#dude’s just trying to nap and this child is hitting him with her paws

[spiralingsights]

A Monster in the Dark - Chapter 2

[ self ship fanfic about Nightmare Bonnie and my insomniac s/i :) ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

Cheesy Dip was certainly more effective than an alarm clock. 

Canetheus woke with a groan, a little annoyed by the cat pawing at his back (when had he rolled over?) but understanding that it was probably just dinner time.

His beloved asshole jumped off of his back once she was sure he was awake, so he rolled off the couch, crashing onto the floor with a groan. 

It took him a minute, but eventually Canetheus managed to pull himself up onto his feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered at the sound of Cheesy screaming. He stopped in front of her food cabinet to stretch, the motion pulling a satisfied yawn from his lips.

Only to have it replaced with a groan when Cheesy began headbutting him, trying to get him to move faster. He fed her quickly before moving on to feed himself, since he usually associated her feeding times with his own.

It was dark out now, as far he could tell from the little sliver of moonlight breaching his covered up windows. Perfect timing then- this was usually the time that the nightmares started. 

He needed to find a graveyard shift job. The one he was working now was during the day, which made sleep even harder than usual to find. He was lucky if he didn’t accidentally fall asleep at night on days like that.

A slight shudder went down his spine at the thought of his nighttime naps. Without the sunlight to keep him safe, the animatronics he used to love would take on monstrous forms and haunt him in his rare moments of sleep. He tried to talk to people about it, but they always brushed him off. Eventually he stopped trying.

He really should stop thinking about them. That was practically asking for the bastards to show up. But sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder… maybe they weren’t attacking him. Maybe they were just asking for his help. It wasn’t an uncommon thought of his, since it was five children who had disappeared.

Other times he considered the possibility that these nightmares hadn’t been meant for him. They just said some… odd things on occasion. One of them called him ‘Christopher’ once, and they referred to him as if he were a child. That didn’t make sense not only because he was a fucking adult, but also because he wasn’t born male and certainly wasn’t given the name ‘Christopher’.

It was just a strange situation altogether, but he tried not to think about it too much. It didn’t matter that they weren’t made for him, all that mattered was that they were his demons now, not this Christopher’s.

Though it never stopped him from being curious. He spent most nights like this researching and while he hadn’t found anything on a Christopher, he did find something about a Fredbear’s Family Diner. One of its kind, basically the starter version of the Freddy’s chain.

Tonight was the night he was going to delve deeper. He finished his dinner, giving Cheesy an affectionate scritch behind the ear and heading to his mostly disused bedroom. He rarely ever slept in here, mainly using it as storage and an office of sorts. 

He fell back into the chair in front of his desk, pausing to pop his back and knuckles, before opening up his laptop and getting to work.

The tab his computer had been left on was a sort of… fansite for the ‘lore’ behind the Freddy’s chain. He never really liked the site (they always described Bonnie as blue, as well as other discrepancies) but it had the quickest access to information on Fredbear’s Diner.

What he really needed from here was the newspaper clipping from 1983 with the big headline “Child Has Frontal Lobe Bitten Off By Animatronic- Does This Spell The End Of Frebear’s Family Diner?”. It’s only a partial clipping, never going far enough down to show the name of the child, but it does have a picture of the child and his family and the name of his father.

William Afton, co-owner of the diner and the performer sometimes inside of the Spring Bonnie animatronic, who was apparently so devastated after the incident that he quit and divorced his wife, taking their two other children with him.

It was a little easier to find stuff on Afton than his child, especially because he was apparently the one to start the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

“What kind of man watches an animatronic almost kill his son and decides to open an animatronic based restaurant chain?” Cane muttered, once finding a picture of Afton standing next to his new animatronics. “Fucking freak.”

Not that he could blame him too much. Cane had always been fascinated by animatronics, even after that terrible day. He’d never start a chain restaurant with them, but he could help build them just fine.

After a few more hours of searching, nothing more was yielded other than a killer headache. He sighed as he shut the laptop once again, getting up to grab some aspirin and maybe head out for a short walk. Depended on how quickly the headache went away, if at all.

Aspirin in hand, he was about to pop it into his mouth when caught sight of something… blue peeking out of his bedroom doorway.

No. That couldn’t be… was it? Cane stood there and stared at the monstrous bunny that stared right back at him, it’s head tilted ever so slightly.

He’d never seen one of them in the real world before, only in his nightmares. He figured he had to be dreaming so he blinked a few times, even pinching himself in the arm. The thing was still there.

It was only when Cheesy looked at the bunny that he realized it was really there, and he was awake. Could cats see hallucinations? He hoped so. At least that thing wasn’t moving.

“Okay, well, you stay there, I’m gonna uh… I’m gonna go for a walk,” he suddenly announced, surprised that he’d spoken to it. It seemed surprised too, but he didn’t fully process that as he popped the aspirin into his mouth, chugging down a gulp of water with it.

He then threw it a peace sign, turned on his heel, and practically stormed out the front door, trusting that it wasn’t real and that Cheesy would be fine. Even if it was real, his bastard kitty could open doors well enough.

It was only when he was about a mile away from his house when the reality of the situation hit him. “What the fuck,” he muttered as he came to a hard stop. “What the fuck,” he stated much louder, gaining the attention of the couple taking their dog on a late night walk.

What the fuck indeed my good dude.

#self ship fic #self shipping #scrap.writing #s/i: canetheus freeman #canetheus freeman #nightmare bonnie #maybe if you whack me in the head i'll pass out (nightmare bonnie self ship tag) #<--- need to start adding that tag efjhwejfwe

[lordxgrinnyxboy]

&& watching tgm for the umpteenth time - most of act one

not related to anything specific but DAEMON AU Mojo is Ursus’ Daemon, Dea’s is a bird of some sort, Gwyn’s never Settled

Ms. Brisson’s “lords on palace hill” character appreciation checkpoint. first time i watched i thought that was a whole child but nope it is SHE

Ms. Brisson’s Stokes-Croft Faire character appreciation checkpoint

Ms. Obianyo’s Stokes-Croft Faire character appreciation checkpoint

Every Ms. Obianyo character appreciation checkpoint

one of my favorite parts of Laughter is the Best Medicine is when Bark’s doing his “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEST” with the drawn-out note and Ms. Obianyo’s just. Staring at him the entire time but then he finishes the note and Mr. Maskell’s character just gives him this quick little  glance before the beat drops

The archbishop is the wolf’s head and i think that’s pretty neat

reckon whether Gwyn ever feels some kinda way about the Curtain. With the Grinning Man logo on it. Can they see that in-universe?

i love how bored Ursus seems as he starts to tell the story

also still finding it weirdly endearing how that panel just refuses to go down and Ursus has to do it

Unrelated but Cat Norrell is having his morning nap at the end of my bed and he makes these little whiffles every now and then and curls his lil paws and he is very Soft and Cute

thinking about how since we’re first introduced to them within a performance we don’t actually meet the ‘real’ Gwyn and Dea until like 50 minutes into the show

Also thinking about how we kinda skip the ‘ordinary day’ trope like...we don’t get to see what Gwyn’s like (or many of the other characters) pre-breaking point and therefore have to kind of guess

idk why i just really love the posing when Ursus pulls back the curtains

Dirry-Moir’s face on “and these few lucky strangers” tho

ah. it’s Ursus who says “twenty years ago” while Barkilphedro says “almost exactly twenty years ago”. gotcha.

Quake’s really just out here patrolling i guess. “LONG LIVE THE KING”

“in the far south west”  so...oklahoma....

“My son, give him to me-!” “There’s something wrong with his face” you th- you think she doesn’t know, dude?

the lil “no. no.” when they demand to see his face DX

it really looks like the captain almost let him aboard, then changed his mind. kinda like how ursus almost helped him but then changed his mind

Gwyn: “I’ll remember you my whole life long” Ursus: “I shall soon change that”

i love the pause after “through snow and sorrow” where Ursus makes sure to get More Money from Dirry-Moir. i wonder if he pulls this every time they perform or if it’s New

can we stop and even just Appreciate that Gwyn’s even functional enough at this point to walk around in the snow and pick up a baby and keep going, within at most a couple days and as little as a few hours after having his face cut like that, no pain meds to speak of....kid’s a Determinator

BABY NOISES

i know he says “heart” but i always hear “your little hat can find out what it means” and then i’m sad that Gwyn doesn’t actually have a hat

okay but if he wound up in the place where the rebels against King Clarence were hanged that means that unless Barkilphedro took him to a secondary location to cut him, he actually wandered right back to where it all initially happened which ofc has to be taken with a grain of salt since this is Ursus’ version of the story rather than an actual memory but still. if his dad’s corpse is there that means this is also where he was cut.

“They cannot stay here. It’s too dangerous” aye mainly dangerous in that kidlet over there could recognize you and be like “AHHHH!” and then you’d have some explaining to do

“ice tears fell from her eyes” what does that mean Ursus

no but fr “it’s too dangerous” is an interesting choice of phrase

i mean clearly they’ve heard Beauty and the Beast before at some point since Dea picks out the exact puppets and also starts off with “I see you are, said the wicked witch” before reminding Ursus that he’s supposed to be the Wicked Witch and oh my god foreshadowing?? “YOU’RE the wicked witch” hhhhhhhhh

i genuinely love how both kids actually giggle when Ursus agrees to tell the story

The facial expressions from Mr. Angell when Mojo pounces on Ursus :3

oh sh on the note of “we don’t meet the real Gwyn and Dea until about 50 minutes in” it just now hit me how Ursus omits the fact that Gwyn has to keep taking the Crimson Lethe, completely leaves out Gwyn’s recurring pain from the story he tells the audience.

the way they bow before the dance gets me every time

how at the start of their little duet both Gwyn and Dea are making these faces like they’re so confused and a little frightened even

genuinely love Dea’s expressions through the entire thing like Wow

the way when Gwyn touches her face Dea does that tiny laugh and grabs his wrist with both hands

and then he directs her to look toward his face and i mean she can’t look at his eyes but her face at this part i’m weak

after the first kiss Gwyn does that little head motion he tends to do during a nerve attack, just that quick little jerk he sometimes does. ive noticed it before but it’s still like “oH?” every time

the way he looks out at the audience during the hug tho

THE LITTLE SWAY DURING THE SPOON HUG

legit love how Dea does the “given me life” she’s so cute she’s so cute

love how Osric seems just as invested in this show as Dirry-Moir does

Also I Want Osric’s Coat

straight-up just mistook archbishop kupsak for a banana. i’m sorry, archbishop kupsak. i know you are not a banana, but your outfit does kinda look like

they literally put a scythe in the commemorative window

Angelica is babey and i love her send tweet

i would love to know how the writers set about the world building. what is up with “HEE! HOO! HA!” what is the system here

anyway “La Fleur de Jambon” translates to either “the flower of ham” or “the ham flower”

i love Angelica so much

i think it’s interesting how Josiana says she detests the notion of marriage with all her head. usually it would be “with all my heart”

Jojo’s costume is one of my handful of complaints i just. i don’t Like it.

lbr minus the incest and fetishization “I Have Never Seen A Face Like This” is basically all of us trying to get everyone we know to watch this musical

would love to know the writing process regarding the Scorching Thoughts like Dea What Do You Mean also Gwyn just. asking if she thinks they’re ever going to make it to the new world. Stuff Is Already Happening Like Wow

she forgives him real quick but ngl Dea does look genuinely hurt in the feelings when Gwyn first snaps at her

the lil headshake when Ursus says “take your medicine”. Gwyn’s fully allergic to taking medicine on command

kay but Dirry-Moir saying “somebody” drowned instead of. i mean it would be an awkward fit for him to shuffle in an explanation of the whole story but still

Gwyn’s trying so hard to keep it together but he is all out of glue

 heck i was gonna try to go all the way through act one but my wifi just noped out. >:{

#tgm #the grinning man

[crowsent]

Whumptober 2019 Delirium

Yusuke Kitagawa, Persona 5, Delirium

CW: Madarame’s shitty parenting, starvation, hallucination, child abuse (minor)

=

Akira took one look at him and shook his head. “Stay behind, Fox.” The others nodded absentmindedly, agreeing with Joker’s decision. “You look a bit pale. We’re just going to handle a few requests today, so we won’t even be delving that deep into Mementos.” Yusuke could see the traces of a smile on Joker’s lips, meant to assure him that Yusuke wasn’t being a hindrance by not fighting, that it was perfectly alright for him to stay in the backlines. “Rest up. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Haru, ever considerate, said, “We should go out to eat after this!” It was met with a chorus of agreements. Ryuji, in particular, hollered in delight, which prompted Morgana to swat him with a paw. “I’m sure we’re all going to be tired after fighting and there’s a place I’ve wanted to go to for so long. It would be much better if we could all go together, right?”

“Right!” Morgana cheered. “Now, onto the mission!”

Yusuke wanted to argue. Proclaim that he was so close to finishing his recreation of “Desire” and turning it into a piece worthy of something. A piece that depicted the inner workings of the heart, a theme that had eluded him for so long. Mementos, a place teeming with the unfettered desires of human souls, would be the perfect reference point from which Yusuke could begin his research into furthering himself as an artist. The designs and aesthetics of each individual level were so vastly removed from each other that Yusuke could analyse them for years and still never fully grasp it in its entirety.

The shadows as well, were of interesting shapes and colours. Why, the giant elephants that could very quickly tire out their group were quite fascinating to look at. Yusuke could stare at them for hours and to have a hands-on experience in a fight would prove beneficial to sparking his creativity. After all, battle sharpened his senses, honed his skills, and allowed him to pinpoint even the smallest minute detail he would otherwise never notice.

He should be on the frontlines, fighting. He’s quite capable of it. Though Akira was right that Yusuke was paler than usual, frailer than usual, he was certain that he would not be a burden. Admittedly, his aim might be impaired by the fact that his vision was swimming, but if he widened his range, then surely he would be able to hit something. Or at the very least, push the shadows towards someone whose vision wasn’t filled with black dots.

But ultimately, it was not his decision to make. And before he could even conjure up a convincing argument, Akira had decided on a party, and Morgana had already shifted. Whatever words he might have thought to say died on the tip of his tongue and Yusuke followed the others onto the bus, accepting the lack of stimulation for today’s trip into Mementos.

It was a shame. While working on the sequel to his Desire, Yusuke had several, smaller pieces he needed to finish. His art teacher hadn’t caught on to his slump as of yet, but it would be a matter of time before Yusuke’s incompetence was revealed. He needed to do something to prevent that. There were several half-painted canvases he had at the Kosei dorms, but lately, whenever he picked up a brush, his artistry simply fled.

What is he to do without inspiration?

Mementos, in a way, was Yusuke’s temporary answer to the drought he was facing. If he could fight, if he could feel death reaching its bony fingers out, attempting to grasp him, trying to drag him from the mortal realm and into the land of the forsaken, then surely, he would discover something new, something breathtaking, something that he absolutely must capture with paint.

Oh well. A lost opportunity is a lost opportunity. Akira -no- Joker, he was Joker here, was flexible and fair. If one of the Thieves wanted to fight, he let them, but should he deem them sick or tired or in Yusuke’s case, severely exhausted, then no amount of negotiation would change his mind. The only way Yusuke was fighting, was if the party was ambushed by a Shadow far too powerful for them to handle and Joker called backup.

Compared to that scenario, Yusuke would much rather go a day without having anything interesting to look at.

He could still try gleaning something from the dark cavernous depths he could see outside Morgana’s window though. It wasn’t quite like experiencing everything directly, but it would have to do. Yusuke pulled out the sketchbook he had tucked in the coat of his thief outfit and a pencil and watched the walls run. Sketching something, anything, when he was starving proved to be a challenge, but one that he was already familiar with. It would be no different than he was at the shack. Although, every jolt of the Mona Bus reminded Yusuke that he hadn’t eaten anything since

Since.

He can’t remember. It couldn’t be less than a week ago, when he turned in a project for his class. A mediocre piece that somehow fooled his instructor into thinking that Yusuke was not in the slump he was in. Technically masterful brushstrokes and a vague, abstract subject can get one far, apparently, despite hunger and fatigue. Yusuke hasn’t eaten.

He was starving. There was food being sold at the Kosei cafeteria, and if Yusuke remembered correctly, he had done some grocery shopping just the other day. Bread and jam, with one or two cans of sardines, but if he wanted, he could easily get some food for himself when he got back.

Not that it mattered. Yusuke could postpone having a meal until after he’s finished at least one of his projects. Worldly attachments prevent you from painting to your fullest potential. You must cast aside your pain and your hunger and focus on nothing but art. Art is the only thing you will excel at and you must devote all of yourself to perfect that craft.

If Yusuke focused on eating, on food, on base desires, then he would never create the masterpieces that he was surely capable of. Art is pain. Art is suffering. Art is beauty that can only be achieved through dedication. Food can wait, even as his stomach felt empty. Great art is worth suffering for and until you create something worth your food, you’re not getting a bite. It’s all for you, Yusuke. Don’t you see? This is how true art is created. It’s all for your sake. I’m doing this for you so be a good boy and paint.

Absently, Yusuke found himself nodding.

“Uh, Fox? You good man?” Ryuji sat with Yusuke near the back of the bus and nudged Yusuke’s arm. “What’cha doin?”

Yusuke turned away from the window to look at Ryuji. The skull mask looked menacing in the yellow light of the Adyeshach levels. “Isn’t it obvious?” Ryuji shook his head, the confused curl of his lips visible. “I’m sketching ideas for my new piece.”

Ryuji’s eyes darted to Yusuke’s sketchbook, then to his face. “Right. Hey Panther?” On Ryuji’s other side, Ann jolted to attention from her nap. Ryuji tapped her arm repeatedly and gestured to Yusuke. “I think I might be going insane so check for me. Does Fox have a sketchbook in his hands?”

“Ugh. You woke me up for this?” Ann slumped back into her seat and punched Ryuji in the shoulder. Yusuke found himself nodding. How can he sketch without a sketchbook?

“Of course Fox doesn’t have anything in his hands. Don’t be stupid.”

Wait.

“I assure you I have been spending my hour productively.” After all, if Yusuke can’t fight, he should at least spend the trip to Mementos sketching out ideas. “The yellow light brings an ambience to Mementos that I would otherwise not find in the real world. I would not be such a fool as to waste this opportunity.”

This got Ann wide awake. She shifted in her seat, leaning over Ryuji to stare Yusuke down with narrowed eyes. “Oracle!” Ann yelled. Futaba, sitting near the front, turned around. “What colour is Mementos?”

Futaba made a non-committal noise. “Kind of purple, kind of red. Why?”

She was wrong, but Yusuke elected not to comment on that.

“Doesn’t he look paler than usual?”

By now, everyone was turning to look at him. Yusuke could see the worry behind their masks. They were worrying too much.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Yusuke assured.

And promptly passed out.

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

“Is he okay?”

“The Doctor called the school dorms and told them that Yusuke was suffering from stress and mental fatigue but... she said that should be fine.”

“He can stay at Leblanc right? I’ll talk to Sojiro about that.”

“Right. Right. Yeah. Okay. I’ll get some blankets on the bed for him. I can sleep on the couch.”

“Dude. I can’t believe that he just collapsed. Makoto almost crashed the car.”

“I panicked! I didn’t think that Yusuke would just faint like that.”

“Still, I can’t help but wonder. Why did he pass out like that? Um. I’m still quite new here so I don’t know if I’m overstepping, but he doesn’t seem very healthy to me.”

“He’s always so pale…”

“Hey, Guinea Pig.”

“Takemi. How is he?”

“Fine. It’s nothing life threatening.”

There were disembodied voices around him, floating in the air. Yusuke blinked his eyes open to find drab white walls and the stench of sterilisation pungent in the air. It smelled like a hospital. Or a clinic. He hasn’t been to one recently. Why was he here? Or was the room redecorated without his knowing?

“What happened to him, Doctor?”

A woman stood at the foot of his bed. It wasn’t one of sensei’s pupils, but she was fairly young. Perhaps a visitor? No. Sensei did not allow visitors to stay at the shack. She had unusually blonde hair. Yusuke would love to paint it. He might just make that the next piece he submitted. She stood next to a woman in a white lab coat; a doctor.

“Exhaustion and fatigue plus an inordinate amount of stress caused him to collapse. Not to mention delirium and auditory and visual hallucinations that stem from malnutrition and sleep deprivation.”

“Oh no.”

“But when I messaged Inari just the other day he told me he had some food at the dorms! Did he not eat them?”

“Possibly.”

Yusuke can’t eat just yet. He had to create a new piece, before the deadline, before Sensei gets angry at his lack of productivity. He can’t just lay around doing nothing. Yusuke shifted and everyone in the room turned their eyes on him. What an odd group.

A young man with jet black hair sat beside Yusuke and gently pushed him back onto the bed. “Yusuke. Sleep. Just. Just sleep. I should have realised sooner, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Yusuke slurred. The black-haired man wore glasses. Yusuke would like to paint him too. “I can’t eat until I finish something. Sensei said so.”

“Sensei?” The black-haired man had lovely black eyes that matched his hair. His brows were creased in worry. “Yusuke. He’s not here. You’re safe. He can’t make you do anything anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Sensei stood by the door, scowling. He looked like a shogun, with a shiny gold robe and gaudy make up. Yusuke tried to point. The black-haired man held his arm down. There was an IV drip in the crook of Yusuke’s elbow. “He’s right behind you.”

The doctor sighed. “It will be a while before he’s back to normal. I suggest that you all get some rest.”

“I’ll stay with him,” said the black-haired man.

Sensei would get angry if there were visitors in the shack. Yusuke should have them all leave, for their sakes. But. A part of him didn’t want to be left alone. His eyes were heavy and he slid them shut. The black-haired young man looked worried.

Yusuke was starving.

He needed to finish another painting soon.

#whumptober 2019 #whumptober2019 #no.3 #persona #persona 5 #p5 #yusuke kitagawa

[birdscreeches]

Pamahiin || Aisha R.

"Pamahiin roughly translates to English as ‘folk superstition’. An unjustified yet widely held belief.”

My lolo had slept on a banig on the floor of a room filled to the brim with four grandchildren’s worth of stuffed toys, action figures, and school books. My lola slept on a bed right next to him in the same room, and when I asked him why he didn’t just sleep there—there was certainly plenty of space—he’d always tell me the floor was better for his back. More natural, or something. I just figured he had a personal vendetta against beds.

This is the same room he died in. Much to what I’m sure would’ve be his utter dismay, he didn’t die on his banig. Instead, at around six in the morning in my senior year of high school, he died on a hospital bed.

We bought the bed. We also bought several oxygen tanks, an IV stand, a wheelchair, something that functioned like a heart monitor, and a lot of different tubes for a lot of different things. In a room filled with toys and childhood keepsakes, we built him a hospital room. Thinking about the room and the sickening contrast between past and present and a future that was ending sent a sour pang through my chest. Like somebody had taken a metal bar and ran it across the bones of my ribcage. Xylophone sounds of guilt I couldn’t stand to hear every day.

To create silence, I pretended the room didn’t exist anymore.

It worked rather well until the morning Nanay had pulled me into the not-room. I was already dressed in my uniform, my bag weighing my shoulders down, when she told me to say something to Lolo before I left. Or before he did.

“Feeling ko malapit na,” she told me.

So I went. I barely looked at Lolo. He hadn’t been able to speak for months, by that point. He was more a corpse than anything. No more was the weird old dude who truly believed sleeping on the floor was more comfortable. Just a body we were keeping alive in a room I erased.

Not wanting to be rude, I forced myself to look at him, if only for a second. The eyes that looked back at me were murky and unseeing. Around us, various toys looked at me with the same kind of gaze.

“See you later, Lolo.” I said.

Unable to last any longer, I headed out of the room that didn’t exist and out of the house. Standing by the garden, I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting to leave for school.

A couple of seconds later, his heart stopped beating.

A little bit after that, I’m told what basically amounted to the fact that the last thing my lolo heard was my lie.

-

Now, the thing to focus on here shouldn't be his death, but the room. The not-room. The room I rendered gone. This was a neat superpower of mine; I could flip a switch in my brain and change what was and what wasn’t.

It all started with the spoon.

As a child, my lola taught me the intricacies of superstition. Don’t go bed with your hair wet, or you’ll go insane. Jump on new years, and maybe we can stop buying you Cherifer. If you drop your utensils, you will get a visitor. I found immense joy in these small magics of life, that one thing could cause another even if it didn’t make any sense. It didn’t have to. Afterall, with my superpower, I made it all true.

All I had to do was believe hard enough.

To the skeptics, I raise the fact that the galaxy revolved around the Earth because people believed it to be. The world was flat because people believed it to be. There’s somewhere we go after we die because we believe it’s real. We can rearrange the cosmos, shape planets, and live after life is over. If that wasn’t a superpower, I didn’t know what was.

One pathetic night at ten years old, I ate dinner alone. Everybody was busy or out or something and I was ten years old and alone. Petulantly, I threw my hand out, pushed my spoon off the the table, and watched it clatter to the floor. You will get a visitor.

I waited one second. Nothing.

Two. Still nothing.

Three, and something in my chest began to hurt. A bar dragged across my ribs, clanging around.

Four. The notes inside me said how dare you.

Five seconds in, I scrambled to the ground and picked the spoon up.

At the end of that night, nobody did come. My point here wasn’t that my superpower was bullshit, but instead that there was a caveat to it. I could believe in what I wanted, I could change my own reality and make things real or not-real, but the consequence to that power would always catch up.

A sound, a feeling, a something. Whatever it was, it always asked me the same thing: what have you done?

-

Twenty minutes after my lolo's heart stopped beating, we did end up leaving for school. My tito had taken us through the regular traffic that trickled Marikina into Katipunan Avenue, the normal slog of slow moving cars. Usually, the radio would quietly croon 70s and 80s music into the morning. 105.9 DZG-FM Mega Manila's first and only retro hit station—

On that day, nobody touched the radio. The rumble of the engine was the only sound to be heard.

In the passenger seat, my brother took a nap. Next to me, my younger sister had her earphones in, staring out the window, unmoving. I folded and unfolded the cuffs of my jacket over and over again until we arrived school and I clambered out of the car.

Class that day was almost hilariously uneventful. I returned a red pen to one of my classmates (I had lost all my own red pens). I took a Math final (I failed it very badly). I dry heaved into a toilet (the cuffs of my jacket were folded up). I put one leg in front ot the other, and kept walking, and nobody asked me anything. It was a normal day, and if it wasn’t, I told myself it was. I could rearrange planets, if I wanted. One day was child’s play.

In my gut, I didn’t feel the stirrings of mourning so much as the sound of a clinking spoon against the floor. Count the seconds now. How long until I caved? How long until the reality I crafted myself started to thrum with shame?

Lolo was my mom’s father, and Nanay had always been the type to get things done inordinately fast. After school, my sister and I were taken to a holding room in Loyola Memorial Park. There, everything was set up. Catering, relatives who were called from the province throughout the day, an army monobloc chairs, and of course, a coffin where Lolo now laid in. The only thing we were missing was one of those tarps all dead people seemed to have, but this was obviously a rush job.

“Maybe next time,” I joked to a couple of kittens I found under the table laden with food. There were two of them. A grey one and an orange one.

At around eight in the evening, we held a small mass in the holding room. Being a close family member, I got the front row seats. The priest was nice. He told jokes and had a voice that was made for condolences, and I enjoyed listening to him until he started the homily. His homily was about what I said to Lolo before his heart gave up. “See you later.” He went on for a long time about how he found it beautiful. Meanwhile, I wanted to go find a bathroom to try to vomit in again, but I stood my ground. I figured if I was going to have a reaction that strong, it would be because this was a wake. Not because of my lie. Not because of me. Somebody was dead, and all I could think about was myself. How dare you.

Shut the room closed and pretend it didn’t exist. My mind was no different. Obfuscate. Reroute. Distract. For the rest of the homily, I tuned out the voice of the priest and instead looked to the coffin.

I saw Lolo pretty clearly behind the glass. He looked off. In the middle of a solemn mass where I could hear my Lola crying, where, in my periphery, I saw my older sister’s tears fall to the floor, I almost laughed. I almost doubled over when I realized they put makeup on him. There was powder on his face. He had lip tint. My gut hurt from keeping it in. God, I thought. He would’ve fucking hated this.

When the mass was over, teary relatives filtered outside and began to eat. It’s amazing what food and company can do, because in roughly five minutes, all the tears were gone, replaced now by boisterous stories and loud conversation. Feeling a little safer, I told somebody about the makeup thing. When I’m met with laughter, I smile for the first time that entire day.

One by one, I watched everybody leave. They’d be back tomorrow. There’d be more people tomorrow. I sat by the food table, all the catering stuff cleared out and gone, and played with the kittens. They cuddled onto my lap, happy to have warmth and attention as I cooed over them.

It was at that moment, with my hands full of purring fluff, that I realized I hadn’t cried the entire day. While my hands moved over soft fur, I realized I hadn’t cried today because he didn’t die today. His heart stopped beating, but he was already dead for a long time. At least for me he was. At least I had created the story in my head to make it like he was. Here were the not-rooms and magic spoons and people who were dead before a doctor declared them dead. It’s one hell of a superpower. It’s one hell of a responsibility too, but I was sixteen and stupid and still counting down for the moment where I scramble for the spoon. To the sound of soft mews, I realized that the pin had dropped. Now it was a matter of when I’d pick it up.

The orange kitten pawed at the rolled down cuff of my jacket. Its claw dragged a faint line of red against my skin.

And I bled.

-

Now the worrying thing is that for the past month, I’ve been dreaming. This was an anomaly. My anxiety usually meant restless nights which usually meant that most of my dreams were lost to exhaustion. Dreams for me felt like something you needed to pull free from a strong undercurrent. It just so happened my grip has always been weak.

When I did dream, when I did remember them, it’s because instead of having to hold on, the dream clamped around my wrist, crawled up my arm, and wrapped itself around my neck. When I did dream, I woke up gasping. A slight change of semantics now; when I did dream, technically, it’s because they were always nightmares.

I preferred restless blurs any day, but for the past month, I haven’t been lucky.

The dreams vary slightly each and every time. Sometimes I was at school. I was at home. I was at the grocery store. I was at the Jollibee a minute walk away. Sometimes there’s somebody with me and sometimes I was alone. Sometimes there was rain. Sometimes there was fire.

But the constant was my teeth. No matter what happened, I always felt something shatter in my mouth. One by one, bloodied tooth shards came loose. They tumbled past my lips and into my shaking hands. When I thought all my teeth were gone, that finally, it’s done, it started all over again with new teeth breaking and coming apart. On one horrifying occasion, I pressed my hand to my mouth to to keep it shut. The teeth continued to break nonetheless and I felt them slide down my throat.

I woke up gasping.

Teeth falling out was a common enough recurring dream that the interpretations were limitless. If Freud was to be believed, these dreams either meant I needed to get laid soon or get off more. Others said that fear was taking control of my life, as if I didn’t know that already. My brother told me that maybe, I needed to see a dentist. I told him to fuck off.

“It means somebody is going to die,” Nanay told me over lunch. We were at a sushi place, and she popped a salmon sashimi into her mouth as if she didn’t just say the creepiest thing ever.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. Another salmon. “Pamahiin.”

“I’ve doomed us all, then.”

“You have to bite on aluminum,” Nanay pointed her chopsticks at me. “And then say ‘this will not happen’.”

I made a show of biting down on my fork (I could never get the hang of chopsticks) before releasing it. “This will not happen.”

“No, you have to say it while you’re biting down.”

“Theeehs will nohh hapehn?” I tried again, fork in my mouth. My younger sister started to laugh.

“And you have to do it as many times as you had the dream.”

“That’s—it’s been a month, that’s over twenty times! You’re messing with me!”  

“I’m not! I’m your mother,” she faux gasped.

“You do know that that fork is made of steel, right?” Tatay said. My younger sister lost it, bending over and laughing like a loon.

When I got home, I googled the pamahiin. Various sources confirmed that Nanay wasn’t messing with me, but they did say that it wasn’t aluminum you had to bite on, but wood. Between a faceless blog page and my own mother, I decided to believe the one who could whack me in the head.

When everybody had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and tore off a small square of aluminum foil. I folded it, bit down, and said, “This will not happen. This will not happen. This will not happen.” My garbled, pleading litany.

That night, my teeth fell onto the floor of my dreamscape yet again.

Who would I use my superpower on next?

-

Almost midnight on the day Lolo’s heart stopped beating, it was finally time for us to leave. Nanay would stay behind; it was her job to keep watch. Vaguely, I remembered something about aswangs stealing dead bodies in the night. Good luck to whatever aswang dared go against her.

I pried Orange and Grey off of my hoodie, waved goodbye to Nanay, and sleepily climbed into the car with the rest of my family. Tired and weary, I watched the bright blurs of streetlights zoom past, looking forward to passing out in my bed.

But then instead of turning right onto J.P, Rizal after crossing the river, Tatay kept driving straight.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Never go straight home after a wake,” he said. Ah. Right. 

Which is how we ended up at a Ministop across Sta. Elena High School.

I idly walked through the aisles of the store, instinctually gravitating towards the candy section. As I looked upon a selection of Cadburys, I thought about whatever spirits that had hitched a ride with us doing the same. Would they like fruit and nut, or just plain chocolate? I thought, laughing a little to myself. Would they be pissed knowing of all places we left them, it was at a goddamn Ministop? I thought, imagining a Sadako like figure tapping her foot by the cashier.

Would they wonder why I didn’t cry at my own lolo’s wake? I thought, my laughter dying down. Would they wonder if I had feelings? I thought, my stomach began to sink. Would they wonder if I had a heart?

In this too-bright aisle, surrounded by sweets, the spirits we were brushing off, and the ghost I refused to even acknowledge, tears welled up in my eyes. They didn’t fall. I blinked them away before they could, but not before my rib cage rattled the dissonant notes of something terrible.

The funny thing was that this wasn’t because I suddenly accepted he died, as if there was something about the ambiance of a convenience store that hammered the point in. I accepted he died long before, but as tears threatened to spill past my eyes like dream teeth falling out of my mouth, like a spoon clattering to the ground, I realized that the glacial five seconds had finally passed. What have you done? I told myself a story so hard I believed it. How dare you? I switched mourning for safety. What is the price you’ll pay? It’ll follow me home. It’ll follow me everywhere.

“Are you going to get anything?” Tatay asked, pulling me out of my haze. “Cadbury?”

“Nah,” I told him. My eyes were expertly clear when I looked at him, but he didn’t look convinced. “Are we going now?”

“Yeah,” he said. So we all walked out, a bunch of assholes who loitered in a convenience store without buying anything, and got into the car.

In the rearview mirror, I watched the Ministop get smaller and smaller til we finally turned on the road going home. We were safe now. No more spirits

Nobody touched the radio. The rumble of the engine was the only sound to be heard. In my head, I heard a something more. I’m bringing something home with me, I thought, listening to the tiny little clangs. Something was playing my bones, and it sounded like shame.

I shut my eyes, laid my head against the window, and pretended I didn’t hear it at all.

#written for the memoir submission for my nonfiction class #this piece could totally improve on things like cohesion and flow but for now. this is it. #death cw #non fic

[birlcholtz]

Ch. 8: come home (to you, to us)

ao3 | ch. 1 | part of the zimbits airport au

About half an hour later, Bitty hears the garage door open and close, and then Coach and Suzanne’s muffled voices. Nobody comes upstairs to find him, so he disregards it and goes back to rambling in the old group chat that Shitty had insisted on keeping around— even once he, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster had graduated and Bitty was the only group chat member still at Samwell, Shitty claimed it was ‘his duty’ to give them updates on what was going on.

Bitty: i mean what am i even supposed to do now that i don’t have hockey as motivation to exercise

Bitty: running is gross

Bitty: punching bags are just.... ew, not good

Bitty: weights are meh

Bitty: i can’t just do squats???

Ransom: well jack’s solution to that problem was to join a pro hockey team

Bitty: i’m not getting paid to exercise

Holster: u should like

Holster: join an amateur league

Holster: or smth

Lardo: dude just accept that you can’t afford a car and public transportation is expensive and you’re gonna have to walk everywhere

Lardo: gettin those 10000 steps a day

Lardo: millennial exercise

Shitty: stop being depressing in the group chat LARDO

Shitty: (but she’s right)

Bitty: ew reality

Ransom: can u get a gym membership?

Bitty: not until i have money

Holster: burn calories by running away from your problems

Holster: zoom

Shitty: hOLSTER

Holster: shits ur literally still in school u don’t have to deal with this yet

Shitty: truE BUT STILL

Holster: u small bean

Shitty: ...bitch???

After that, the group chat moves at lightspeed, and Bitty’s content just to sit back and watch it happen. He counts no less than eight invocations of Holster’s age and size advantage and three of Shitty’s mustache. It’s only when there are soft footsteps in the hallway and a knock on Bitty’s door that he realizes how long he’s been sitting there watching his fellow alums (oh God) descend into a near brawl.

“Hey, Dicky,” his mother says when he gets up and opens the door. “Dinner’s ready, if you want it now. If not, we’ll save some for you and you can heat it up when you’re hungry. Your father told me you’re having a rough day.”

Bitty sighs. “It’s been a trying one,” he offers, and Suzanne nods in acknowledgement. He takes the now-empty plate of pralines, since there’s no point in leaving it in his room, and they walk downstairs in silence.

Dinner is interesting in that it’s so different from usual. Suzanne is willing to avoid making Bitty talk, but for once it’s Coach who carries the conversation. He carefully steers it away from Bitty at every opportunity, which is nice of him, but Bitty is completely verbal, he’s just... well, he’s tired. The tears left him feeling dried-up, almost, and Bitty doesn’t have enough energy to be emotional. He probably should’ve taken a nap before dinner, but it’s too late now. He can just go to bed early and hope that sleep serves as a reset of some sort— maybe he won’t wake up feeling so drained.

“Oh, and I’m hoping you can tell me what happened to all of those pralines that we made,” Suzanne says to Coach with a faint smile as she takes the third-to-last piece of garlic bread. “Funnily enough, a lot of them seemed to have vanished by the time I got home.”

“That was mostly me,” Bitty speaks up. His parents glance over at him in surprise, probably because he hasn’t been saying anything. “But Coach started it.”

When Suzanne looks over at Coach to confirm or deny that, he just shrugs.

“Well, alright then,” she says, and moves on while Bitty is still wondering if he should take the opportunity in front of him. She’s asking Coach about the plans for new locker rooms at the high school before he can say anything else.

Bitty finishes his food in silence, and then sits and stares at the table, not wanting to go to bed with the prospect of telling his mother still hanging over his head, but not wanting to say the words either. There’s no lead-in this time, no convenient discussion of roommates that he can use to bring it up. So how?

Coach must have assumed that Bitty’s not going to tell Suzanne tonight, because he’s still determinedly talking at length about how the team will have more locker space to store their gear. He’s only just started extolling the virtues of the new lighting when Bitty folds up his napkin and sets it neatly on the placemat. When he stands up, both of his parents look at him in surprise, and the force that he pushed his chair back with probably was surprising.

Bitty picks up his plate and cup to take to the dishwasher before saying, “Mom, I’m gay.”

The words come out calmer than he’d expected.

Suzanne blinks.

“I’m gay,” he repeats. “And I’m dating Jack Zimmermann.”

Then he puts his cup and plate in the sink and goes up to his room and shuts the door and sits on his bed and squeezes Señor Bun’s paw with one hand while he unlocks his phone with the other and composes three texts and sends them off.

The first one is to last year’s starting line. Chowder, Nursey, Dex, Whiskey, and Tango. Bitty reserves more personal things for this group chat instead of the team-wide one— not just because he was the captain, but also because there are only so many people he actually wants to vent about his life to. Hey y’all, just came out to my mom, send good vibes my way pls.

The second is to the same alumni groupchat that only just finished calming the fuck down. sooo now my mom knows im gay and that i have a boyfriend, am currently waiting in my room hoping that when i come back down things will be ok. left b4 she cld react.

The third is to Jack. told my mom, went to my room without waiting to see how she reacted. gonna go back down and see what the fallout is in like half an hour. i have a bag packed just in case, i’ll let you know if i’m coming over.

Jack responds immediately, as do other people who’d gotten one of his first two texts, but Bitty answers Jack’s first.

Jack: I have a rental car if you need a ride. Just let me know.

Bitty: i don’t think i will, but i’ll call and give u an update once i know more

Bitty: rn i’m just killing time

Jack: I’ll call you in an hour to check in if I don’t hear from you before then.

Bitty: talk to u in a lil bit

The two group chats that he’s texted have blown up over the course of his short conversation with Jack, mostly expressions of hope from the frogs and tadpoles and calm texts from the other alums meant to reassure. Bitty sends the frogs and tadpoles a quick thank you before turning to the other group chat.

Bitty: i have a contingency plan if things go horribly bad

Bitty: but my dad is ok w it

Bitty: so im giving him and my mom time to talk before i go back down there

Lardo: i think that’s a good idea

Holster: Pls. keep us updated about what’s happening.

Holster: Ransom is in the shower but he says if you need help w. anything hit us up.

Holster: (I concur)

Lardo: same, i already said u can crash on our couch, it’s ok if u want to stay here for a while

Lardo: but if ur dad is fine w it then i’m sure ur mom will be too

Shitty: ^^^^^

Shitty: dw

Shitty: #smhgotyourback

Holster: shitty i have been a college graduate for over a year and i’m crying over a gd hashtag.

Holster: why

Shitty: u know it’s true brah

Bitty’s stomach hurts when he walks downstairs, nauseous anticipation. He feels tense. His shoulders are hunched practically up to his ears.

He drops his bag in the front hallway before turning and walking into the kitchen. Suzanne and Coach are there, still sitting at the table. There are three glasses of sweet tea. Without that clue, Bitty wouldn’t have thought that they’d gotten up at all.

“Please sit down, Dicky,” Suzanne says when she sees him standing in the doorway.

Bitty sits, and for a little while, that’s what they do. Sit in silence. Until she sighs and says, “I will admit that whenever I pictured my future family, I always thought that my child would be straight.” She looks tired. “Although I can’t say I’m exactly surprised, either.”

Coach takes a sip of his tea.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand, because I don’t,” Suzanne says. “But I love you. You’re still my son, Eric Richard Bittle Junior. You still bake and you still skate and you’re still going to Boston to find a job in a week. None of that has changed.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Bitty agrees quietly.

“And I don’t want you going halfway across the country thinking I don’t love you, or you’re disowned, because neither of those things are true. I won’t lie to you and say it’s a great idea to tell the rest of the family— I’m sure you’ve already thought about that— but when it comes down to it, family you see twice a year aren’t as important as family you’re with every day, and I’m sure you know that too.” She drinks some of her tea. “I just hope that home doesn’t become such a painful place for you that you can never come back. Even if it’s just for a visit.”

“I haven’t left yet, Mama.”

Suzanne sniffs. Coach silently gets up and brings back a box of tissues, setting it on the table equidistant from his wife and his son. “That is true, isn’t it. I’m not letting you leave without trying that pot roast.”

Bitty smiles a little. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Bitty: it went ok

Chowder: that’s great!!!! congratulations!!!!!!!

Nursey: good to know

Tango: are u still coming up to mass. for the summer or are u staying there??

Bitty: still coming to boston!

Dex: see you soon then!

Whiskey: :) :) :)

Bitty: she’s not thrilled but she’s ok w it

Lardo: fuckin called it

Holster: excuse u u did not call anything

Lardo: umm yes i did???

Ransom: that’s good to hear bitty, we’re v happy for u except holster is busy being irritated at lardo? apparently?

Shitty: congrats brah, that’s a big thing you just did

Shitty: totally celebrating when u get here

Bitty: so overall everything went fine, my mom is not exactly ecstatic but she’s happy i told her

Bitty: oh and my parents want to meet u since i mentioned u were staying in madison for a little while?

Bitty: ur officially invited to the bittle residence on tuesday for pot roast

Jack: I’ll be there. How do you feel?

Bitty: lighter i guess?

Bitty: it hasn’t sunk in that i’m rlly out to both of my parents and it went ok

Jack: It’ll sink in eventually.

Bitty: yup

Jack: And you also never have to come out to your parents again.

Bitty: that’s a definite plus

Jack: Go to sleep early okay? You sound exhausted.

Bitty: i am

Bitty: yeah i’m gonna do that now. gn, ttyl, love you <3

Jack: I love you too. <3 <3 <3 <3

Jack: Talk to you tomorrow.

Bitty: :)

Jack: :-)

#my stuff #omgcp #airport au