters on the Polar Tang. She scratched at his scalp—hat long-discarded—and hummed.

“Possibly never,” she said. “We are going to war, after all.”

“…but if we do make it out alive… will you come with me?”

“As much as I care about you, Torao,” she chuckled, “it’s Luffy I want to make the King of the Pirates. Once that happens, maybe then we can talk.”

“Then I’ll also search for it,” he decided. Law propped himself up on his elbows so he could gaze down at Robin. “We’re both curious about the People of the D., about the forbidden history, and out of everyone I’m the closest you’ve got to an academic equal.”

“You sell our crew’s doctor short.”

“Tony-ya’s a talented doctor—you got me there—but his foundations in traditional academia are… lacking, to be precise.” She raised an eyebrow and the embarrassment that ensued was intense. “He told me his background on the way to Dressrosa; a quack and a witch doctor might have worked for his specialization, but he never sat any broader subjects.”

A playful smirk twisted the corner of her mouth. “And you did?”

“Not only that, but I was top of my class,” he bragged. “All through my formal schooling, even. Those nuns were a rough group to please.”

“I see.” She reached up and gently flicked the end of his nose. “Just a pair of hopeless academics, coming home to one another at the end of the day?”

“Possibly.” He looked away, first at the grass, then the blanket, then his hands. “I feel like I’m towards the end of my career as a pirate. If I survive it, I want to put these hands and this Devil Fruit to good use helping people. I want to grow older than my father did.”

“How old was he?” She reached out and touched his hair again, stroking the soft strands tenderly.

“Forty-two, I think. That would have made my mother forty; what about yours?”

“I never knew my father, but my mother was about thirty-three if I remember correctly.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, not one of passion but of assurance. It lingered afterwards, their faces close enough to share breath. “Olvia.”

“Angela,” he whispered. “Lars.” A deep breath. “Lami.”

“Those are wonderful names,” she replied hoarsely. “Maybe they can mean something else one day.”

“Possibly.”

It hurt to think about, so instead of continuing he reached down and caressed her leg, most of it still bare thanks to her shorts—their disguises were coming in the morning. She made a receptive noise, letting him know he was on a correct path for the night’s activities; an acceptable change in subject matter.

“Out in the open like this?” she teased. “That’s naughty, even for you.”

“I don’t have protection on me, but I have the next best thing,” he claimed. He then slid his hand down the front of her shorts and found her core, where she was warm but dry, deciding to fix the latter.

“You don’t want to detach part of your penis so that you ejaculate in the grass?” she wondered. He sank a finger into her and flexed, pulling a sigh from her lips.

“I want you to think of me every time you touch yourself while we’re apart,” he murmured in her ear. “Imagine they’re my fingers, working you open bit by bit.” He slid another finger in while rubbing her clit with his thumb. “Don’t think about what we might never have, but what we know is decidedly real.” A third finger, a little too quickly, and her back arched. “Promise me, Robin.”

She promised; she promised to him and the trees and the stars to think of him, breath hitched as she resisted caving too quickly. He kissed her as she came, hungrily gulping down her gasps as though they would feed him for days on-end. The more he concentrated on her, the less he thought of his own ghosts, and that was all he needed of the night… well, not everything, but it was a start.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

All systems looked stable as Chopper made his final adjustments to the devices that were monitoring Robin and Torao. Once he was done, they weren’t going to need to be moved for a while, and only then in the interest of bedsore prevention. Bepo was in the room as well, watching closely as the younger doctor cared for his captain.

“I’m going to take good care of Torao,” Chopper assured. He frowned when Bepo didn’t respond. “Are you alright?”

“I still think I should have gone in there,” the Mink replied, “or Penguin, or Shachi. We’ve known him the longest.”

“Don’t worry,” Chopper said cheerily. “Robin was a master spy before she joined our crew. She’s actually the best qualified out of all of us, even if it was one of you who got caught.”

“…but you and Jean Bart said that these things make people hallucinate things they want. Are you sure they’ll be able to tell what’s the dream and what isn’t?”

“Of course they will,” Chopper smiled. “I have my full trust in Robin! If she made a promise to Luffy, then she has to come back!”

“Okay…” Bepo didn’t fully believe it, but what choice did he have? He placed his paw on his captain’s shoulder and sighed, hoping that everything was going to work out as they wanted.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Robin inhaled sharply as she was flung into the dreamscape, it trying to convince her that she was catching herself from nodding off at a desk. She carefully looked around the room and took in her surroundings—it was very clearly an academic’s office, one that commanded some air of authority based on the simple fact there was the space to move around. There were many books, framed accolades, and photos lining the walls, so much so that it felt like something she wanted to stop and examine in order to see what sort of a dream the parasite placed her in. A flick of her wrist and a hand sprouted up from a stack of books—at least that was still the same.

To her surprise, many of the photos along the walls and on bookshelves were of her and her mother, or with Professor Clover, or both. They grew older with her in this scenario, it seemed. Ohara sat with a younger version of her in a photograph all on its own, clearly taken from the deck of a ship based on the angle. The accolades and certificates were from a variety of sources across the Cardinal Blues and the Grand Line, showing a trail of her journeys. Worn tomes sat upon their shelves riddled with bookmarks and inserted pages, demonstrating clear use. Three very specific frames sat upon the cluttered desk, next to a brass nameplate emblazoned with her name written in both the common script and Poneglyphs: Dr. Nico Robin – Professor of Archaeology and Anthropology. She studied each one individually, finding the subjects intriguing.

One photo had her with her mother and Professor Clover on a beach, celebrating some occasion. It looked warm and pleasant. Was she a teenager there…? She must have been…

Another had her with the Straw Hats, the entire group smiling for the camera-snail, none of them with a care in the world. No hint as to why they were drawn together in this existence… simply that they were…

…yet the third… she picked it up and marveled at it, not entirely certain she liked what she saw: it was her and Trafalgar Law, and they were kissing in a public park, implying a more visible sort of relationship than they were accustomed to leading.

Robin thought about it for a time before setting the frame back down on the desk. Whatever this parasite was doing, it was definitely either incredibly skilled or had help somehow. It took some of her deepest desires involving an alternate life—a successful archaeology career and the adults who cared about her getting to watch her grow to adulthood—and seemingly made them into a reality. She felt sick to her stomach at the level of manipulation that was involved; the possibility she wanted to explore with Torao was in the middle of being explored—they were actively and openly dating in this scarily complex hallucination. Was that specific detail something that she had brought into the mix, or was that something that had already been there due to Law’s own desires?

Well… there was only one way to find out.

Robin grabbed what looked like her personal bag and coat and left the office, acting as though there was nothing amiss as she walked through the university building. She didn’t recognize any of the people who waved to her and referred to her as “Professor Nico” or “Doctor Nico”, which was something she somewhat suspected. It seemed like a large university, however, with plenty of funding being passed along towards the humanities and social sciences. The thought of such a place even possibly existing broke her heart, let alone the idea of her working there. It was as though the halls of Ohara were recreated in thick and sturdy stone, more resistant to fire and attacks from those who wished to destroy true knowledge.

Once she stepped outside Robin knew precisely where the university was: Flevance. Everything around her was whites and pastels, the Amber Lead having not been completely excised from the community but existing in a sort of stasis. She walked over to a tree and touched its off-white bark, curious about what was going on. The white and pale colors had been caused by Amber Lead if she remembered correctly, and not only was she there, making a life amongst the poisoned plants and buildings, but the people as well. Was this a version of Flevance that had found a cure? Did Amber Lead not have the same effects on the Human body as it did in the real world? Whatever the answer was, it was a cruel alternate reality for Torao to live through.

Then again, she knew exactly what that was like, didn’t she? How many times did she wish for something like this as a child with Ohara as the location in-question? She spent a long time wishing she could turn back time, as her foes in Onigashima predicted, and now… now she was at least at peace with the past. Had it been terrible? Uncomfortable? Devoid of true justice? Of course, but it still happened and nothing could change it. Did Flevance being the setting of the dream meant that Torao was still not accepting his past? In such an environment, how could she present the danger they were truly in, despite the calm nature of their surroundings?

“Oh, hey Robin!” She turned at the sound of her name, blinking curiously as a young woman jogged up to her. She seemed like she could have been a student at the university, but was she one of her students…? No, otherwise she would have been Professor or Doctor or Ms. or Miss.“Have you spoken to Law-nii yet today?”

“No, I haven’t,” Robin replied. The young woman looked largely unfamiliar, with exception of her amber eyes. She felt something tighten in her chest as she realized that those were the eyes she had gazed into many a time already; this was Law’s younger sister. “Is there something I should know about, Lami?”

“No; I was just wondering if you were going to do anything after dinner tonight other than sit around and visit with our parents,” the young woman pouted. “I was hoping we could go out and have some fun afterwards; conversations with my parents and brother always devolve into medical talk.”

“I thought the point of having dinner with someone’s family was to meet and get to know them.”

“Well, yeah, but they’re boring about it. They’re always boring about it.” Suddenly, the bell in the nearby clocktower started tolling ominously. “Shit, got to get to class—see you later!”

Robin bid Lami goodbye and watched as the young woman ran into the university. The entire situation seemed… odd, to say the least. There almost seemed to be a haze over most of the other citizens, as though their rendering had not been completed, yet Lami was clear as could be, along with a few seemingly-random folks she saw as she walked down the street. She wondered if this was simply the limit of the parasite’s powers or if it was merely the result of Law’s mind getting stretched too thin. What would Ohara look like, if she was the one who had been taken first? She shivered at the very thought.

Stepping inside of a bakery, Robin went through the bag that she took from the office, pretending to look for some money. Instead she found exactly what she was looking for: an ID that gave an address. ‘28C Rivierstraat.’ She then excused herself from the shop and went in search of this Rivierstraat, hoping it wasn’t too far. It wasn’t, and once there she found a leafy street that had a canal in the middle. She had to hand it to him—Torao was able to come up with some romantic scenery.

A few minutes longer and Robin finally came to the numberplate for 28C. She took the set of keys from her bag and tried the one that looked closest to the lock—it worked. A couple flights of stairs and she was at another door, which she was able to unlock with another key in the set. She stepped into the flat to discover that it was a gorgeous open loft space, with tons of books and plants and various bric-a-brac that showed that this was truly a home. Everything flowed seamlessly from one area of the flat to the other, with sagging bookshelves serving as walls and plenty of light pouring in from the windows and skylights. The second-hand furniture was mismatched yet comfortable-looking and the kitchen seemed well-used. There was even a door to a small patio next to the kitchen, just enough room to have a table for two to eat dinner under the stars or breakfast watching the sun rise.

The flat seemed so well-suited to their needs that Robin had one question that she kept coming back to: had she invented this space or had he? Little things here and there suggested that he was at the very least a frequent visitor: comic books, commemorative coins, some clothes here and there… more photo frames sat around the space, of him, of her, of them. Yet when she looked at the details, they were very her. It was comfortable and academic… it was a space she could have imagined living in.

Robin picked a hooded sweatshirt up from the couch and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled like Torao, though with a hint of perfume that she knew meant she’d been the last to wear it. A thought flashed in her mind, of wearing the sweatshirt during a particularly bad cold snap as she and Torao shared the space, sometimes snuggled on the couch with their own books, with other times at the table for tea as their combined work was spread out between them. False memories began to fill her brain with study dates and nights out on the town; of romantic trips to the park as well as lurid sex in the small sanctuary the flat provided. She had to concentrate to keep the thoughts and fake memories from their attempt to overtake her consciousness—it was bad enough that Torao was under the parasite’s influence, which meant that succumbing was not an option no matter how tempting. Hanging up her coat, she began to mentally catalog the false memories as they came to her, hoping that there would at least be something in them that would be of any use.

Suddenly, Robin heard the lock to the door downstairs get jostled—someone else was coming! She tested her Devil Fruit ability and found that her normal range was preserved within the dreamscape, so she very quickly conjured a pair of eyes on the wall outside so that she could see who it was.

Law.

Robin’s chest began to feel tight. Up until now, she had a firm grip on the conceit of the situation she found herself in. The goal was to navigate the dreamscape and save Torao, but what sort of grasp did it have on him? How well would she be able to communicate with him their situation? She had wanted a bit of time exploring the false Flevance first for context clues before approaching him and now it was too late as he was walking up the stairs.

Law opened the door and stepped into the flat, flinching in genuinely delighted surprise when he saw Robin. His face lit up at the sight of her and it made her heart ache and stomach flip. There was something about him standing there that almost felt right even though she knew the horrid truth behind the dreamscape. He held up a bouquet of flowers—large and fragrant white lilies with hare’s ear filling it out—and smiled awkwardly.

“I didn’t think you’d be in yet,” he admitted. There was something… off… about the way he was holding himself as they met each other in the entry to the flat. His demeanor and body language… they were very different from the variations of the guarded man she was falling in love with, and she needed to figure out why. Was it because they were alone or something else? “These were supposed to be waiting for you.”

“That is very sweet, thank you.” Robin took the bouquet and leaned into a kiss before bringing the flowers into the kitchen. She had to play the established girlfriend until the opportunity to convince Torao otherwise presented itself. If not done at the right time, the job was going to be leagues more difficult than it already was and that was something neither of them could afford. “I saw Lami after I got out of work.”

“She’s been hanging around the Humanities departments again?”

“She must be if she ran into me outside my building.” She found a ceramic vase under the sink and filled it with water, working on snipping the ends of the stems in the meantime. Once a dash of both bleach and an open bottle of cola from the refrigerator had been poured into the vase, she transplanted the simple bouquet to its new home before using her Devil Fruit to sprout a spare hand to pluck off the pollen-filled anthers. “Let me guess: mention nothing about it?”

“I know our parents want us to be happy, but I know they still think that Lami’s just not found the right area of medicine yet that interests her,” he said. He took off his jacket and deposited it on the couch, completely ignoring the coat rack. “It’s hard to see the writing on the wall when you’ve been planning her entire life, especially for Moer.”

“They mean well. She means well.”

“Yeah, though maybe they’ll be distracted enough tonight from meeting you that Lami and I can drop a couple more solid hints.” Law watched as Robin placed the vase on the dining room table amongst the varied medical and archaeological journals. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he hugged her from behind, leaning down slightly to kiss her neck. The feeling of his lips on her skin sent a shiver through her entire body—how was this still just a dream? “We have some time before we have to leave.”

“…and what do you suppose we should do with that time?” she wondered playfully. The more she could get out of him the better; she needed to figure out how to tell him about the parasite’s lies without driving him away. Turning around in his grasp, she found herself staring directly into his amber eyes and felt as though she was melting.

“I have some ideas.” His grin spoke volumes—she knew what he was hinting at. “What good is being a hopeless pair of academics if we don’t take advantage of our schedules now and then?”

“I’m the academic; you’re a surgeon.”

“True, though, you know what I mean.” He bent his head down and kissed her, his hands instead finding their way down to her rear. Robin held the kiss as she unbuttoned his shirt, chuckling as she slid her thigh between his legs and felt he was already hardening. Law quickly opened a Room and transported them to the bed, allowing the two of them to collapse on the soft, plush mattress in a handsy heap.

It felt amazing as Robin let Law touch her, practiced fingers moving just how she liked it, ghosting along her skin and making quick work of her blouse and skirt. She watched him as he paused to shuck off his shirt and alarm bells began to ring in her head—this wasn’t right. His chest and arms were untouched by ink, as were his hands, now that she really saw them. Gold still glinted in his earlobes, but the rest of him was so bare that it was wrong.

The life Law must have lived in this fantasy never had the need for the tattoos, she surmised, and therefore the hallucination found no reason to keep them. No pirate crest, no viruses, no DEATH across his knuckles to remind him of what was always nipping at his heels, and least of all, no heart across his chest in memory of the one who saved him. He literally carried his benefactor’s memory on his shoulders and now… nothing. While she did not need the tattoos to be there to find him attractive, their absence was more than conspicuous in the soft light filtering in through moving clouds and the trees outside the building.

That was what changed, she realized: how he held himself in the lack of carrying that invisible weight. It was not a lack of confidence or change in personality, but a shift in the things he carried with him. He was lighter now—freer—and the legacies he carried were different. The man undoing his belt buckle between her legs was not the last of a nation, nor had he ever tasted true revenge, but was the normal person he had always yearned to be… the one who found his Devil Fruit by chance and not through desperation.

“Are you alright, Robin…?” he asked, pausing in concern. He leaned down, resting his weight on his elbows so that he could look her in the eyes. “You’re not yourself…”

Trafalgar D. Water Law was not a man with a nation of ghosts haunting him, no more than Nico Robin was the only Oharan scholar left after her world was erased in flame and ash.

“Nervous about tonight, is all,” she lied, putting on a practiced smile. Oh, how many men had she tricked with it before? Dozens, and yet none of them hurt nearly half as much.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmured. “My parents are going to love you… Lami already loves you… I just wish your mom could have been in town so she could come along as well.” He pushed himself up to be on his hands and knees, drinking in the sight of the wonderful woman splayed beneath him. “We’ve survived meeting each other’s friends—I think we can survive tonight.”

At that, he leaned back down and kissed her, infused with a sort of desire unlike anything he had done in real life. She shoved his now-loose pants from his hips to his knees and he pounced on her soon as he kicked them off, both now just in their underwear. There was no hesitation in his desire, no holding back due to a lifetime of pain, no worry as to the aching yearning that would fill the void when the alliance was finally dissolved. He was offering his entire self to her as he kissed and nipped and caressed and took care of the final barriers between their skin. He was hard and dripping as he fumbled around between the bed and the nook walls it was set into, not wanting to take his lips from her skin as he searched.

Finally Law pulled away from Robin and held up his prize with a grin: a battered condom box. He pulled one out and laid on his back as he lazily tossed the box towards their feet and unwrapped the condom. Once it had been rolled on, he gently pawed at Robin, silently begging for her to ride him. She complied, straddling his hips and guiding him in, the satisfying burn of his girth opening her up while not fully-prepped distracting from the absurdity of the situation. Closing her eyes, she kept pushing him further and further in until their bodies were flush against each other and he was completely enveloped. His hips bucked desperately against hers, though she held him in place as she adjusted to the feel of him, almost ready to burst.

Slowly, Robin set the pace, rocking gently to ease moans out of them both. She opened her eyes to look around, making sure there was nothing she was missing. There was no danger, nothing out of place; it was just a normal flat in a normal building in a normal—if romantic—neighborhood. Law’s imagination had given them the perfect hideaway…

…except, as she threw her head back at a thrust that was aimed rather well, Robin saw something she should not have amongst the varied plants lining the wall: a flower. It was pure-white and had many petals, the cactus branch it was hanging off being something she recognized as something that did not bloom for longer than a single night. The fact it was conspicuously in bloom in the afternoon was proof there was something very not-right and she kept her eyes on it as they rolled their hips together in what felt like well-practiced lovemaking. Desperate gulps for air and filthy moans were the only things that passed between their lips, filling the flat with lewd sounds that would have made either of their crews blush.

Entire body slick with sweat, Law sat up and wrapped in arms tightly around Robin’s torso as he trembled, his pleasure building low in his gut. She held him gently, keeping his face buried between her breasts as she conjured arms from his back to help hold him up against the mattress. Her own orgasm was creeping upon her, not yet there as he nearly shouted into her chest as his body went rigid. He waited until the aftershocks had passed before reaching between them and finding her clit, rubbing small circles until she lost control of her Devil Fruit as she teetered over the edge, washing over her with more force than she was going to admit. They collapsed on the bed, Law smiling hazily up at Robin as though she was the only person in the world that mattered.

“Welcome home.”

Maybe she should have taken Bepo’s offer after all.

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 137 - Life as Normal

It's time for a check up!

Doctor: Welcome back! Baby number three, huh?

Ophelia: Third pregnancy, but we did adopt a little boy since the last time we saw you.

Doctor: Oh, how wonderful. Are he, Gemma and Lulu excited for the new baby?

Ophelia: As excited as toddlers can be.

Doctor: Alright, there they are. One healthy baby. Do you want to know the sex?

Ophelia: We agreed we wanted this one to be a surprise.

Doctor: Okay. Everything looks normal, let me print off the sonogram.

Ophelia and Xander look at the monitor. Their household will be full after this, so they know they can't have any more kids after this little one. While pregnancy isn't exactly easy, Ophelia will be sure to treasure her last pregnancy, and this last addition to their family.

Lulu may be cheeky, but she's a girl of her word. The next time she has to go potty, she gets a grown-up and gives this potty training thing a fair shake. It's kind of weird she still doesn't have to take her pants off, but hey, if it makes her parents happy.

Since the baby will move into the nursery, Lulu is sharing Gemma's room now. Her mommy and daddy got her a new kitty cat nightlight, though, so she can't be too bitter.

As Ophelia's pregnancy progresses, she keeps taking care of herself, and the little life growing inside of her. She'll love her little one no matter what, but she thinks having another boy would be fun for Jaden.

This baby must be destined to roll the vegetarian trait, because Ophelia has been craving lots of veggies.

Ophelia: You love these flower spring rolls Daddy made us, don't you?

Xander: Maybe next time the kid can crave something with some protein in it. I'm starving.

Jaden, spring roll in hand, comes to join his sisters, who are babbling at each other in the living room.

Jaden: Whatcha talkin' about?

Gemma: I think the baby's gonna be a boy!

Lulu: I think it's a girl!

Gemma: What do you think it is, Jadey?

Jaden: I want the baby to be a girl.

Lulu: Really?

Gemma: But you're a boy! Don'tcha want another boy to play with?

Jaden: Not really.

Jaden played okay with boys, but he had more in common with girls. They liked playing fun stuff and they didn't wrestle as much.

Before Xander has to go to the bar, Mom and Dad end the last night of the second trimester by reading their little one a story.

Xander: It's so impressive how you can read while holding the book upside down.

Ophelia: Oh. Didn't even realize. Guess it's pregnancy brain.

Ophelia: So what food-themed nickname are you giving this kid?

Xander: I don't know what you're talking about.

Ophelia: Gemma's muffin, Jaden's short-stack, and Lulu's cupcake. It'd be weird if one kid didn't get one.

Xander: I have to wait 'til I see them.

Lulu did extra good with her potty training today, so Ophelia gives her a bubble bath as a treat. She doesn't really need a bath, but this kid loves playing in the water, so it proves to be a good incentive.

After drying Lulu off, Ophelia comes to check on Jaden, who changed himself into his pajamas.

Ophelia: Look at you, big boy. What's with the sad face?

Jaden: Gemma and Lulu came from your belly too, like this new baby?

Ophelia: Yes.

Jaden: But I didn't.

Jaden: I lived someplace else, 'fore you and Daddy were my Mommy and Daddy.

Ophelia nods. It had been so long since Jaden lived with Anna and Calvin, but she supposes he still remembers his days before the Lemons, even if it mostly seems like he's blocked that out.

Jaden: Do you like the new baby more than me? Cuz I didn't grow in your belly?

Ophelia: Of course not. There's lots of different ways to become a family. Sometimes you're born into them, and sometimes you find each other. We love you, your sisters and the new baby just the same.

Jaden seems to believe her.

Ophelia: Now how can I turn that frown upside down, huh?

Jaden: Story?

Ophelia: You've got it.

Ophelia's back is killing her, and she's so tired, but she'll do what she has to in order to show her little boy how loved he is, no matter what.

Gemma seems to have tucked herself in, the independent queen, but Lulu's still running around.

Ophelia: Hey, you, bedtime!

Lulu: Playtime!

Ophelia: No, no playtime. You played enough when you splashed all your bath water on me. Bed!

Ophelia: Will a story help make bedtime easier?

Lulu: Story!

While Jaden has his own struggles with being adopted, becoming a big sibling will be a new transition for Lulu, and Ophelia wants to make sure she knows she'll always be there for her. One more story won't kill her.

Right as Lulu starts to doze off, our light sleeper stumbles over.

Gemma: Story? Momma, I want a story!

Gemma is independent, Ophelia knows that, but it's still important to make time for her eldest child, so Ophelia tells one last story. She can sleep when the kids are grown.

All that work to get everyone in bed only for Lulu to wake up a couple hours later to go splash in the toilet. This kid, I swear.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Six.

It's a new week, meaning there's a new chapter for my SFOS crew! Thank you so much for your lovely feedback so far, guys! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,125

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Shit, honey. You sound awful.” 

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel the best. We had to cancel the next three shows so I can rest my voice. The doctor told me I can only talk when it’s vitally necessary.” 

“So why the hell are you calling me?” 

“Because speaking to my boyfriend who I haven’t seen for two and a half months is vital, baby!” 

He couldn’t help but find that endearing, that regardless of her strained vocal cords after ten months on the road, she still forsook the doctor’s advice, just to call him. Then again, Jade Burton and being told what to do didn’t usually go hand in hand. Except when he was doing the telling, and even then, she still protested. 

It was December first, and while he was back in Los Angeles wrapping up a huge onslaught of press work, she was east, the final leg of the tour now in its last two weeks. She had sixteen days to wait still until she got to see him again, Adrien set to meet her in New York upon her arrival. Or so she thought. Mr. Brody had been sneaky there, not revealing his plans to her for when the tour arrived in Pittsburgh. 

He’d actually be arriving back in New York on the tenth, intending to hop on a plane to Pennsylvania three days later and surprise her by popping up when she least expected it. He’d had a little help there, though. Help that continued in their little covert operation when the day of the Pittsburgh show rolled around. 

“Okay, she just went into the dressing room, go, go!” Jess spoke, ushering him through the side door, suddenly freezing when she saw Jade emerge again. “Shit, abort, abort!” How just over five feet of her managed to practically throw all six feet one of him back through the door, he didn’t know, ducking to hide while she kept the watch. “Okay, we’re clear, hurry.” They walked down the hallway together, Jess beaming with excitement, going into the dressing room before him, Adrien taking his phone out and making a call. 

“Hi baby!” he heard her, both down the phone and just about through the door, despite all the noise going on around. “Blimey, where are you? Sounds as loud as it is here!” 

He held onto the laughter bubbling in his throat. “Oh, just out in downtown LA,” he lied with ease, opening the dressing room door, seeing her in the perfect position to spring the surprise, her back to him. “How about you, how you doing?” 

“I’m sleepy, but yeah, pretty good,” she spoke, jamming her finger in her ear so she could hear him better through the noise of the dressing room. “I can’t bloody wait to see you! I need to fast forward the time!” 

“Might be able to help you there,” he spoke, hanging up, watching the smiles all around grow as he tapped her on the shoulder. “Hi!” he chirped as she turned, her eyes nearly falling out of her head.  

“Stop it!” she cried, hands flying to her mouth. “You are not here!” 

“I can assure you I am,” he grinned, throwing his arms around her as everyone else in the room cooed and applauded, falling into a long kiss that’d been three months in the coming. “Missed you, Moo.”  

“I missed you too, and you’re here, and I don’t know how to process this information!” she spoke, her voice pinched as she started to cry, Adrien lifting her up, her long legs wrapping around his waist as he held her tightly. “How did you even do this without me knowing?” 

“Had some help from the small one,” he replied, Jess waving cheerily. 

“We’ve been in cahoots!” the diminutive bassist informed her, still thrilled that the plan had been pulled off seamlessly. 

Indeed, they had, Jade blowing her a grateful kiss she pretended to catch against her cheek before burying her face against his neck, breathing his scent in. Oh, how she’d missed it. “You’ve got short hair and no beard, this is strange!”  

Her observation made him laugh, placing her down, both moving to take a seat. “Can’t play a mercenary looking like a hippie,” he spoke, scratching his stubbly chin. “The facial hair I’m working on, though. The razor has been hidden for now.” He then looked around, noticing one person in particular absent. “Where’s the noisy one?” 

“Sleeping off her hangover,” Jade confirmed, laughing at how trashed Jen had been the previous night. “She won’t rise until about 3pm. Actually, can you go give her a nudge? I’d do it, but the woman interviewing me is due any second.”  

“Sure, I gotta go throw my bag on the bus anyways,” he spoke, just as right on cue Hazel entered the dressing room, beckoning for Jade. He gave her a quick kiss in parting, walking back down the short hallway and out onto the bus, taking his bag into the rear lounge.  

“Jen, are you alive?” he called, walking back down the gangway, noticing the small curtain covering her bunk still drawn. “Jen? I’ve arrived and you haven’t licked my face yet. Kinda feel like I’m missing something,” he then teased, reaching through and giving her shoulder a little tickle. Nothing. “Jen?” 

Pulling back the curtain, his eyes widened in horror, seeing her lying there, her mouth covered in vomit, her skin pallid, not responding. “Fuck, fuck!” he exclaimed, slapping her face gently, trying to rouse her. “Jen, Jen, wake up. Ahhh, fuck. Don’t do this, Jen!”  

Looking around in panic as he pulled his phone out, he noticed her foot, a needle stuck between her toes as his shaky thumb dialled 911, jamming the phone to his ear while sticking his fingers into her mouth, clearing out what remained of her puke. Thank fuck he felt her shallow breath flutter across them. 

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked. 

“It’s my friend, she’s OD’ing on something, I don’t know what but she’s out cold. Still breathing, but barely,” he spoke, his heart thrumming, feeling lightheaded.  

“Okay, sir. I need you to check for a pulse and turn her onto her side. What’s your exact location, I’m getting an ambulance out to you right away.” He pulled her from the bunk while giving the information required, confirming she had a pulse, although it was weak. He was stuck in the territory of utterly terrified, fingers repeatedly checking her pulse, pulling the needle from her foot while having the operator explaining what else he needed to do, before telling him the ambulance was minutes away.  

Luckily, he wasn’t alone in it for long, Katie boarding the bus, gasping as she ran to them. “What the fuck, what the fucking fuck!”  

“I just found her; she’s OD’ing. Christ fucking knows what on, but I pulled a damned hypodermic out of her foot,” he explained, Katie crashing down to her knees, reaching for Jen’s hand and face as she trembled in fright, Adrien beginning to root around in the pockets of her jeans. 

“What are you doing?” she shouted, her emotions in utter overload. 

“Checking if she had anything left. This is bad enough, she isn’t going to jail eventually for possession if she has anything substantial, too. Cops’ll be fucking crawling all over this bus as soon as it's established a rock musician OD’d in it. Look in her bag, and if you find anything, throw it down the drain. Does Jess have a stash right now? If so, that needs to go, too.” 

Reaching for his arm, she squeezed it in apology for her terse tone, thanking the stars somebody a lot calmer and more pragmatic than her had found Jen, her eyes swimming with tears as she carefully manoeuvred around where she lay, turning her bunk upside down at speed. Nothing. She quickly called her girlfriend while checking her bag, telling her to get their tour manager and get outside, in tears as she explained the situation. Unzipping the last inner pocket, she quickly found what she was looking for, two baggies, one full of cocaine and the other with heroin.  

Heroin. How the fuck had she been using heroin and nobody had noticed? She then remembered how Adrien had said he’d found her, with a needle still sticking out of her foot. Injecting into the feet as a sure-fire way for someone to hide their track marks.  

A quick reach into the overhead compartment located Jess’s weed, Katie running from the bus and just as the lady herself and Charlotte ran up the steps, Hazel following. The contraband was disposed of seconds before she heard the wail of sirens, an ambulance and two police cars hurtling down towards the bus. Everything moved like time was being run through treacle for all involved, the medics clearing the bus, Adrien moving to wrap his arms around her.  

“Jade doesn’t even know! She’s in a fucking interview and the woman who’s like a sister to us is OD’ing in the gangway!” she cried, sobbing uncontrollably. The protector in him noticed the gaze of a few fans the police had pushed back from the bus, seeing a few cell phones being produced, turning to pull her away from it before anyone got chance to take a picture, heading back into the venue.  

“Hey, hey, come on,” he spoke, moving her to the side of the hallway, hand rubbing her back. “She was breathing, she had a pulse. She’s gonna be okay, alright?”  

She nodded dumbly, wiping her eyes. Jade was right, he was steadying, a very calming presence. In that moment, she was thankful for him especially, because she wasn’t sure how she’d have handled finding Jen OD’ing in her bunk, if she could have acted so calmly in the face of someone she loved slipping slowly into what could have easily been her death. If he hadn’t walked on that bus when he did... 

Everything seemed to move around them in a whirlwind, time suddenly speeding up. Hazel ran back and stated she was going to the hospital with her and would call as soon as she had news, expressly stating they stay where they were until she had, having their assistant Kim go and tell the venue manager and promoter the show obviously wouldn’t be going ahead before bolting back through the doors.  

The most difficult thing Adrien thought he’d have to do that day was to get to the venue without his girlfriend being any the wiser. Dealing with someone OD’ing was perhaps beyond the very end of his list, as far as expectations went, lighting a cigarette, feeling awful that the girlfriend in question still didn’t know. 

He stood with his arm draped around a still sniffing Katie, both moving back into the dressing room where Charlotte and Jess sat, looking dumbstruck, the latter bolting back neat tequila from the bottle. He made a motion with his hand, taking a big swig himself, the burn of the golden liquid taking the edge of the fact he was still in a state of shock, feeling Jess rest her head against his thigh as she hugged his leg.  

“Are you alright?” she asked in a small voice, looking up at him with glassy eyes. “That can’t have been easy, finding her like that.” 

He reached to squeeze her fingers, touched that she’d thought to ask. “I think so, and no, it wasn’t.” 

It was a further ten-minute wait before Jade appeared, Adrien moving to hug her, relaying the news that literally made her legs buckle out from under her. He lifted her into his arms, moving to the couch over against the back wall, sitting down and holding her tightly while she cried her eyes out. 

“Has anyone called Donna?” she suddenly asked, emerging from having her face buried against her boyfriend’s neck. 

“I did, she’s on her way,” Jess spoke, referring to Jen’s only surviving parent, her mother. “Lou’s with her, too.” Her elder sister. That was good, at least, that Donna didn’t have to do the five-and-a-half-hour drive all on her own, worried out of her mind. “I can’t believe it. I knew she was upping her pills because of her back, but smack? That’s just not Jen’s style. And yet there she was, using right under our noses.” 

“Don’t feel too bad, none of you. Injecting in her foot goes to show she went a way to hide it, and with her pain pills all being opioids as well, she could easily explain it away, looking all whacked out if she was ever caught.” Adrien spoke. It didn’t matter how much sense his words made, though, that Jen had indeed been very clever in hiding her habit well, they still all felt like they were responsible for not noticing.  

“Yeah, but we did. I did.” He was expecting that, for Jade to take the blame. “And now I’m sitting here sobbing like a loser when it’s Jen in a hospital bed, not me.” Yep, he expected that, too. She really didn’t give herself any grace where being vulnerable for long was concerned, always hardening herself rapidly. 

“Hey,” he spoke, turning her face to look her in the eye, “you’re not a loser because you’re upset about your friend, alright?” he told her gently, watching her wipe her eyes as she sat up and squared her shoulders, sniffing. 

“And I sent you, and you had to deal with the fucking awfulness that was her almost dying. You didn’t need that!” She was up off his lap and pacing around in a circle, clenching and relaxing her fists as the agitation began to pulse, his words seemingly not penetrating at all. He opened his mouth to speak, to try and calm her, Jess quickly reaching to grab his arm, shaking her head. 

“Let her deal with it in her own way, big guy.” she whispered. Was he the only one in the room that saw Jade’s way – blaming herself and then avoiding how that made her feel - wasn’t healthy at all, he wondered?  

It was a further wait of half an hour before Jess’s phone rang, Hazel calling in from the hospital. The sigh of relief that exited her chest was huge, everyone feeling a little better to see the relief leave her tense shoulders as they finally sagged. “She’s alright. They gave her Naloxone and she snapped out of it like that,” she explained with a click of her fingers, “but they’re keeping her in overnight because her blood pressure is through the roof.  

“Also, even though she stated it wasn’t intentional, a pure accident, they want her to have a psyche evaluation in the morning, too, once she’s rested. Hazel is staying there with her, told us to find hotels to check into for the night and the company will reimburse. We can go and see her tomorrow.”  

While Jade organised accommodation, the others returned to the tour bus to collect their belongings, the police still there after turning it upside down, just as Adrien had predicted they would. At discovering he’d been the one to find her, he was asked to give a brief statement, his presence at the local PD not necessary. All he could tell them was that he’d found her, called an ambulance and no, he didn’t know her well enough to know if her habit was longstanding. 

With three rooms booked at the Marriott, the girls all went and gave their crew big hugs as they packed away, Adrien noting how close they all seemed, like one huge family. Their sound engineer, Scott, a towering bear of a man with dirty blonde dreadlocks down to his knees took extra time to hug the four of them tightly, telling them he loved them and asking them to pass that onto Jen too when they saw her.  

One sombre ride across the city later and they checked in, departing in the foyer, Jade and Adrien’s room on the seventh floor, the other two rooms on the ground. As soon as they closed the door, she was in floods all over again, the stress of it, what could have been hitting her square in the chest, pulled into the tight embrace she’d been missing for the last three months. 

“You saved her life. I owe you fucking everything, baby. She would have died if you hadn’t come here early, if today hadn’t panned out the way that it did,” she told him through her tears. “I love you. Not just because of what you did for Jen, but because you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” 

He beamed, resting his forehead to hers, kissing the tip of her nose. “I love you, too. I’m not just saying it because you did either. I always planned to tell you in person, because I’ve known for a while.”  

Hearing those words, her heart could have burst, the emotion of the day colliding with the love that she felt, pulling him into endless kisses, steering him in the direction of the bed. Sex hadn’t even been on his mind after the horror of what had happened, but in truth, they both needed something to take their minds off the awfulness of it. The sharp edge within needed softening.  

Loving hands pulled one another from their clothes, touches and kisses exploring in sweet reacquaintance, Jade gasping as she felt herself parted around the thick heat of him, her mouth closing a soft kiss upon the side of his throat. His hands clasped hers, their lips locking together, kisses full of fiery honey exchanged, the rolling rhythm of it anchoring them back to each other. 

Hooking his arm under her leg, he hoisted it forward, allowing him to fill her deeper, kissing the little sob that fell from her lips, staring into the blue glitter of her eyes. “I love you so fucking much, baby. God, I missed you.”  

“I love you, too... and missed you... and your cock... oh, fuck!” He couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, nuzzling her, raining kisses over her neck and breasts, driving into her harder for a few thrusts before slowing the tempo again. Three months without the most incredible sex of his life meant there was no way he wanted to rush it. The fact that he could already feel those waves of bliss beginning to get stronger negated that somewhat, though, but he wouldn’t let them direct him. 

Slipping from her, he moved down the bed, mouth closing over her glistening folds, tongue circling in a slow, firm rotation upon her clit. “Ohhh, how the hell did you get so good at that?” 

“I pay attention.” he paused to speak, kissing her a couple of times, the blade of his tongue snaking back between her folds. It really wasn’t difficult, he’d always thought, to gauge how a woman reacted and adjust accordingly to that.  

The swirling tempest of wet heat lapping against her had her squirming, nails raking over his scalp as her back arched, her little moans a complete symphony of bliss. It was amazing to him, that a woman capable of bending her voice to such an unearthly growl could be made to emit sounds so delicate and sweet.  

Moving to kneel, he returned himself to her, parting her walls, his eyes falling to watch himself arrowing her as Jade grasped her legs and pulled them back until her knees touched her chest, improving that view for him even more. He didn’t know what was more beautiful to cast his gaze upon, how the petals of her pussy parted so prettily around his cock, or how gorgeous she looked while he was fucking her. His eyes flitted between as he brought his thumb to her mouth, watching her pillowy lips suck upon it before moving to begin rubbing sparks at her clit. 

It didn’t take long for any containment to be abandoned, bodies colliding, the lewd noises of their fuck filling the room as they chased the culmination of sweet release. It blew through them like a howling storm, shattering against one another as the sublime warmth radiated and he filled her with cum, her inner walls milking his cock thirstily. 

His body collapsed to hers, mouth pressing kisses against her neck as they lay in a content entanglement of limbs, enjoying the way her soaking walls pulsed around his cock. Smiling down at her, he remained exactly where he was, kissing her tenderly, fingers stroking her delicate neck. It was exactly what they’d needed to counteract the events of that afternoon, parting eventually but remaining close, Jade stroking his head until he drifted off.  

He was tired, his eyes shadowy. He needed the coming break from work he had, him without any projects for the next five weeks, Jade having a month free until she flew over to the UK to begin a five-week movie shoot where she’d be playing the role of Sarah Quentin, a police bomb disposal expert. A little later that evening, it was as she was reading the words of the real people who worked in that field on her phone that Adrien found her, sitting outside beneath the heater on the hotel patio, a large JD and a cigarette in her hand.  

“There’s my Moo,” he spoke softly, sitting at her side, placing the beer he’d brought down and stealing one of her cigarettes. “What are you doing?” 

“Familiarising myself with all things bomb disposal,” she replied, sipping her drink, glad of the nice little buzz. She was all about buzzes at that moment, whether it be the afterglow from sex, or a good, cold bourbon, it was a little soother sorely needed. “I need to keep my mind off what nearly happened, or I’ll be climbing the damned walls.” Pausing, she placed her drink down, reaching to squeeze his thigh. “How are you feeling? I can’t even imagine how horrible that was, finding her like that.” 

A little warm wave swelled through his chest at that, her concern over how he was dealing with it. “It was awful. Fucking awful. I thought she was dead for a few moments, until I cleared the puke out of her mouth and felt she was still breathing, and that she was warm, too. I just wanna go and give her a hug now, you know?” 

“Me too,” she empathised, sighing. 

“How about you, how are you dealing with it now?”  

“Still kicking myself, but it happened, and what I feel doesn’t matter. I’m okay. I’ve just got to be there for her now, get her through it.”  

A reply he more than expected. “What you feel does matter, Jade.” 

“It doesn’t!” she exclaimed, eyes widening as she took a fierce drag on her cigarette. “I’m not the one who almost died, she is. I have to pull myself together and be there for her, get her through it.” 

He wanted to explain to her that not being together immediately was perfectly fine, that her closest friend having a very real brush with death of course affected her as well. He doubted it would fall on anything other than deaf ears, though, and didn’t want to cause her further distress. She was trying hard enough to push that down as it was.  

The truth of it was, at thirty-two, Jen was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions and in this instance, her own mistakes. Nobody had forced her hand. Jade couldn’t have prevented it any more than her lament over the loss of control could mean that Jen hadn’t decided to shoot up an accidentally lethal dose of heroin. Again, though, he kept that thought on the back burner, not wanting to confront her with it.  

Her habit of avoidance and self-blame, though, he saw quite clearly then that he’d have to keep an eye on it, before it rose up to become a problem she couldn’t run away from any longer. Until that happened, he’d simply be there for her, let her know she could talk to him. Or like he did later that evening, hold her tightly and make her feel safe when he knew that emotionally, she didn’t.  

“Thank you for being here,” she whispered into the dark, lying in the same pose they did on the bus, his thigh between hers, arms around her, her hand rested on his cheek. “And for just been you. I think I’d have fallen apart completely if you weren’t here with me.” 

He kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, baby love.” 

He truly meant it, too.  

[altermay]

Tw/ transphobia, discussions of dysphoria, brief mention of suicide, descriptions of child abuse

Getting unbearable. Feeling sick. Started working to afford hormones only to find out the service that is most accessible to me (plume) doesnt offer T in alabama anymore due to changing laws. Fuck all these stupid politicians putting their noses in others lives.

Thought people at work wouldnt make a super huge deal, as I was selective with who I told, so i thought maybe I could hold out a bit longer and at least i wouldnt have to feel so dysphoric all the time, since all my coworkers knew me as Monte. But then instead of my name, people who would usually call anyone else by their name started calling me “Miss” and “maam”

Even the ones I had come out to, and even the ones who told me they were accepting.

Whatever, im from a small rural area, so transphobia is not new to me, what is new to me, however, is being openly trans in an unfamilliar environment. I thought I could start T quickly and maybe people would ever forget that im trans in the first place, but now its been so long.

Some people call me He, and use the right pronouns, but increasingly lately Ive received a myriad of transphobia.

Being called tranny loudly while my coworker kicks my broom as I try to sweep (kicking hard enough for the broom to almost leave my hands and hit another person behind me) , Getting called “it” behind my back. Stuff like this is becoming more common.

The two coworkers who called me it, have been spreading lies about my work performance these past five days, Ive been told my three different people that every time I leave to go do something they start talking badly of me. So I got to my breaking point, at this point it had nothing to do with the pronouns, I was just upset that two forty+ year old adults were purposefully making my job harder to do while I was also struggling with a ton of other stuff (ptsd, seasonal depression, a family members recent suicide) and so I couldnt stop crying.

Despite this situation having nothing to do with me being trans, they are now trying to spread the narrative that Im just being sensitive because they were misgendering me while they were borderline bullying me.

If I was not trans, people would take me seriously on these issues. But now, because I am upset, suddenly Im just a stereotype. A sensitive trans person who is offended because someone used the wrong pronouns a few times.

I will be one to say, I do not give a SHIT about my pronouns. Ive been called the wrong ones my whole life by a majority of people. That was never the issue. But because Im trans, that is the only issue people can perceive for me to have. The ONE issue I had with them regarding my pronouns was them calling me “it” and thats not because its the wrong pronoun, thats because its DEHUMANIZING.

But now I have other coworkers who know NOTHING about the situation saying shit like “well if she claims shes a man maybe she should suck it up” “well if she wants to be seen as a man maybe she shpuld cut her hair”

Fuck you. How about YOU get beaten for 17 years, YOU watch your siblings get beaten near to death for 17 years. YOU have flashbacks of things you dont understand all day every day and we will see how fucking well youre able to “suck it up” you are WEAK. YOU ARE ALL WEAK. And you dont know what its like to be me. My mother tried to kill me. My mother almost killed my sister, I was neglected, never went to a doctor, and I STILL dont know how to take care of myself. And I still havent recovered all of the memories.

Ive had SHORT HAIR ive had LONG HAIR Ive had a MOHAWK, ive had a BUZZCUT ive been BALD. And people STILL fucking saw me as a woman. Im tired of conforming to this bullshit just so people can treat me the same as they always do

Fun fact though, since Ive had long hair Ive been gendered correctly by strangers MORE than I have with ANY OTHER HAIR STYLE.

These stupid fucking transphobes and their stupid fucking stereotypes im so fucking sick of it all. And corporate wont do anything about it, Im sure of this.

Why is it so hard for me to just live my fucking life.

Im so sick of it all

[drivemysoul]

it's new years eve, and i am not okay (i promise)

this year has been extremely difficult for me. that's putting it lightly. this year has also gotten me closer than ever to lifelong dreams. that's downplaying it.

this year has been absolutely tumultuous, with some of the highest highs and lowest lows of my life. i broke up, broke free, broke through, and broke down this year. i lost people, i lost myself, i made new connections, and came into my own in a way that i could only have anticipated in my most far-fetched, wildest daydreams.

this year has been my most rocky, insurmountable experience since march 2021 (iykyk) - i'm very grateful i'm here.

i'd like a moment to please rewind to the moments that defined my year, to put you there with me in a way that i wish you could have been. these private moments, lived offline, that i found comfort in without outside validation.

i'm standing in a crowd at a my chemical romance concert, screaming until i thought my throat would bleed with a crowd of strangers, "i am not afraid to keep on living." and i'd made it. i turn to my friend, the girl who raped me the month before, the one that would lead me to a suicide attempt later in the year, and i earnestly tell her "i'm so glad i survived." this is a moment i've never even allowed myself to dream of, thinking it was impossible, but there i was, and there they were, and i wasn't afraid to keep on living. i had no idea what would happen next, but for that small moment, everything and nothing made sense in the most comforting, exhilarating way.

i'm laying in the bathtub at one in the morning, crying while my mother sits next to the bath with her back to me. i'm dizzy, nauseous, violently sobbing, and begging for her to kill me. i'm having another bad moment of some mystery illness that i've still not got an official diagnosis for, and i'm having a ptsd attack on top of that. my mother asks me if i had sex with the friend i went to the concert with. i swallow my pride, silently apologise to her, and tell her that she had sex with me while i was asleep. i'm still too ashamed to call it rape. that night, i sleep in my mother's bed, because she's been in mine and it feels suffocating, and she buys me a pregnancy test the next day.

i'm lying face-down, my fading denim shorts pulled just under my ass cheek, sweat dripping down my forehead, trying to distract myself from the intense ache in my arm and anxiously anticipating the next round of pain as a heavily-tattooed man lies that it's not going to hurt, and then a needle is stabbing me in the ass cheek hundreds of times per second, and i'm regretting skipping numbing cream. i just got a tattoo of those same lyrics i've loved for so long, i am not afraid to keep on living", and now i'm getting a tattoo of a ghost cow that was drawn by two strangers-quickly-turned-friends that i met the day of that very concert. it's the most spontaneous, stupid decision of my entire life, and something in me comes alive as soon as i feel the needle first hit my skin. i'm a grown adult, and i can control my body and life. i don't have to plan everything a decade in advance, worrying about making the "wrong" decision. the cow on my ass changed my life.

i'm lying on a bed in a doctor's office, my bleach-damaged red hair staining the white paper pulled over the pillow, and another man, this time not tattooed at all, is approaching me with another needle - this one doesn't contain ink, it's testosterone. it's my first and last shot, because i turn out to be allergic to it, and that destroys me, but it's the most defining moment of my transition so far, and the pure joy and hope and life i feel afterwards makes up for the fact my ass and thigh hurt so badly i cannot sit for four days.

i'm sitting in a hairdresser's chair, watching as the hairdresser i've trusted for three years takes clippers to my beloved emo hair. i pretend i'm not about to cry. my mother's making me shave my hair, she doesn't like the dye and - silently - she doesn't like that it's something i have control of. i watch m hair fall in clumps of the floor, it's damaged beyond salvation and shaving it was really the best solution anyway, but it's been eight months now and i still feel a deep sense of shame and hatred when i see myself without a wig.

i'm kneeling on the floor in a hastily pulled-together cosplay of saeki from bible black, my hands trembling, heart pounding, phone positioned precariously in the holder of my ring light that threatens to fall over at any moment. i'm about to do something i've entertained the idea of for around a year but talked myself out of - i wasn't attractive enough, i was too nerdy, i was too shy, it would ruin my life, my family would kill me. i'm about to film my first porn video. i don't know it then, but that video would change and save my life in the most beautiful, wild way, and i will be so thankful that i didn't give in to the voice in my head telling me i'm never good enough.

i'm giggling texting my friends a screenshot of something nice someone said about me - something so simple and so inherently poetic that it sets off some kind of realisation in my head that i'm still walking through the hazy cloud of. "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," i say, listening to everything has changed on repeat and imagining that he might have heard these lyrics and thought of me too. "you're crushing on him," my friend replies, then a few minutes later it's followed by a simple "tell him. right now." i spend a week debating with my friends if he could like me, then i decide i'm inherently unlovable and stupidly optimistic. "i care about him way too much to ever risk jeopardising a friendship over my unrequited feelings," i say, with taylor swift's red album playing non-stop for a week, as if her heartbreak and hope is meant to suddenly stop my fear of rejection. it's a nice and terrifying feeling, falling in love, as if i've stepped from an airplane and am desperately waiting for someone else to pull my parachute cord before i shatter against the ground when i land. i've contented myself to admire this feeling from afar, but the thought that i'd remind anyone of such a poetic new beginning - spring - thawed something in the ice-frozen heart i'd tried to protect, and i'm content to send messages in bottles while i daydream of the kind of bright, burning, red love that inspired the album i've found myself turning to lately.

and then, i'm waking up in a hospital bed. my throat feels like i've swallowed glass, my limbs all feel like concrete, my headache feels like i've slammed it against a wall for an hour straight, and black dots are dancing around my vision as i struggle to not throw up. i'm struck by a deep shame and guilt, then humiliation. i've survived. fuck. i didn't want this to happen. i look around at my mom and younger brother crying, at my mother standing in the corner of the room looking exhausted, at my friend curled up in a chair beside my bed clutching the side of the bed while she sobs that she shouldn't have left me alone for the night, and all i feel is self-loathing. then i stay in a ward, stripped of my phone - my only connection to people - and my dignity, and i cry. and i think. i make plans. i get out of the ward and, slowly, cautiously, check tumblr. i see a post from one of my friends, then i see tags and comments and asks from people all mourning me. i see people saying they wished we'd been friends, they wished they'd reached out, that they loved me, that they wished i was happier where i'd ended up. and i cry. then i search for one URL, one name, one person who i desperately hoped to hear from, almost more than anyone else combined. and the name never appears. and i cry. i tell myself i'm stupid, worthless and would've been better off dead. and i cry. and i don't stop crying. but i do prioritise those people who showed up. the people who sent me their love and well-wishes. the people who reached out. the people who noticed. the people who asked if i was okay, who did everything they could to check in somehow. and i vow those people are the ones that i will listen to, the voices I'll try to hear clearly over the own voice in my head screaming my little self-worth and fear of inadequacy and rejection will overpower any love or hope i find.

this year has been difficult. it's also had good things. i swore off love this year, romantic and platonic. and i'm ending this year with a helpless crush that turns me into a giggling puddle of foolish hope, a group of people i am desperately hoping i'll get to know next year, and hell of a lot of love for myself. i love my gym, i love my job, i love my friends, i love my cat, i love my family. i love myself, and i'm learning to say that without being embarrassed or self-deprecating.

i started this year stuck in a relationship where i felt emotionally worthless. i'm ending this year prioritising people who think i'm worth something to them. i started this year hating every inch of my body because i felt physically undesirable. i'm ending this year as a porn star. i started this year worrying about not living up to my ten-year plan. i'm ending this year feeling more lost and free than ever before.

i'm on the precipice of everything i've dreamed of and worked for. i'm trying to cherish each and every second.

happy new year. i hope the next one is gentler.

love, taylor

[iknewiwouldregretthis]

i have not yet gotten a therapist like my doctor told me to do in february but i have a lot on my mind which means it’s time to make a long post so i can put those thoughts somewhere else

i like my job. it isn’t very fulfilling but i like the people i work with and i like that they let me work from home once a week so i can schedule all my appointments on that day and i like that as a company they want to support their employees and all that. but. it’s a very weird place and there’s also a lot of bad things. like the fact that i’ve had almost no work for six months and every time i ask for more work or suggest things i can do, there’s some reason it won’t work. “we’re not ready to pass that to you” or “that won’t be compatible with our new systems” or “the time it would take to build that system isn’t worth the small amount it would get used” and that’s fine! all of those are valid reasons for me not to do something! but every month i have like 35 total hours that i do work! and the rest of the time i’m just sitting there and i know it’s nice to have a salaried job where i get paid to do nothing but it’s miserable. i mentioned to my dad that i was thinking of getting a second job like some sort of low maintenance online data entry so i could do it on the down time of my first job and he was like “you should work on professional development instead. take classes. maybe see if you can get an MBA online. train skills that you’ll use in your next job. you don’t want to have one job forever, right?” which i hadn’t thought about. i’ve never had career goals and when i got this job all i was looking for was something officey that was pretty consistent. and i’ve been here almost 3 years which is the longest i’ve ever had a job (not including the three years i was an RA in college but that didn’t include summers so)

thinking about leaving is weird, but also being at the job has gotten weird and not just because i sit in my cube all day and do nothing. my best friend at work was having issues for months because she got a new supervisor who kept trying to micromanage her and thought she wasn’t doing work because my friend wasn’t doing the work in a visible way like the supervisor thought she should. my friend asked for a sabbatical or short term leave so she could take some time and get her shit together a bit and instead they fired her, citing that she was already on probation (which was a whole other bullshit thing. they wouldn’t let her transfer departments and wouldn’t tell her why but scheduled a meeting with HR that got pushed back 5 times over 2 months and when they eventually had the meeting they told her she was on probation because she was doing the work the same as she always had which worked for the old supervisor but not the new one. she got in trouble when i stopped by her desk to chat with her so we started doing weekly walks and all she could ever talk about was how she had another meeting with her supervisor where she asked for clear guidance and direction and got none). it’s been really weird at work without her and now one of my other best work friends is retiring. i still like my department except one, but i feel like all the people i like at work are slowly leaving. and if it’s just a job where i don’t like anyone and i don’t do anything then there’s no point in staying right? but also things might look up.

it’s still better than looking for a job but i’m not sure how long that’ll hold.

the other problem is that i’m bad at looking for jobs because i don’t have good quantifiable skills. i’m good at working with people and solving problems and doing a bunch of other things that don’t show up well on a resume. my friends make jokes about not knowing how i got this job but to be honest i’m not really sure how it happened either. they saw some sort of potential and i’m grateful for it because i sure do love acquiring money to live. and also a lot of the people. theoretically i could keep in touch with them but they all live in the next city or two over from me. and i have no idea how that’d go. when i lived with my sister i never did anything or went anywhere because i was always exhausted. maybe once i move into my new house i’ll have the energy to have friends at a slight distance. i hope so.

i also feel like maybe this isn’t really real problems. maybe i’ve been living in “get out of a bad situation” mode in my home life that once i finally got out of the bad situation, my brain didn’t know what to do and started looking for a new bad situation to worry about getting out of. maybe i’m overthinking it all because i’ve been living with my dad for almost seven weeks with another week and a half to go. even though it’s better than living with my sister by several orders of magnitude it’s still tiring being a long term guest in someone else’s house. i’m so ready to go home and move and finally live somewhere where comfort and contentment are on the table and readily available and then look at my life from there and see how i’m doing. and also then get a therapist because i will finally be able to look up therapists in the privacy of my own home with no one around (an inexplicable sticking point for my brain)

i can’t stop thinking about the “when it’s all okay i’m going to make a cherry pie post” because 1 cherry pie is my favorite and 2 it will all be okay when i move to the new house and it’ll be a little while before i can make a cherry pie from scratch but absolutely day 1 i am going to the grocery store to get a frozen one to cook so when i’m unpacking in my brand new house and putting my furniture together and may or may not have internet yet i will make the house smell like cherry pie and then i am going to eat it for dinner and probably breakfast the next day.

11 days.

[wavesmp3]

i can see it in your eyes. 

the way you despise me. even despise the way i look at you. i’ve been seeing it for a while, but i’ve been closing my eyes pretending to not. instead, i’ve been getting my eyes checked. performing test after to test to make sure i can distinguish between love and everything that it’s not. i’ve lied to myself, worn fake glasses for too long, i know what i see. i know you hate me. when i sit down next to you and when we’re miles apart. 

but then you go and confuse me. crying when we’re apart. but your eyes are closed when you cry and your hands always cover your face. you can’t even see that i’m right next to you. i’m right here. i’ve already built a home in your heart. i’ve taken out a loan to do the renovations. i make the monthly payments, and i’ve never been late, not once. i’m right here, and i haven’t moved since we knelt on the floor and declared some eternal, magical, fantastical love. i’m not going anywhere. open your eyes. let me in. let me see what they say when you cry, when tears trickle down your chin and when i catch them in my palms. let me cry with you. for you. i’d do it. you know i would. you visit the home i’ve made in your heart. you bring me my mail. write my secret love letters that aren’t actually secret at all. and each time when you turn to leave, i scream, move in with me! you put up a hand in response. 

why don’t you love me? i ask one night. in real life. in our real home. the one we’ve never done renovations on, but always talk and dream and moan and groan about. the one we actually make monthly payments for. the one where we’re late on them at least thrice a year. 

i do. you say. yawning into the night. i watch your eyes when you do it. they say, i’m tired. 

you dont. 

i do. 

say it. 

i love you. 

the next day, i wear a tshirt that says life’s too short, tell me you’re in love with me NOW. you smile when you see it in the morning. you were there when i bought it from a woman named susannah’s festival booth at chomp & stomp. 

i’m in love with you. 

i blink. it’s not you. it’s the barista at the coffee shop. 

what?

they laugh. your shirt, they say. 

i pay for the coffee and run out. 

that night, you tell me about your day. i tell you about mine. i tell you about the barista. i fall asleep silently in your arms. in the morning, i wake up and look at you. i don’t see hate in your eyes. i call sick and get my eyes checked. 

three months pass before i wear the shirt again. on a snowy day, where i work from home. i’m in love with you. you tell me. stirring my coffee for me, while i scramble the eggs. we’re in an egg phase. hopefully it lasts until the carton finishes. 

i blink. what?

your shirt, you say, laughing. ditching the coffee and slipping your hands under my shirt. i flinch at the cold. your hands are usually warm. i keep scrambling with one hand, and with the other i push yours off. 

that weekend, you go to the eye doctor, and come home with glasses. you do the laundry, and wear the shirt as a joke while you fold. i’m in a rush to a friend’s birthday dinner though. it slips my mind to tell you i’m in love with you. 

that night i come home and shower. slip into bed next you, hold your back while you sleep. i kiss your cheek and taste salt. you leave before i wake up the next morning. 

the next week, one night while im reading with a cup of tea. you sit down next to me, take off your glasses, and stare. i put down the book, exhale, stare back. 

i know what i see. you tell me, your voice one tap away from breaking. 

i know what i saw. i say back. 

you cry. face uncovered, and eyes open. 

i watch. 

the tears create a puddle in your palms. 

[galsource75]

Chatting with the one you love (maybe not)

Everything inside of me is screaming 'Stop its a lie' you know well enough he does not even know that you exist. You have been down this road ; "how many times GalSource?" Exactly !! Now block the person now! I don't for longer than i know better to. And Words with passion and emotions are sent from my side of this place to the person on the other end of the chat line . Confessions of love and thoughts on life are exchange by way of poems and hellos in the early morning . Before the light of dawn is above the horizon we are chatting once again the only difference this time is that it is a different person claiming to be the Man i have fallen in love with. Long days and even longer nights i allow the passion play across my screen knowing all the while it is not him , yet the hope inside of me just will not let me push to the point of getting his confession of the truth of who he/she really is . Damn , I just let it ride out so that i can release all the emotions and all the daydreams inside of my mind before they cause me to burst into flames from the desire in my soul for him to but be the true person that i need him to be . soul steps in after a short while and demands that i pull the wind from their sails . So i direct the conversation to where i need it to be and tell of the deceit i have been through by others claiming to be my Star and how i fell for so many words that they used to confess a never dying love for me all the while never being full of emotions but full of lies the entire time . Then i demand proof of the truth of who they are , they send passports that has been doctored believing you will believe their lie , even provide video chat except for the issues , on my end nonetheless, of computer and or cell phone interruptions so each call is incomplete and the only time you miss their call that they have made to you despite their busy schedule of touring and plane rides from here to there , how dare i miss their call. Of course i was there the phone rang half a ring then fell silent again , never following up with a text stating "tried to call but you were busy babe will call back later" love you . This is true and it has happened to me many times but with that said the last three persons wanting to deceive me i only played along to see where they was trying to take the conversation though i must confess that i always spoke my truth of the feelings i have for a certain entertainer. Alright if i am ever going to get this out to the public so that the Star of my heart can see what is happening to his #1 fan from Kentucky , then i must say the persons name. Please do not judge me in being a fool or for being so naive . Love sometimes clouds the minds eye and it can be over powering to every aspect of ones hope and dreams and gives rise to a faith that one may say is like that of the faith we have for our God, whom ever you choose that to be ok.. Dermot Kennedy is the person that these peoples have convinced me , or try to convince me that they were. These predators stalk the Star and other Stars, i know this for a fact, this is not just hearsay. Anyways, these persons are so determined to obtain whatever it is that they want that they have stalked me and others on the person they will pretend to be social media and lock in on the one who has posted and commented the most on the sites that they are scoping out and they will then make a double account with the entertainers name stating that it is the site they want to connect with their fans and that management is controlling the other sites which in fact the PR of the entertainer is running multiple sites for the Entertainer , anyways they prey on the emotions of the fans and believe me i have reported them everyone to someone of authority but those sites and emails but be fakes as well because i have never had anyone follow up on my complaints it is as if they read the email or voice mail and say "well there is another fool who fell for the most popular scam that is running the internet these days. " And nothing is done about it .

when will i ever learn....

[finishing-novel-shorts]

NOVEL SHORT 8335

When my mother died from an asthma attack, locked in her room by my son's prank, where was my doctor husband? He was at his ex-girlfriend's performance with our son. I was devastated.

I called my husband over a dozen times before he finally picked up. But before I could speak, he snapped, "What's your problem? It's just a performance with our kid. You're calling nonstop, like it's a matter of life and death. Always lying and making up excuses to get me home. Stop calling!" My son chimed in, "Mom, so annoying. I wish Emma could be my mom instead."

Emma took the phone. "Kids say the darndest things. Don't take it seriously, right?" she said. "Fine, I'll give you what you want," I addressed through the phone. "If you want her to be your mom, tell your dad to come back and divorce me."

My mother died with her eyes wide open. In just a few short hours, a living, breathing person turned into a box of ashes. The pain of losing my mother was soul-crushing. My phone pinged with a message from a friend forwarding Emma's Instagram post: "Performance wrapped up perfectly. Check out our six-handed piano play with my two clingy fans. How's our chemistry in the video?" My son and husband flanked Emma like two bodyguards. The three of them played the piano in perfect harmony, looking every bit like a happy family. My husband even commented, "Clingy already, you ungrateful little thing," to which Emma replied, "Hmm, you know very well how grateful I am, especially after last night."

The pain in my chest spread through my entire body. While my husband and his ex were playing piano with our son, my mother was having an asthma attack. With no one to help her while they were flirting shamelessly, my mother had already been taken to the crematorium, turned to ashes. They got their perfect moment, but what about my mom? Who's going to bring her back to life? I was filled with so much hatred.

When my mom called for help, I immediately called 911, but the ambulance couldn’t arrive fast enough. I drove home as fast as I could, desperately calling Jacob to go save my mom.

Emma's performance venue was close to our house. It would have taken him just a few minutes to go back and forth. But Jacob remained unmoved, thinking it was just an excuse to get him home. "Abigail, you know I hate being lied to."

His tone softened. "I don’t want to miss a second of Emma's performance. Be good and don’t cause trouble now." No matter how I explained, he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced I was lying, choking back tears. "For the sake of how my father once saved your entire family, I’m begging you to save my mom. I’m not lying." But my words only angered him further. "How long are you going to use your father's life to emotionally blackmail me?"

Our son urged him to hang up. "Dad, ignore Mom. Look, Emma's on stage!" I screamed desperately. "Don’t hang up, Jacob. I'm begging you, my mom is dying!" Jacob's patience ran out. "Then let her die." My mom died because she didn’t get help in time. While their six-handed piano video went viral online, Emma even gained a bunch of new followers because of it. After dealing with my mom's funeral and forcing myself to sign the divorce papers, I finally collapsed into a deep sleep. My husband and son returned three days later. "Is dinner ready? I texted you earlier. Why are you still sleeping?" Jacob barged in, roughly yanking the blanket off me, his face full of disgust as he questioned me from above. I must have looked a mess, but I couldn’t care less. Lucas pinched his nose in disgust. "Dad, I'm hungry. Let’s go find Emma. Let this dirty mom sleep to death."

My heart felt like it had plunged into an icy abyss. This was the son I had risked my life to give birth to. I almost died from massive blood loss during his birth. After he was born, he cried day and night. I held and comforted him around the clock, fed him until I was completely worn out. I had worked so hard to raise him to this age, yet his birthday wish was for Emma to be his mother. My son truly took after his father, even fancying the same woman. Looking at this flesh of my flesh, my heart shattered. It was because of him that I lost my mother.

Thinking of my mom, who died with her eyes open, I could no longer contain my emotions. I grabbed Lucas hysterically, demanding, "You knew Grandma had asthma. Why did you lock her alone in the room? Do you know you killed her?" I had never treated Lucas like this before. He was clearly scared, crying and hitting me. "Wow, Mom is so scary. I don’t want a bad mom. I want Emma."

Lucas’s fists kept landing on me. They didn’t hurt physically, but my insides felt like they were on fire. I cried back at him, "You don’t want me? I don’t want you either. Give me back my mom. I won’t want anyone else. I just want my mom." Lucas and I were both crying our eyes out. Jacob forcefully separated us, shielding Lucas behind him. He looked at me coldly. "Are we done here? Lucas was just playing around with your mom. It’s such a small thing. Why are you scaring him like this?"

"Playing around? That small thing killed my mom," I said, grief-stricken and angry. "But my mom is dead now. Your mom had her medicine in the room. How could anything have happened?"

"I know you're upset about me and Lucas going to Emma's performance, but you don’t need to make up such lies with your mom. Aren’t you afraid of jinxing her?"

Even now, he still thought I was jealous and deliberately using my mom as an excuse to make him feel guilty. The sorrow and anger made me want to laugh that moment.

Emma called. Jacob answered, and after a few words, he hurriedly prepared to leave. He spoke softly into the phone, "Don’t worry, I’ll be right there." Lucas followed closely behind him, looking at these two strangers before me. I suddenly laughed and handed Jacob the divorce papers on the table. "Before you go, sign these." Jacob didn’t even look at them before mocking, "You've really gone to great lengths to get my attention, haven’t you? Divorce? You think you can live without me?"

"And Lucas, stop these tricks. You’re just embarrassing yourself." With that, he left with Lucas.

In the past, every time we argued, no matter whose fault it was, I would always be the one to make up and apologize. But not anymore. As soon as they left, I quickly packed my things, dragged my suitcase out, and resolutely left. I returned to my mother’s old house. Family photos of the three of us still hung on the walls, but my beloved parents were gone.

Ten years ago, my father died saving Jacob’s entire family from a mudslide. Back then, Jacob held me and said, "Don’t cry, you still have me. I’ll be with you for life." Those words were deeply etched in my heart. Later, we got married and had a child. Jacob’s kindness made me believe we were soulmates, but everything changed when Emma appeared. He stopped sharing his daily life with me. He would often zone out inexplicably, staring at his phone with a silly grin.

On our wedding anniversary, Emma said she had a headache, and Jacob abandoned me to rush to her side. When I got into a car accident and needed his help dealing with threats, he was busy helping Emma dodge drinks. When I was sick and needed his care, he said he was busy washing Emma’s dog. No matter when or where, Jacob could drop everything and rush to Emma’s side at her slightest call or message. If I dared to question him, I was being unreasonable, emotionally blackmailing him, or trying to cash in on past favors. It was then that I realized what was nectar to me was poison to him. What I thought was mutual love was to him nothing but an obligation to repay a debt. Even my son was often taken to meet Emma. Lucas no longer hugged my neck, saying he loved me. Instead, he lamented why Emma couldn’t be his mother.

Holding back my pain, I asked Lucas why he preferred Emma’s food over mine. He said innocently, "Emma is gentler than Mom. She and Dad take me to eat things Mom doesn’t allow. Her cooking is better than Mom’s. She can play the piano, she never scolds me, and is very nice to me. Dad loves her too."

Lucas’s words hurt, but I thought it was just childish talk. I still tried to repair my relationship with him. When Emma and I both fell into the water, my husband and son unanimously went to save Emma. My husband pulled her out of the water while Lucas rushed to get towels and hot water. They fussed over her endlessly. I was invisible to them. At that moment, my suspended heart finally died. I decided to stop compromising myself. Just as I was about to divorce Jacob, my mom came from the countryside to visit. Her health wasn’t good, and I didn’t want to upset her, so I had to put off the divorce until after she left.

But in this short time, they went too far, directly causing my mother’s death. I was grief-stricken and desperate, not wanting my mom to be lonely on her journey. I asked the village uncles to help arrange a funeral for her. After the funeral, I returned home, exhausted. The empty house was silent, except for the ticking of the clock, a silence that bred despair. I called out of habit, "Mom, I’m home. What delicious food did you make for lunch?" But only endless silence answered me. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. "Oh, that’s right. My mom is dead."

Suddenly, the front door was kicked open with a bang. Jacob stormed in, his face cold as he glared at me fiercely. Emma and Lucas followed.

Jacob, Emma, and Lucas burst into the house, their faces a mix of frustration and detachment. Jacob’s irritation was palpable, Emma’s expression was haughty, and Lucas looked around with an unsettling indifference.

“Why are you here?” I demanded, my voice trembling with raw emotion and anger. The weight of my grief and the injustice of the situation had pushed me to the edge.

Jacob’s face twisted with irritation. “I came to see if you’ve finally gotten over this nonsense. We have better things to do.”

Emma added, her voice dripping with disdain, “Yes, Abigail. Your constant drama is exhausting. We have a life to live.”

Ignoring their dismissiveness, I thrust the divorce papers toward Jacob. “You want out? Here’s your way. But understand this: I don’t regret divorcing you. I regret ever believing in the illusion of our family. You and Emma can have your perfect life, but you need to know that your actions have consequences.”

Jacob barely glanced at the papers before dismissively tossing them aside. “You think this changes anything? You’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”

I turned to Emma, my eyes filled with a sorrowful fire. “I hope you find the happiness you’re searching for with Jacob. I hope it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

As Jacob grabbed Lucas to leave, I stopped them. “One last thing. Lucas needs to understand the truth about what happened. I will make sure he knows.”

I immediately called my lawyer and began the process of finalizing the divorce and securing my rights as a mother. My determination to ensure Lucas’s proper care was unwavering, even if it meant a lengthy legal battle.

A few days later, the gravity of the situation took a dramatic turn. I decided it was time to bring the truth to light. With the undeniable proof I had—texts, timestamps, and video footage—I prepared to expose the full story. The public had seen the viral video of Emma and Jacob’s performance, but they hadn’t connected it to the tragedy that had unfolded.

I held a press conference, my heart pounding as I stepped before the gathered journalists and cameras. The room was filled with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“Thank you for coming,” I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “I am here to reveal a story that has been kept hidden. It involves a tragic loss and a series of negligent actions that led to it.”

I displayed the video footage and the call logs on the screen. The timestamps clearly showed the exact moments when Jacob and Lucas were at Emma’s performance, while I had desperately tried to reach them. The text messages between Jacob and Emma, discussing their excitement about the performance and dismissing my pleas, were displayed for all to see.

“This footage and these messages are proof that my mother’s death was a direct result of their negligence,” I said, my voice trembling with emotion. “While they were celebrating their success, my mother was suffering and ultimately died because they chose to ignore my calls for help.”

The room fell silent as the journalists absorbed the gravity of the evidence. Gasps of shock and murmurs of disbelief filled the space. The connection between the performance and my mother’s death was undeniable, and the public reaction was swift and unforgiving.

News outlets picked up the story with fervor. Headlines blared with shocking revelations. “Performance Night: The Deadly Cost of Neglect,” read one headline. “The Tragic Death Linked to Emma’s Viral Video” was another. The public was outraged, and the condemnation was immediate.

Lucas, who was with Emma and Jacob when the news broke, was devastated. His once-carefree demeanor turned into one of anguish as he faced the reality of his actions. “Mom, I didn’t know,” he cried, his voice breaking as he struggled to comprehend the situation. “I didn’t mean to—”

Emma’s face went pale as she watched the news coverage. The image of her and Jacob’s performance, juxtaposed with the tragic details of my mother’s death, was overwhelming. She sank to her knees, her hands trembling as tears streamed down her face. “No, no, no,” she whispered. “This can’t be happening. We didn’t mean—”

Jacob’s reaction was one of shock and despair. He slumped into a chair, his face buried in his hands. “What have we done?” he murmured, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. “What have I done?”

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotional collapse for all three. Emma faced intense public scorn, her once-promising career now marred by the backlash. Her attempts to salvage her image were futile as the public and media painted her as an opportunist who had callously ignored a tragedy for personal gain.

Jacob’s professional reputation was equally shattered. His name was dragged through the mud as reports of his negligence and betrayal made headlines. The fallout was severe, with professional and personal consequences that left him isolated and regretful.

Lucas’s distress was palpable. His once-bright eyes were now filled with tears and guilt. He struggled to cope with the knowledge that his actions had contributed to my mother’s death. The boy who had once looked up to Emma and Jacob now faced the harsh reality of their mistakes.

In a heart-wrenching scene, Lucas came to visit me, his young face etched with pain. He was overwhelmed with remorse and desperation. “Mom, please,” he sobbed, clinging to me. “I want to come back. I can’t stand it there. Please, take me back. I need you.”

I knelt down, looking into his tear-streaked face with a heavy heart. “Lucas, I love you more than anything in this world. But going back to that life would only make things worse. We both need to heal, and that can’t happen if we return to the chaos. I’m here for you, and I will support you, but I can’t go back to that life.”

Lucas’s sobs were heart-wrenching, and I could see the despair in his eyes. I held him close, my own tears mingling with his. “It’s not your fault,” I whispered. “But we need to move forward, not backwards.”

Jacob and Emma, observing from a distance, were deeply affected by the scene. Emma’s guilt and regret were evident as she faced the fallout from her actions. Jacob’s remorse was palpable as he came to terms with the devastating impact of his choices.

As they faced the consequences of their actions, their lives continued to unravel. Emma’s career never recovered, and Jacob’s professional reputation was irreparably damaged. The once-promising future they had envisioned together was replaced by a life of regret and unfulfilled ambitions.

Lucas, now living with me part-time, struggled to adjust. His visits were filled with quiet moments of reflection and attempts to rebuild the trust and love we once had. It was a slow process, but with counseling and support, he began to heal.

I found solace in the new life I had built with Daniel. Our home was filled with love and warmth, and we welcomed a new child into our lives. Though the pain of the past lingered, it no longer defined me. I embraced my new beginning with hope and resilience.

As I looked at my new family, I knew that while the journey had been filled with suffering and betrayal, it had ultimately led me to a place of renewal and hope. The past was a stark reminder of the cost of negligence and betrayal, but it had also made me stronger and more determined to find happiness again.

In the end, the echoes of that painful chapter served as a reminder of the importance of compassion and responsibility. I had survived the storm and emerged with a new sense of purpose, ready to face the future with hope and love.

[screechingpoetrytimetravel]

its almost been a year

its almost been a year since the first time i saw you in 6 years. the house was the same, mostly how i remembered. you were still just as hansome if not older and a little more haggered. oreo was stil your faithful guard dog. we had coffee at the kitchen table that i loved so. we talked things out. we straigehed out misunderstanding. we agreed to be friends again. when hugged you it felt like i wa hugging a brick wal. i couldnt smell you. the scent that i had been longing for al this time was not available to me. fucking covid stole my sense of smell. i was so disappointed. i love the way you smell. its a tonic to my fragile nerves. i could have stayed all day and night just to be with you. in your prescence. I had come tos ee my meg graduation from highschool. i worte her. she knew i ws coming. she chose not to see me. i was heartbroken. still grieving maybe. i looked out the kitchen windo to the backyard...my imagined safe space all these years. i didn't feel at home there in that space anymore. i felt like an intruder. Ian olnly said hello. what once was my "former home" seemed like any other house. sad and dark and lonely. ive been tossing about taht you have supposedly been with this same girl for 6 years. one year short of the time we have been apart. it didn't ake you long to forget and get over me it seemed. maybe im wrong about that. i have only been with one person this whole time and it was a redo of sorts. we were only back together for a year. we drank ourselves through Covid. HE went to treatment and got sober. I got a job at the zoo. its been three years this month for both or us. Steve and i didn't really talk the last year he was alive. i had had enough of his lies and addictions. Mom is fading away. its dementia but im not sure what kind. im hopeing to get her into see a new doctor and maybe get some help.

Oh my friend. my darling Jeffrey Robert. I miss you. i need you to talk to and help me through this shit! i need my best friend. i don't feel the fire i had for you long ago when we were to gether and i felt safe and loved. youre still the other half of my soul. i have love for you but maybe you arent the love of my life. maybe youre just the love i needed at taht time. we will always be together somewhere in the unverse.

[wyn-n-tonic]

For your ask game:

What are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

28. Do you collect anything?

1.) Oh, well that's an insane question. So here we go:

I've written and rewritten this a few times lol. So... I was a homeless child. A lot of my earliest memories involve food insecurity, food pantries, being too cold, being too hot, etc. But I am so grateful for those memories and those years because my mother preferred that in order to keep me safe over having me live with people who could and did and were hurting me. She also lied about our address to ensure that I could go to school in a safe area. Obviously, you know me and you know what I do for a living now but for those who don't, I work in social services and have, for years, worked with children and their families to ensure that families can stay together no matter the hardships that they may be facing. I advocate to keep children out of the system. I go and pick up food for families. I coordinate resources to help with bills and medical care and other basic necessities. I still do a similar job but it's on a less intensive basis. My work with children and their families, while very important to me, also started to weigh on me to the point that, like, I wasn't sleeping and I wasn't eating.

I also deal with mental health issues, I was a child who dealt with mental health issues and now I'm an adult that does so and it never felt like I was taken seriously despite trying to voice how much pain I was in and it still doesn't feel like I'm taken seriously a lot of the time but having doctors listen to me and finding out that not only do I have ADHD but I also have autism was incredibly liberating but also incredibly sad. There was a lot of mourning that came with it but I don't know if I can really put that into words right now. It was ultimately a good thing but it's still really sad!!! Because, like, how different would my life be if I was diagnosed and received treatment earlier??? RIP to the woman I could've been, if I think about her too much I do start to crumble!!!

Also, fucking trigger warning, I have been the victim of attempted kidnap three times. The third time was when I was nineteen and getting ready to enter college. I ended up doing a lot of coursework and reading about human trafficking.

Long fucking story short, my dream is to one day buy a motel and renovate all the rooms and open a shelter/safe space for women and families. I'd like to have caseworkers on staff to help residents find the resources that they need and support them putting everything together. I want to have a cafeteria area for family style meals but also like a little grocery store full of items where people can "shop" (they wouldn't pay but they'd get to pick out their stuff whereas most food pantries pick out stuff for you and you eat what you get or you don't eat at all). I want to have a clothing store on site where, again, people can "shop." I want tutors not only for the children of the residents as they piece things back together but for the residents themselves to help with getting their GEDs and whatever clearances they may need. I want job coaches and job preparation courses. Most importantly, I want licensed therapists on staff to be available to help residents process what they've been through and what they're going through. Like, I have always wanted to be a writer and yeah that's my big end goal but this kind of facility is my *dream* and directly influenced not only by the things that I've been through but by the things I've seen others go through and the gaps I've noticed in creating a comprehensive kind of plan of action for people who need it. Because the thing about healing and recovering and getting back on your feet when you've experienced hardship is that so much of it is so fucking inaccessible due to how spread out and convoluted the system makes it and when paperwork keeps being thrown in your direction and nothing actually gets done, you really start to wonder if it's even worth it to begin with. Anyway, if I had a fuck off amount of money like any of these lame bitch tech bros, that's what I'd do with it.

28.) I COLLECT SOCCER JERSEYS! My most prized jersey is a Germany 2008 jersey that they wore for the Euros (where we lost to Spain, ayyyyyyy). I missed out on getting it when it was in use but my friend visited her hometown in Bosnia the next summer and found one being sold by a street vendor. It's a complete knock off and I've had it since 2009 or some shit and it still smells like Drina cigarettes.

[renatedagmarmilada]

open letter....

Oppenheimer was in the lab St barths human Reseaerch last week, she has been in three times, i EXPECTED SYMPATHY AND HELP FROM HER--/ it is the same with her as my poem about the Dean of Westminster, I asked -is he a catholic first or English first--/--She took one of my stolen by lab paid thieves from my home, workbooks home..60 of them stolen besides files, and 2 half thous. paintings. Several Jews from the Lords have been in but do not object to my life prison, being tortured by remote constantly.. and robbed still - I stupidly hoped that Oppenheimer would want my release-- as the two jewesses married to our austrian family members were of her ilk.. but no... I had written to the jewish Lords tellling them what Human Research were doing to me and begging them to have me released..Schilling was one-- I don't know if the letter got to them, as the lab took all my post except bills..

When anyone comes into the lab they put the sleeper/inertia from machine on me.. At present Allan Lieberman Cross Finchley's 86 illeg children are on the machine, most sophisticated machinery ever created by mankind with uneducated, unskilled, clodhoppers, torturing by remote./ Allan was an Insurance Salesman till he went to lab st barths human Research for a job. what he has done there with little ones puts him with and way above Nazi murderers, friend of the Minsitry men!!

If I go to the law, they will find against me, they always do that, one of the things they do, and ONCE  YOU ARE CLEARED BY BRITISH LAW, RUBBISH AS IT IS THEY CANNOT TRY YOU AGAIN..

Jen Howden of Plaistow, mental care assistant, told Oppenheimer amazing lies about me, as they all do, to cover up what they have been doing and have been selling my work, robbed by lab paid local thieves, for endless years and years to M & S- and wants it all for her son and still has the original poetry book with my aunts and uncles birthdays in the back and one with african religions-- as all those in the lab illeg children and families and friends, have been doing, and grabbing my work for their families, to the point - a couple of months ago, I sent three designs to M & S at last, as these mental care assistants and their families had, handing them over myself at Sheffield M and S to pass onto their design shop, I thought they would be safe that way- Jen, mental care assistant, was in the London design shop with more of my copied work and took them /home/ from their design people!!!-- M and S has been selling all t he mental care assistants of lab st barths human research stolen work from me, for thirty years- as had BHS Rebecah Meyer niece of unqualified doctor Meyer's sex buddy from young..and Debenhams selling Alyson O'Connors and family copies of my stolen work.... Anyway to cut a long story short-- OPPENHEIMER GOES IN REGULARLY BUT DOESN'T CARE ABOUT INNOCENTS WHOSE FAMILY GAVE THEIR RATION CARDS TO THEIR JEWISH FRIENDS DURING THE WAR BACK THERE UNDER THE NOSES OF THE NAZIS, THE WHOLE FAMILY LITERALLY DOING WITHOUT - AND THE OTHER JEWISH LORDS, INCLUDING SIEF, WHOM I HAD SEEN AS A SORT OF HERO BEFORE.......

[megsbooklr]

Summer Reading 2023: July

A quick summary of what I was able to read in July!

Finished:

A Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

The last one! I liked that in this collection we're back to cases that don't necessarily involve murder ^^ It also features the moment between Sherlock and Watson (as well as one of Sherlock's most savage replies to Watson's attempt at reasoning, to balance things up xD). And I was really happy to realize what was going on in Thor Bridge and Lion's Mane quicker than Sherlock did, lol :D

The House of Silk by Anthony Horowitz

(The "official" Sherlock Holmes novel penned by a different author)

It. Was. Amazing!!! The prose truly felt as if it was written by Doctor Watson, long into his retirement. The story is a tangled one, involving not just one but two cases, many lies, much cruelty, a huge scandal and conspiracy, elusive foes... and equally elusive temporary allies :D I loved it! It can be easily incorporated into the canon.

The Three Monarchs by Anthony Horowitz

(The "official" short Sherlock Holmes story penned by a different author)

I'd say it's nothing very remarkable, but it's just like canon short stories and it reminded me of the one with plaster busts, but the resolution was completely different :) so it was an okay read.

Prelude to Foundation by Isaac Asimov

Got it as a graduation present from my lab - and finally had the time to read it :) I loved it, it was an easy to read and compelling story with twists that I didn't even anticipate. I'd like to read the other books in the series too!

The Ghost Bride by Yangsze Choo

After watching the TV series a few years ago, I wanted to read the original novel. Finally I did! The plot and characters were quite different from the drama ones, but both versions worked for me. The book is much slower and focuses more on the heroine herself, as well as the detailed descriptions of both the real world and the afterlife. And Erlang was a fantastic character in the book ^^

Sachiiro no One Room by Hakuri

The last volume of the manga made me cry uncontrollably for quite some time... (and this reaction of mine scared me a little, ngl :)) Wow, what a journey it was. Read it if you can stomach stories about child abuse.

The Summer Hikaru Died vol. 1-2 by Mokumokuren

It's a slice-of-life horror BL manga. Not mu usual go-to genres :D so I did not really plan to read this series... but I checked out a few chapters and decided to give it a chance, since I wasn't that much scared by the horror part. Indeed, so far it's been a really interesting, slightly spooky story! But apparently there's a lot of it still ahead of us.

Moriarty the Patriot vol. 15 by Ryosuke Takeuchi & Hikaru Miyoshi

This volume begins telling the story of what happened after the Moriarty Plan had been realized. I'm re-reading the whole series (this time in my native tongue) but I'm still as emotional about certain scenes as I was when seeing them for the first time :')

BSD vol. 23 by Kafka Asagiri & Sango Harukawa

The battles between Kenji and Tecchou as well as Fukuchi and Fukuzawa (and their backstory!), Aya and Bram's attempts of escape, the Mersault Game (famous chapter 101)... I loved it ^^

The extra chapters of MDZS by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

I read them all except for the incense burner one (I don't need... this, lol). I rather liked most of them, especially the investigative ones ^^

Half-Way There:

Aoharu x Machinegun by NAOE

I read up till the first round of the TGC, so just a few more volumes to go ^^

The Apothecary Diaries by Natsu Hyuuga, Nekokurage, Itsuki Nanao

I caught up with the first seven volumes. I love this manga so much! A historical slice-of-life/investigative series with two unhinged (in different ways) main characters :D

Just started:

Death Note and Spy x Family :)

Up-to-Date With:

The Snake and the Crane

Lore Olympus

Return of the Mad Demon

Holmes of Kyoto by Mai Mochizuki & Ichiha Akizuki (up to chapter 48) I'm in love with this series! A modern slice-of-life with art and antiques and some investigations ^^ I hope the manga goes on, if not, I've gotta invest myself into light novels.... :)

[acatnamedturtle]

So Who Am I?

Well, I suppose from my first post, you kind of know that I'm not going to tell you exactly who I am, or other identifying information, but I can give you a general sense of who this person writing the blog is. First, call me Kat. That's easy enough. I suppose you could call me Turtle if you wanted to, but the real cat named Turtle might get a bit upset. She's partial to her name and hates when we accidentally call her adopted sisters by said name. So Kat it is. Short for Katniss...or Katherine. The choice is yours!

And as you've probably guessed, I'm not a just bloomed flower, entering into my twenties. No, that ship sailed. And apparently the mid-life ship cruised into my life without me realizing it. For almost a year. Bloody nice realization to have while cooking dinner last night. Surprising it took that long actually. But then, the last two years have been full of tremendous change, health challenges, and death.

Not my own death, of course, but beloved pets and family members.

It does show how much I've grown over the past twenty-plus years that the various challenges since 2020 have not found me curled up on a therapists couch again, crying and paying them to be my only friend. Yay for that.

An introverted homebody, I'm truly happier at home with family, and chatting with my close circle of friends. Not that I'm not open to adding more friends - I just find it so very difficult to actually make friends as an adult, especially as I mentioned I'm more of a homebody. Who doesn't drink. Or particularly like bars and clubs. Or large groups of people. Or small groups of people where small talk must be exchanged. As you can imagine with those fine endorsements, I'm single and haven't really dated much since those days of LiveJournal. Part of that was from a broken heart given by the lies of my first love - and long-term middle school/high school boyfriend. The other just that I always feel so very old fashioned in the modern world of dating.

But I do have family that I'm close to - my mom, who you'll learn about as she's one of my best friends and the person that I try to take care of as she's got her own health issues, my younger brother and his wife, my adorable nieces, and the three furballs who I lovingly call my children. There's Turtle who is the oldest, a 5 1/2 year old grey tabby, Goat the middle child who is just over 2 years orange tabby, and Bear who is the youngest at 1 month younger than Goat and who is a Calico. I love them all dearly, and love that we were able to rescue them and give them great a home.

Do I wish I was married? Ask those around me, and you'll hear I'm always telling them no. But I'll let you in on a secret, I do wish I was. Or at least in a long-term committed relationship. Being single has its advantages - no sharing the remote to think of one off the top of my head - but I always pictured myself married with children. Or divorced with children depending on the day. Having a child or children is so much a dream of mine. And I get that people do the single mom things all the time. I'm totally up for that. Yet one of those challenges that life has thrown at my over the past twenty-plus years makes that more difficult.

Go out and sleep with some random guy.

I've been told that. Not sure that's the best route to take, inflicting potential parent-hood on some random stranger. More than that though, I've known for close to twenty years now that I can't safely carry a child. Oh I can get pregnant the doctors think, but the potential for stroke and death are apparently high for me. It's also one of the biggest reasons I probably never dated much - aside from that broken heart.

Dating means sex.

Sex potentially could lead to pregnancy. Not birth control is 100% effective aside from abstinence.

Pregnancy most likely would lead to death. Or abortion.

And while I fully support a woman's right to choose, I choose that abortion is not something I could do or would be comfortable with.

Abstinence it was and is.