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vkdshg · 2 years

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Dating & Relationship Tips for Women

The CR survey found that 35 percent of respondents who’ve tried online dating felt they had been grossly misled by someone’s online profile, and 12 percent said they’d been scammed. For some, the physical attraction and arousal felt for a person may be the determining factor that catapults them into love. According to Psychology Today, researchers argue that people fall in love due to having something in common, spending time together, finding the other person attractive, and having a feeling that the person likes you. 24. Are you a morning person or a night person? There are a couple of things you can do to try and get him talking. Is there a hotel? While it's unknown if mermaids swim in the ocean depths or dragons lurk in deep underground caves, there is one place you can find them: guarding your heart. Let the tender unicorn show you how to open your heart and be vulnerable.

Nowadays, you can take out your phone, open a user-friendly app, capture a shockingly high-quality picture, make any corrections you need, and then send that picture to your grandma, who can see it seconds later. Others, like Donald Daters - tagline: Make America Date Again - claim they’re open to people of all political stripes who are interested in dating Republicans. The people who become members on our platform aren’t just half-heartedly perusing their options or looking for an opportunity to text-flirt, they’re people with a genuine interest in finding a committed and compatible partner. You will not only see information from the dating sites, but also information whether the websites have been experienced as positive or negative by people who have been before you. These are the best Christian dating websites available for single Christian however, We would recommend eHarmony or BigChurch. When you find out you have HIV/AIDS,Herpes,or any other STD, it can feel like you are all alone in the world. The wonderful world of dating may seem like a fun game to play, but it can be very difficult for some people. Although it seems like a simple thing to note as a deal-breaker, many people ignore the signs when there's a lack of interest from their partner, and according to Winston, it may not always be as simple to spot as you think.

Sophisticated search engines. I’m already seeing search engine parameters that can match image features, so singles will soon be able to search cyberspace for their ideal partner, without the need to join any dating site. You can always select your life partner preference and describe about how you wanted him/her to be in a line or two. נערות ליווי בראשון לציון Or you can call Samaritans on 116 123, any time of the day or night for free from mobile or landline phones. Or call upon the perceptive sphinx to help you evaluate potential partners. For centuries, human beings have told stories about mythical creatures, from the gentle unicorn to the cunning sphinx. People have wondered if these magical beings do in fact exist among us. Most people likely fall in love based on these attributes, but some people place a higher value on certain attributes than others. In addition to these “attraction attributes,” the concerns of whether your social circle approves of a relationship and whether they will fill your personal needs also play a large part in shifting the tectonic plates of attraction to the earthquake of love. Well, maybe not. Merriam-Webster dictionary offers several different definitions of love, ranging from strong affection to sexual attraction to admiration.

Welcome back to The Attraction Doctor. You will receive an awesome welcome gift after you register on Plenty of Fish. Whether your current love interest is the apple of your eye or an acquired taste, this quiz will be able to diagnose the ice cream topping that summarizes the state of your heart at the moment. Take this quiz to find out what mythical creature guards your heart and allow it to help guide your romantic ventures. Any location, ethnicity, how religious they are (but that's for you to find out!), age, etc. This is coming from a female's perspective. Free users are able to create a profile and browse through other profiles in order to find a match. We’ve put together a list of some of the best headlines online dating users are finding success with and give you some useful tips to bear in mind. We’d make a list of what we do more naturally and make sure it’s even. Learn about all this and more. We’ll check in regularly to make sure no one feels like they’re doing more than their share.

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pappydaddy · 4 years

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Ghost of You (f.w.)

A/N: So, I was just listening to music while writing my Steve series “I Wanna Be Yours” and Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer came on and I instantly started crying so I got a sudden urge to write a sad imagine so, sorry in advance..

Ironically enough, it’s usually me going to write something with the intent for Steve, but end up writing for Billy, but this time it’s a whole different fandom. It actually went from Billy to Steve, then it went to Fred.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Based off the song Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer

Part One - You’re here! | Part Two

Trigger Warning: Mention of death, really sad, angst, heartbreak, depression, PTSD, mention of witnessing death, mention of drinking, slight mention of suicide.

PSA: I DO NOT agree with JK Rowling’s recent comments about the trans community, but I WILL NOT let her and her bigoted and transphobic ways ruin Harry Potter for me. Harry Potter has given me so much, I have connected to characters unlike ever before. REMEMBER, TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. Also, my DMs are always open

Another PSA: I do know the recent drama around 5 Seconds of Summer with the claims that had been made about them, but I also know that they have been proven to be false, one of them having been committed by someone else other than a member of their band or team. I would never EVER support someone who has been accused and found guilty of claims such as the ones that 5sos had been accused off because they are horrible acts committed by sick people. And, I would never outright say someone was falsely accusing, but again, the claims made against 5sos were found to be false or to be committed by other people. If you are not aware of that, I recommend checking reputable stan twitter accounts because (a) they know more than me, (b) they explain it better, and (c) they have proof. If you are a victim, I am so so sorry that that happened to you and I want you to know that you’re insanely strong and just keep your head up! Don’t hesitate to get help if you’re suffering, there are so many resources to help cope, report and all kinds of thing! Also, my DMs are always open

Another PSA: I struggle from depression, anxiety and have lasting effects of a traumatic event so if you are struggling with anything, please seek help. These are horrible things to battle with alone and therapy, psychologist, or a psychiatrist can help you gain the tools to cope healthily and any other tools you may need. Also, my DMs are always open.

This is my first Harry Potter imagine, idk what possessed me to write for a different fandom since my focus has been Stranger Things, but I guess I was going to have to write for the other fandoms eventually, right?

Sorry this is so long, there’s a lot of disclaimers I had to put on this to make myself feel like I am making my blog a safe space for everyone. I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -

The war had taken so much from everyone. Taken innocence, taken parents, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives; it seemed that nobody was safe from the path of destruction. Even a year after the war, many were still plagued with mourning people ripped away from them by the clutches of war. Fred Weasley was one of them. They had just started their lives together, finally going through with everything they had talked and planned about during those nights wrapped in each other’s arms as they hid from the Professors and Prefects. Those hopes and dreams for the future were now just empty memories and proof of their love. The book that held every little detail of their planned future laid on your desk in your bedroom - untouched since the last time you had touched it before the war. Everything of yours remained in the place you had set them the last time you had touched them. They were frozen in a happier time filled with love and light, not filled with loneliness and darkness.

Fred stirred awake, the familiar feeling of his body being weighted down rushing over him as he blinked his eyes open. His void gaze instantly met the empty side of the bed. It was neatly made, the pillow just faintly smelling of you now. Even a year later, he couldn’t bring himself to lay on that side of the bed - your side of the bed. He had a hard enough time sleeping in the bed at all, not being able to forget the feeling of you wrapped in his arms. Tears burned his eyes as he gazed upon the spot, your laughter echoing in his mind as he remembered all of those mornings he woke up to you just waking up yourself. He’d lean in, nabbing his first kiss of the day and you’d pull away with red cheeks claiming that you hadn’t brushed your teeth yet and he’d claim not to care (which he didn’t) and lean in to pepper kisses all over your face - your laughter bouncing off the walls. He threw the covers off him, trying to fight against the weight trying to keep him down in the bed. Pushing against the invisible force he shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

With ever step he took, every room he entered, came the memory of you. The tune you hummed as you danced from the bedroom to the bathroom, the smell of your shampoo, the smell of your sweet perfume. They lingered through the house like a ghost - a hazy mist trailing behind him everywhere he went. The ball in his throat stung as he tried to swallow it down, blinking away from the tears that welled in his eyes. No matter how many times he experienced them a day since you died, he would never get used to the sting. He’d never get used to the shaking of his hands, the tightness growing in his chest, the racing of his heart, the constricting of his lungs or the vivid image of holding you in his arms, watching the life slip from your body as you took your last breath whenever he heard something that brought him back to that day.

He could smell the fresh coffee that his brother had brewed as he drifted into the hall, a shell of the old Fred. George was used to seeing his brother dancing down the hallway with you, large smiled on both your faces and laughter surrounding the entire apartment. Now, since you were gone, Fred didn’t dance, his feet were heavy against the floors, weighing him down. He didn’t joke around with his brother anymore, his brother missed the sound of his laughter and the humorous tone to his voice instead of the broken and heavy one he had now. The second Fred entered the small kitchen, his eyes instantly landed on the yellow mug with the faint lipstick stain still on the rim, the faded red still a slight contrast from the yellow of the mug. You had never been able to get the stain gone, it had driven you crazy that your lip stick had tainted the beautiful mug Fred had gotten you after you guys ran away from Hogwarts as a homage to your house, Hufflepuff. The plants that you had been growing thanks to your love for Herbology were barely alive, George having been trying his best to take care of them since he knew you’d want them to thrive.

“Morning, Freddie,” George’s voice was soft as he brought his own mug to his lips, sipping the warm coffee. “Made you some eggs,” He told his brother as he pushed a plate of scrambled eggs towards his moping brother before setting a full cup of coffee in front of him. “How’d you sleep?” He asked him. Fred, not lifting his head from his plate of eggs as he pushed them around with the fork George had laid on the plate.

“Fine.” It was a simple word, but it was most of what Fred spoke these days. George hummed, taking another large gulp of his coffee as he let Fred soak in his silence, knowing that if he pushed too hard, he’d revert back and lose all the progress they had made.

“Are you feeling ready for your appointment today? Do you want me to come with you? Or mum, maybe Ginny? I can get Lee to cover the shop if you want me to come.” George asked him, setting his coffee cup on the counter, his hands wrapped around the warm mug.

“I’m fine going on my own.” He muttered, thinking back to his night. He knew that his therapist would ask him about it. It was just like any other night. Sleepless since whenever he closed his eyes, you were all he saw. He knew that if he’d sleep long enough, he could dream of you and it’d be like you never left, but he’d also know that you’d tell him that he’ll be fine without you and he definitely knew he’d never be. You were his.

“Please don’t skip out on this one to sit at the bar and drink, Fred,” George pleaded with his brother. Last two appointments, Fred and went on his own and ended up not even showing up. When his therapist George (them having to have gotten a muggle landline for communication) to inform him that Fred had not shown up, he had search everywhere for him. George remembered the blinding fear he had coursing through his blood that day, not knowing where his brother was or if he was okay. His mind had jumped to every possible conclusion, the nagging thought of the worst hanging in the back of his mind. “You need these appointments, they are good for you,” George pleaded. Fred only nodded, not saying anything while he ate. George watched him take a few more bites before his fork clanged against the plate about still half full of eggs. Fred pushed it away, taking one final sip of his coffee. “Right, so your appointment’s at twelve, so why don’t you get an outfit picked out while I head down to the shop - Mum will be here in a few minutes, I reckon.” George suggested.

Fred hummed, walking back into his room. Molly had been coming over to monitor when Fred left for his appointments and got back, also to watch the phone incase he skipped over his appointment. She also came daily when George was manning the shop to watch over Fred and take care of him. Sometimes, Fred went down to the shop and sorted products, but that was rare. George popped his head into Fred’s room to see him sitting on the bed. In his hands, he held your favourite shirt of his. He stared down at it while a mismatched outfit laid on the bed beside him. “I’m heading down to the shop, love you.” George announced.

“Love you, George.” The sound broke George’s heart. The fear in his brother’s voice every time George left the apartment destroyed him. Fred was terrified of losing someone else and not getting to be there for them, that he can never let them leave his presence without him saying that he loves them. His biggest fear was that you had died not knowing that he still loved you. Everyone says that you knew because you could feel his love for you and he doesn’t want anyone to question if he loved them if he wasn’t there.

The second he heard the door close behind George, he let himself crash down on the bed, laying on his side in a fetal position as he held the shirt to his nose. His jaw was sore as he let the tears fall from his eyes, the lump in his throat twisting itself into a bigger lump. His body shook with silent sobs. He couldn’t help but envision you moving through the apartment with this shirt tucked into your pants or tied up. He hadn’t felt himself slip into sleep as he let himself imagine your arms wrapping around him, encasing him in a loving warmth. He was unaware of his mother walking into the apartment as he finally slept with his imagination configuring you there with him. Molly instantly went to his room to check on him when he wasn’t on the couch, she stopped in her tracks as she laid eyes on her sleeping son, curled up. She only saw Fred sleeping in a fetal position clutching a t-shirt, but Fred felt the ghost of you wrapped around him.

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girlwithshipsshitshow · 3 years

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Part 20

(Eri got off the train walking the ten blocks to Rose’s house, after she parted with the boys she went back to their house got her stuff, (she had an extra extra she wasn’t dumb, but she would give it back to Usagi, he didn’t want her to have it, but she was glad she did today), she then made her way to the train that led Rose’s house. She just gotten a text from her saying she was getting off work in an hour, so Eri was going to surprise her with a simple meal of shrimp fried rice, it wouldn't be much, but it was something. Eri smiled to herself as she unlocked the door, placed her things down and started the meal. She decided to video call the boys to see how their day went.

Misaki: Hey Eri.

Eri: (Squints), Where are ya’ll

Usagi: HI, we’re at a diner

Eri: Why?

Usagi: This is where we were meeting Takahiro, we got into a fight and-

Misaki: Things didn’t end well and we ended up staying here talking about what we want our new house to look like. (he smiled kissing Usagi on the cheek). So what are you up too?

Eri: Cooking shrimp fried rice for Rose and I, she should be home soon.

Usagi: Cool, speaking off home, Misaki and I should get going, we’ve been here for almost two hours, you two have fun.

Misaki: Bye Eri!, say hi to Rose for us!.

(The two hung up and Eri went back to cooking, she was just finishing plating when Rose walked in the door)

Rose: Wow, it smells amazing in here. (She walked over to Eri giving her a small kiss or her cheek). Hi

Eri: Hi, I missed you, how has work been? (She turned around wrapping her arms around Rose’s neck).

Rose: Good, what have you been up too? (she pressed her lips to Eri’s, smiling against her lips).

Eri: Hanging with the boys.

Rose: how are they?

Eri: Okay, there’s some stuff going on, but they can handle it. (smiles), so are you hungry?

Rose: Yeah!,

(the two walk over to the high-top counter, digging into the amazing meal Eri made, talking about the time they spent apart, they missed each other a lot, and were glad to be back in each others presence).

(Manami stood with her finger hovering above the intercom button, Mahiro was running around the lobby, he was excited, he wanted to see his uncle).

Mahiro: Mommy, hurry!

Manami: Mahiro, give me a second honey. (She sighed pressing the button on the intercom, Usagi answered, his laugh dying down).

Usagi: Manami?, what are you doing here?

Manami: Takahiro said some really offensive stuff, can we stay here awhile?

Usagi: Sure, come on up.

(Usagi unlocked the door, Manami stepped back, taking Mahiro’s hand, they were up they elevator and in the penthouse mudroom in no time, Mahiro ran into the house, without taking off his shoes).

Manami: Mahiro! shoes! (she slid her shoes off taking of after him), She smiled when she saw her son in sitting in Usagi’s lap, Misaki holding the young boys hand. He squirmed while Usagi struggled to take off Mahiro’s shoes).

Usagi: Mahiro, stay still, I need to take your shoes off.

Mahiro: I wanna play Unagi!

Usagi: Okay, okay. (He finally got the shoes off), but can you put your shoes in the mudroom first?

Mahiro: ‘kay, (He smiled jumping off Usagi’s lap with his shoes, running into the mudroom, coming back into the living room with his backpack full of toys, dumping them onto the floor, they fell everywhere.) Don’t worry. (He looked at Usagi’s shocked face), I’ll clean up.

Usagi: Okay, thank you.

Mahiro: Welcome. (He picks up a dinosaur, studies it, and begins to draw it).

Manami: (She finally walks over to the boys), Wow Usami, you look like a real dad.

Misaki: (He smiles, rubbing his leg), Yeah, I think he would be a good dad some day.

Usagi: I just want to prove it to you.

Misaki: You have time you know, when we have kids, it’ll be after we get married.

Usagi: WHEN

Misaki: Yeah, (he had tears in his eyes), I think I want to have kids with you.

Usagi: (Grins, He throws his arms around the smaller boy hugging him tightly), I love you.

Misaki: I love you too. (He pulls away, pushing hair out of Usagi’s eyes). You really are amazing.

Usagi: So are you.

Manami: So, I hate interrupt this moment, but I think I should talk about why I’m here, and you aren’t going to like it so much.

(They all looked down at Mahiro, who was still focusing on his drawing of the Dinosaur it looked pretty good for a three and half year old.)

Usagi: Wow Mahiro, you’re a great artist bud.

Mahiro: Thanks.

Manami: Can we go to the kitchen table to talk?

(The boys nodded, and they all made their way to the table, leaving Mahiro focused on his work).

Manami: (She folded her hands together, sitting across from the boys), I do I put this gently? Um, Takahiro doesn’t like you guys together because, He doesn’t like the fact that Misaki is gay.

Usagi: He actually said that?

Manami: Mhmm

Misaki: Okay, (He took Usagi’s hand), We, uh kinda had a feeling, but we weren’t sure.

Usagi: What else did he say?

Manami: That Misaki should be normal.

Misaki: (Clears his throat), Um, I’m going to-uh (he stands up knocking the chair over, making his way over to the balcony, struggling to open the door).

Usagi: (Stands up), Misaki?

Misaki: (opens door), No, I’m fine, I just need air. (steps out onto the balcony, leaning against the brick wall),

Usagi: (Walks out, standing behind him), Misaki.

Misaki: I already knew, (turns around, eyes filled with tears), so why does it hurt so much?

Usagi: Oh, sweetie, (He pulls Misaki to him, running his fingers through his hair), I’m so sorry, (they sunk to ground against the brick wall, Usagi held him in his arms tightly, while the younger boy sobbed in his chest.)

Misaki: What, (sobs), are, (sobs), we, (sobs), we, (sobs), gonna, (sobs), do?

Usagi: We’ll figure it out we always do, I know it’s different this time but. (sighs), it’ll be okay.

Misaki: He (Shudders), hurt me. (sobs), hurt us. (leans back, looks at Usagi), Sorry, um- heh.

Usagi: (Wipes Misaki’s eyes), Why are YOU apologizing, it should be your brother.

Misaki: For crying.

Usagi: You cry all the time. Like when we make love.

Misaki: (Blushes), It’s beautiful, I can’t help it.

Usagi: (Kisses forehead) I know.

Misaki: But, mostly I’m sorry for acting the same way my brother did in the beginning of our relationship. I was experiencing a lot of internalized homophobia, I took it out and you and myself, it took me a while to come to terms with who I really was, and longer to say that I loved you, when I knew I did. I would always used the “oh, we’re both Japanese men” as that was an excuse, because it’s not like that would make my feelings for you go away, and even I said I was raised normal. (He shook his head chuckling), I became fully aware of what I was doing, and admitting to you, and myself that I only want to be with you for the rest of my life, I said that to friends, people we know, your family, my family. I knew my brother would have problem because I was dating you, his best friend, or eh, that you were dating me. His problem his that I’m gay, he needs to deal with that. (He looks up at Usagi), What if he can’t?

Usagi: (sighs, pulls Misaki closer into his lap), We will deal with that, would you cut him out?

Misaki: I think we might have to, if he can’t come to terms with me being gay, uh, m- my own happiness. I really hope he comes around. D-d you think that. he just doesn’t like that I’m gay?

Usagi: I don’t know baby.

Misaki: He had all these ideas for me you know? He wanted me to have a wife, and raise a family, I think that might be what upsets him the most, that I-

Usagi: That you won’t be doing it normally?

Misaki: Ugh, I hate that word, Normal, what does that even mean now? everyone has their own idea of it. We live in a world, we’re everyone should be accepted for who they are.

Usagi: Unfortunately, people aren’t so accepting. But our normal is the two of us getting married, being in love, raising a family. That’s what our idea of being a family is, everyone as their own idea of it, even if people don’t always accept it. I don’t care what someone thinks about us, do you?

Misaki: I used to, but I don’t now, I just want to be happy, and I truly am.

Usagi: (Smiles, kisses Misaki on his head hugging him tightly), I love you so much sweetheart).

Misaki: I love you too.

(Manami put the last of the dishes away, while the boys sat on floor playing with Mahiro, Misaki turned to look at Manami, smiling at her).

Misaki: You didn’t have to do that.

Manami: I know, but I made dinner so I felt like I should do the dishes too.

Misaki: You’re our guest, we should be making diner for you.

Manami: I really don’t mind. (she grinned, making her way over to the living room floor), Mahiro, It’s time to clean up and take a bath.

Mahiro: Okay, (he stuffed his toys into his bag, leaving out his stuffed elephant, then stood up taking his moms hand, as the walked into the bathroom).

Usagi: He’s a good kid.

Misaki: I know. (He stood up stretching, picking up the elephant), I’m going to put this in the guest room.

Usagi: Misaki, (He stood up, taking Misaki’s hand, staring into his eyes, placing his other hand on Misaki’s face he titled his head back softly pressing his lips to his. He pulled away giving a tiny smile), I just love you so much.

Misaki: I love you babe.

Usagi: Hey um, (He ran his hands trough Misaki’s hair).

Misaki: (Laughs), Yeah?

Usagi: I just wanted to run my hands through your hair, it’s really soft.

Misaki: I love when you do it, It relaxes me.

Usagi: (He grinned), I know. Um, you can go take that up now.

Misaki: (Giggles), okay. (he sprints up the room as the phone rings).

Usagi: (Walks over to the landline, picking up the phone), Hello... What do you want?

#junjou romantica #junjouromaticafanfic #Akihiko Usami #usami akihiko #Misaki Takahashi #takahashi misaki #Misaki x Usagi #Usagi x Misaki #Junju romatica

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deedee-fisher · 5 years

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DIANE FISHER HEADCANONS (without cult mentions)

Diane “DeeDee” Nilsson was born in Visby, Sweeden. She came to the U.S. as a foreign exchange student, and became absolutely smitten by the country. Not even a month after she'd became a legal adult, she was working towards citizenship to the country.

Diane’s foreign exchange family had a daughter her age by the name of Genevieve “Gen” Parks. Gen and Diane were two of kind. They were practically sisters through high school. Part of their click was Stacy “CeCe” Jean (later to be Stacy Holmes). They made jokes constantly that Gen and Diane were pretty hussies and that Stacy would be the only one to ever marry and live a prudent life. Oh, the irony.

Diane’s first fling was with someone everyone referred to as ‘The Little Phelps Boy’. They dated through the summer she arrived and her freshman year/his sophomore year. However, their relationship ended rather suddenly. Not soon after, Phelps moved away. Diane didn’t give details, but whatever happened with them shook her up bad.

Diane and Henry Fisher began dating her sophomore year and his senior year.

When Diane was a junior, she invited Henry back to her the school for prom night. When she did, he took that lovely moment to propose to her. She said yes, but her parents quickly slammed their foot down from overseas saying no. This resulted in them having to wait until Diane was of age. When she turned 18 and had finished citizenship, she and Henry married.

Diane came from a richer family, but had been nearly disowned when they found she was hellbent on marrying a ‘wild American lad’ while she was still so young. While her parents didn’t disown her in the end and they kept contact through monthly letters, she was cut off from their money supply due to not calling the wedding off.

When Henry went off to college on a scholarship, him and Diane moved into Gen’s apartment. Diane started work at the library for Henry’s college to get him cheaper college tuition.

Despite their efforts, Diane and Henry had it rough through college as far as finances went. They were lucky to have Gen behind them.

It was only a month after Henry got his masters degree that Diane found out she was pregnant. She told Henry, almost in fear that he’d be against having a child. They were both frightened, but they decided they would keep the child despite their young age. In time, that young-parent excitement came to them.

They saved up enough money for their own home, finally moving out of Gen’s apartment. It was small and had virtually no yard, but rent was cheap and renovations were allowed, to they took it.

They decided not to wait for a reveal party or the child’s birth to find out their gender. When they discovered they were to have a little girl, they were ecstatic! They decided to name her Genevieve in honor of Gen, who had already agreed to be the little one’s Godmother.

Things were going great! Diane and Henry painted the nursery a light pink. Henry insisted on pinning up little unicorns, and Diane insisted on fairies. In the end, Diane ended up dragging an old friend who owed her a favor (a man she called “Jimmy J.”) to her house so he could use his painting expertise. In the end, their was a unicorn mural with fairies fluttering around it painted across an entire wall.

Then, in a heart-shattering turn of events, Diane lost the baby.

Her water broke two months early and she went into labor. Henry was at work, but Diane’s friend had just finished the mural and was still present. He used the landline to call 911 and then tended to Diane the best he could. She went through about fifteen minutes of pain before the baby started to crown. Her friend was forced to help her deliver. By the time EMTs arrived, Diane was half dead and the baby was long gone.

Diane was of course devastated by this loss, but Henry took the blow far worse than she did. He buried himself in work and turned to liquor to calm himself. This forced Diane to man up and play the strong one. Together, they slowly but surely rebounded from this incident.

Only a year later, Diane found she was pregnant again.

While they once again made the decision to keep the child, they were both hesitant on getting attached at first. Though, how distant can you be from your own child? Within a week, that joy they had experienced with Genevieve, jr., was being experienced again.

This time, they were to have a son. They settled on naming him Sal, after Diane’s father, Salvador Nilsson.

Once again, they went haywire trying to set things up perfect for this child. You wouldn't believe how much money they blew on that nursery. Diane’s had moved back to the place where Diane had been schooled and she had met him, preparing to marry a pretty woman he’d recently met. This meant there was no beautiful mural, but Diane and Henry were actually able to make a decorating choice on their own for the nursery. It turned out to be perfect in their opinion.

Once again, Diane’s water broke early. This time, only by a week, which wasn’t too early to not be able to save the child.

Their son was delivered via c-section.

Diane was warned by doctors not to have anymore children by doctors, as she shouldn’t have even been able to have a child in the first place. Turns out her uterus was upside down, which is what caused the difficulties with both her daughter and son.

Not too long after bringing Sal home, it was ever-so-clear he was just like his mother. He was drawn to the same aesthetic, he had her dazzling blue eyes and her cute little button nose. He also seemed to radiate with the adventurous spirit his mother had harbored in her youth. There was no doubt about it: Sal Fisher was going to be a momma’s boy.

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this-is-allison · 6 years

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Hawkins Affairs

I’m sorry I haven’t posted any writing in a while. My grandma suddenly fell ill and passed away so June was a big struggle for me and I’ve been having a hard time finding inspiration to write.

I’ve been working on this for about a month now and think I finally have it ready to share. This is set about 8ish years before Will disappears, right after Hopper comes back from the Vietnam War. Yes, there is smut. Please let me know what you think! Hawkins, Indiana: May 1975 -

Hopper rolls away from the woman who’s name he never bothered to ask for. Sitting up he grabs his jeans off the floor and slides them on. He fishes in the right pocket, retrieving a few pills from its depths. Not bothering to blow off the lint, he pops the red and blue tablets in his mouth, swallowing them dry. Hopper finishes dressing, takes one look back at the sleeping form before quietly leaving the dingy motel room.

He’s been back in Hawkins for a few months now. It’s still just as shitty as he remembered. The war had just ended. He’d been discharged early with the news that his mother had fallen ill. She’d declined the past few weeks and is now taking up permanent residence at Hawkins Memorial. Thoughts of the war and the things he’d seen kept him up at night. When he wasn’t tending to his mother, he typically spent his time sleeping with nameless women and drinking himself into a stupor. His dream was to get out of Hawkins after high school and never look back, yet here he is. Right back where he started.

His first run in with Joyce takes about a week and a half, but he knew it would happen sooner rather than later in such a small town. The last time he’d seen her she’d told him about her impending marriage to Lonnie Byers after high school. He was less than supportive, but why in the hell would she think he’d be anything but? All the memories come flooding back as he walks through the doors of Melvald’s General and sees her standing behind the counter. Their eyes meet for a brief second, a look of shock crossing her features, before she turns her attention back to the customer in front of her.

He grabs a 12 pack of beers out of the cooler on the far end of the store and heads back up to the front. It’s hard to miss the shiny gold band on her left ring finger. His thoughts instantly turn bitter at the sight of it.

“How’s Lonnie?” his tone is anything but friendly. The first time he sees her in years and he asks about her piece of shit husband. Joyce wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked in, but that wasn’t it.

“He’s…” she clears her throat, “er...um...fine,” she fakes a smile. She doesn’t want to talk about Lonnie. Not with anyone, especially not with him. “How’s your mom?” Joan Hopper is a well liked woman among the townspeople so news of her illness had gotten around quickly.

“Fine,” he mimics her response offering nothing more than a tight jaw and dark eyes.

“Can we maybe...talk some time?” she offers. They were good friends at one point. She misses that.

“I don’t think your husband would like that,” he bites before he lays his money on the counter, grabs the case of beers, and walks out of the store. He’ll have to go to the larger store from now on for his beer runs.

It’s 6am when the landline at his mother’s house starts ringing throughout the house. She always keeps the ringer louder than normal due to her lousy hearing. He wakes with a start having just dozed off after an extra dose of Tuinal. He makes his way to the phone quickly, grabbing it off the hook on the fourth ring, “s’wrong?” no one ever calls except his mother and the nurses on occasion. Never at this hour before. Something must be wrong.

“Mr. Hopper? It’s Doctor Smith. I’m really sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but your mother went into cardiac arrest early this morning. We tried everything we could, but the attack was massive. I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor explains.

“Thanks,” Hopper grunts out before hanging up the phone abruptly. He knew this day would come, but somehow it doesn’t feel real.

The next week goes by in a blur; making funeral arrangements, meeting with a lawyer, cleaning up the house for the wake, and packing up some of his mother’s things. His drinking has gotten worse. He takes more pills than medically recommended. There’s nothing left to care about so why in the hell should he care about himself?

He hosts the wake at his mother’s house the Friday after her death. He knows his mother was loved having lived in this town her entire life, but the number of people crowding in the small house overwhelms him. He retreats to his bedroom; thankful for the peace and quiet. He takes the flask out of his suit jacket and enjoys a drink. That is, until there’s a soft knock at the door. He looks up as it opens before he can respond. His eyes travel from black heels, up bare pale legs, to a simple back dress, and finally meet wide brown eyes.

“S’wat’re you doin’ here?” the alcohol ignites his anger among other things. Fully taking her in for the first time in ten years, he sees she’s only gotten more beautiful. She looks beat down and tired, but somehow more beautiful than ever. It pisses him off.

“I couldn’t find you...I figured you’d be hiding in here,” she walks towards him slowly, stopping abruptly as his fiery gaze meets hers.

“Found me. Ya should leave,” he burps taking another drink from his flask.

“I don’t think you should be left alone right now,” she explains, making sure to keep her distance.

“House’s full,” another drink down. How much can that small flask hold?

“You could use a friend,” she knew it was the wrong term to use to describe their relationship as soon as it left her mouth. If his anger wasn’t evident before, it is now.

“You think...we’re friends?!” he’s on his feet towering over her in seconds, but she refuses to let him intimidate her.

“Of course. We practically grew up together,” she reminds him. They’d met in elementary school and even though Joyce was two grades below Jim, they were practically inseparable. Until Lonnie Byers came along. He’d transferred into Jim’s grade senior year from another school and was obsessed with Joyce from the moment he laid eyes on her. He didn’t care that she was taken. He’d somehow managed to wedge himself between them, something he thought was impossible.

He isn’t sure if it’s their close proximity or the mixture of grief, alcohol, pills, and anger, but he suddenly wants to take what’s Lonnie’s. He looks down at her, their bodies mere inches apart, “10 years we haven’t talked,” he reminds her. Friends don’t not talk for a decade.

She can smell the alcohol emitting from his body due to their close proximity, “I’m sorry,” is all she can choke out. Her breath hitches when she looks up and catches his eye.

Words evaporate between them when suddenly he kisses her harshly. He swiftly picks her up and she takes the cue to wrap her legs around his waist, hooking her arms around his neck. Slamming her up against the nearest wall their kissing only grows more intense. Their tongues battle for dominance as their hands work on finding skin, desperate for contact. His suit jacket is quickly discarded. Hopper doesn’t waste any time as he pushes her dress up her thighs to bunch at her hips then yanks her underwear down enough so he can rip them off. Joyce unbuttons his dress pants, pushing them down with the toes of her heels as far as she can while he sucks on her neck. She brings his mouth back to hers as her hand wanders down his fully shirted chest, into his boxers. Hopper groans into her mouth when she wraps her small hand around his hard, thick member. Luckily alcohol had never affected his ability to perform.

Deciding he doesn’t want to wait anymore he pushes his boxers down letting them pool around his ankles. He lines himself up with her hot entrance and pushes in, not bothering to check if she’s ready. Joyce screams out surprised, wrapping her arm around his neck, using his body to muffle her cries. Hopper’s surprised how tight she is - Lonnie must not being fucking her right. Or at all. Smirking into her mouth at the fact, he grabs her hips fucking into her harder and harder with each thrust not giving her anytime to adjust to the size of him.

He isn’t going to last long in the state he’s in with her as tight as she is. Seems like Joyce won’t either.

Joyce screams out at the simultaneous feeling of being stretched and fucked so deep. Hopper uses his mouth to muffle her cries. He keeps up the pace, moving his thumb to massage her clit, and after a few minutes she spasms violently around him. Her orgasm lasts longer than he’s ever experienced before. It really must have been a while for her - it came quick and hard. The feeling of her walls constricting around him causes him to burst before he can pull all the way out. He didn’t mean to as he wasn’t expecting to cum so fast, but the thought of her going home to Lonnie with his seed inside her fills him with a sense of pride. He’d fucked Lonnie’s wife. His ex. The woman who he still has very contradicting feelings for. Is it possible to love and hate someone at the same time? He does. They try to regain control of their breathing still not saying a word. Hopper places Joyce back on her feet after a minute. She pulls her dress down from around her waist, takes one look at her torn underwear on the floor, and leaves. Not minding to say anything or even look at him. Without her underwear, his cum drips down her thighs leaving an uncomfortable sticky residue between her legs. Hopper adjusts his clothes figuring he’d better get back to his guests. He needs another drink.

Joyce’s days off usually consist of running errands. Lonnie works nights while she works days so there’s always someone home with the kids. When she isn’t working he refuses to watch the them so she’s left to drag the boys around town. Something they hate. There’s only a few more weeks until school lets out so she just has Will for now. Although, sometimes having one four-year-old is more exhausting than having both of them. Jonathan is more of an introvert than his brother. An observer.

Will loves comic books so Joyce brings him to the library so they can check out a pile for the week. At four years old he isn’t able to read yet so he usually looks at the pictures, having Joyce read to him before bed. They’re gonna have to start working on that. She’d planned her day out keeping her mind busy to avoid guilty thoughts of events that had transpired a few days ago. She needs to focus on her boys, her family. That’s it.

Walking into the library she’s met with the exact person she’s trying to avoid. Jim Hopper is leaning over the counter, on a stack of books, whispering to the librarian. Of course. She can’t hear what he’s saying, but his body language and the way Marissa is giggling makes it quite clear he’s flirting. She rolls her eyes, holding Will’s hand tighter, “C’mon, baby,” she smiles down at him as they walk to the kids section.

When she comes back up a while later, after Will’s made his selections, she’s disappointed to see him still in the same spot. She sighs, looking around for another librarian, but there’s only ever one at the desk. The other usually floats around the building organizing and whatever else. Keeping hold of Will’s hand she steps behind Hopper and clears her throat. Hopper turns around, startled to see Joyce. His eyes move down to the child and back to her.

“Surprised to see you in a library,” she remarks stepping up next to him, putting Will’s selections on the counter. Will keeps his arm hooked around his mother’s leg. Marissa begins to scan the books out, looking between Hopper and Joyce.

“Jus’ donatin’ some of mom’s old books. Marissa needs to look them over,” why does he suddenly feel like he owes her an explanation? He can flirt all he wants, she’s the married one.

“Funny she just had me drop them and go when I donated,” Joyce smirks knowingly at Marissa as she scans out the books.

“We’ve since changed policies,” Marissa smirks at her, “you’re all set, Mrs. Byers.” Joyce doesn’t miss the way she places extra emphasis on her title. She grabs the books off the counter, glancing at Hopper as she turns to leave, “C’mon, baby,” she takes Will’s hand leading him out of the Library. Hopper watches her go, remembering the last time he watched her walk away, until a voice breaks through his thoughts, “So, I’ll meet you at Benny’s when I get off around 7?” Marissa flirts, batting her lashes behind thick rimmed glasses.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “sounds good,”

Joyce drives to the edge of town to pick up the food Lonnie had insisted on ordering for dinner. They hadn’t eaten out in a while so she thought it would be a nice treat for the boys. Not that they need to be spending the extra money.

Hopper is leaning against his truck finishing a cigarette in the parking lot of Benny’s when a familiar car pulls up next to him to him - and not the one he’s waiting for. Are they going to run into each other everywhere they go? When she steps out of her car she’s clearly agitated to see him once again.

“Are you following me or something?” she bites at him, crossing her arms.

“How would that be possible? When I was here first?” he doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He just wants to eat, have a few drinks, and then hopefully get laid.

“Twice in one day?”

“It’s a small town, Joyce.” Hopper points out. There’s only so many places to go. Trapped between their cars he looks her over, slowly moving closer, “if I were a betting man I’d say you’re the one followin’ me,”

“And why in the hell would I do that, we’re not friends, remember?” she throws his comment from earlier back in his face.

“I don’t know,” he keeps walking forward as she backs up until she runs into the side of her car with him towering over her, “maybe you want me to make you scream again,” he whispers in her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. There’s just enough space between them that they aren’t touching, but damn near it.

She places her hands on his chest to keep him at a distance, “I’m married...that can’t happen again,” her resolve is weakening. Luckily the dinner crowd has died down by now so Benny’s is practically empty and they’re hidden in the small space between their cars. Hopper has completely forgotten about his date at this point.

“But you want it to?” he ghosts his lips over hers. They’re playing with fire.

Her resolve crumbles as she pulls him closer, crushing her lips against his with a fierce passion. He presses her back against the car as their kissing intensifies. Slipping one of his hands underneath her shirt, he pushes the cups of her bra up, grabbing one of her breasts he begins to massage it and tweak the nipple. Joyce moans into his mouth working on the belt of his pants with one hand as she slides the other inside his jeans. He hisses when she comes in contact with his cock, pushing his jeans and boxers down to his thighs to give her better access.

He unbuttons her jeans, sliding them down her legs to bunch at her feet, shocked by her lack of underwear, “you naughty girl,”. He picks her up. She takes the cue to wrap her legs around his waist, and they are once again in the same position as a few days prior. He rubs himself against her wetness before he slips inside her a bit gentler than the last time.

She moans out at the feeling of him stretching her, “fuck me, Hop,” she pleads looking into his eyes for the first time. He slowly starts to move, developing a rhythm when they suddenly hear a car coming down the road.

“Fuck,” they break apart, both scrambling to redress and fix clothes as quick as they can. The car parks and out steps Marisa, “Hey, Jimmy. Sorry I’m a little late,” she smiles widely at him before noticing Joyce, “Oh hello, Mrs. Byers,” there she goes again using her married name, “what’s going on?” she looks between the pair of them suspiciously.

“Just picking up dinner for my family. Jimmy here was smoking a cigarette while he waited for you I’m guessing. I should get going,” she cuts between them as she makes her way into Benny’s. She can’t believe she’d let that happen again. At least last time she’d gotten to come. Now she’d cheated for nothing. She’s had her suspicions about Lonnie, but nothing has ever been confirmed. He’s the father of her children and cheating is not something she does. She feels horrible about it.

The waiter places her food on the counter, picking up her money, as Hopper and Marisa enter the diner. Marisa blabbers on about something, but he’s focused on Joyce who’s intent on keeping her gaze away from them; him specifically. She picks up her food, throwing him a quick glance, and bowing her head as she walks out the door and disappears.

#jopper #stranger things fanfiction #jopper fic #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things #writing #mine

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augustwash1 · 3 years

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Effective Guidelines to Love Life More Hiding your Cell Phone

Is incredibly regular for people to use somebody else's phone and be the first time. In doing so , were seeking to replicate that initial feeling of independence a mobile phone delivers. A relative in another point out was in the hospital. It was a Sunday evening, and I have been invited into a party. Instead of being away having fun I was sitting in my own apartment, awaiting the phone to call, troubled for reports. It was an associate who lend me his cellphone to make certain I will understand any news as quickly as possible, and in addition, be able to go to the party. There was no reason for me personally to be connected to my landline. We look back again at that occasion, and in addition for wondering at exactly how gracious my pal was in loaning me his phone intended for the night (who would volunteer their mobile phone away nowadays? ), My spouse and i couldn’t stop being amazed at the freedom this cellphone gave me. I had been able to venture out and be social - while still staying accessible simultaneously. This is the kind of freedom mobile phones give. But today our phones are about a lot more than audio calls, and they are no more an optionally available possession. They are really integrated into existence in ways not really their designers thought possible. However screen period is the new sitting in a desk chair all day at a time, which I happen to agree is a poor thing. I have a standing table and it is been a life changer. Industry when we are electronically connected more than ever, yet feeling alot more detached than ever, we are being taught, even cautioned, to minimize the dependence on cellular phones. To actually limit our time in front of screens, to put the phone down and also have a real discussion with someone, face to face. Prevention of gadgets and screen time has become becoming a extravagance item; being able to disconnect from your phones to get an extended time period bestows a status that a lot of us can’t afford or obtain. Do it, our company is told, for your sanity in the event that not humanity, and also for your neck: regularly looking straight down at your mobile phone strains your lower back, which leads to all sort of physical distress. I’ve also experienced repeating stress affliction with my hand from a lot of scrolling, and I could trust my forearm sometimes is painful in a odd place if I’ve applied my cellphone for very long. However can be using each of our cell phones a lot really so bad? Does being addicted to the phones genuinely disconnect all of us from others as much we think? Are not there positive factors for the activities that occupy all of us while our company is clutched to our mobile phones? Whenever we use our phones, can there be something we are missing that individuals would be carrying out otherwise? We get a great deal out of using my own cell phone, therefore no, Really dont want that will put it straight down. The answer is to not be socially shamed into using my own cell phone significantly less. The answer is to make certain cellphone use is hard to kick and beneficial and amusing, not a distraction coming from boredom or perhaps isolating you from sociable or professional settings. It is crucial to be intentional and conscious of how youre using your cellphone, not if you’re utilizing it at all or perhaps too much. The minds are constantly operating, processing our many thoughts, worries, problems, plans. We require a thoughts from all this, but sometimes, life is not so very clear cut. Take those movies. I go, nearly exclusively, into a movie theater which has a strict zero phones, no texting policy. They will put your rear end out if you utilize a phone in the theater. Nevertheless when I was having a friend, in which theater, who was being forever texted by his better half. As it happens her mother was in critical wellness trouble. He wound up leaving the movie to arrange to go to the international airport. As great as an uninterrupted movie encounter is, this doesn’t overcome emergencies if they arise. Couple of experiences with another individual will be as close and developing as a shared meal. (Hang on, I’ll get to love-making in a small. ) If there was ever before a moment once you’d wish to connect with somebody else, immediately, eye to eye, devoid of distraction, it might be over a meals. But, much like almost everything, there could be exclusions. What if, over the course of the chat, you start discussing going on a trip together, or about countrywide parks, or about endangered species? Looking up photos showing your associate can add towards the talk. Successfully Googling a well known fact or reference point can help within your debate. Writing a social media post you found provocative, interesting or perhaps important can be a launching level of a conversation. In those occasions, anyone is not distancing your self or placing something among you and someone else, you are sharing. ver post Believe me, sharing can be a magnificent point. What I’m not fighting is that the two of you should be taking a look at Facebook, independently, without interesting with one another. What I am declaring is that your mobile phone can be a conduit, a guideline, a personal guide for source materials, to bring and aid your chat. In case the focus continues to be on the both of you, the phone is really a prop. If the focus is definitely centered on the device, the gadget is the central magnet and you have shed attachment. The previous is very good, these is not. Each of our phones are a device. How we choose to use this instrument is what give them their particular benefit. You might think the very last place you’d want cellphone distraction could be the bedroom. On the surface, two people resting in bed next to each other, every single with cellular phones in their hands, all but disregarding each other, sounds like one of the most depressing, heart and soul-hurting displays one can easily think of modern life. But could it be naturally poor? If I’m reading the New York Times, what does this matter in the event that I’m browsing the actual conventional paper or the digital version in the device? In the event that I’m examining email, exactly what does it matter if I have a laptop or cellphone? If I am mastering games or otherwise distracted, how much does it subject if I am browsing a book of mastering some game? And in fact, rarely we sometimes glamorize reading in bed jointly? I love studying books, and locate it kind of hot my own partner truly does too. Carrying out that during sex together, then simply talking about what we’re browsing, is a great intellectual turn-on. So with every due value to several investigators, in this case, the carrier is usually not the response. What is important here is certainly not the device by itself, yet the activity you are involved in, either together or independently. There could be togetherness when two people are on their phones, just like there is once reading catalogs. Usually the problem arises when utilization of a gadget supercedes something, or perhaps causes a break up if a point of attachment could otherwise arise. Might associated with your telephones from bed mean more sex? Maybe. Should likewise lead to someone getting out of bed faster in the day time, or perhaps sleeping sooner at night. Although we’re while having sex, did you know that through your phone, you can view movies? Or look at photographs of…. whatever it truly is that arouses you? Or work with software meant to foster dialog or activity with a intimate spouse? The device is a tool. It exists without inherent judgment, qualities or worth. What we label of it is up to us. Should i really need to tell you this? Obviously there are times when you should absolutely never touch your smartphone, starting, surely, with driving a vehicle. (Guilty as recharged: I frequently use the Roadmaps applications in the phone to help me acquire where Im going. It’s not so straightforward, is it? ) I think faith based services must be device-free areas and specific zones, as should particular spaces, like gym bathroom rooms, exactly where privacy needs to be respected. I have a distaste for those who use their phone at the health club; I don’t need to hear your business calls although I’m strength training. Also, I see plenty of people using exercise and workout software on their telephones, showing the issue, that just as before, these types of mini-computers inside our pockets happen to be what we make of them. Should you be one of those people who attend a concert and require saving video footage and shooting photographs the full time, I actually ask how much of that is necessary. Taking joy in the moment for yourself, not merely through a device, is highly advised. But…. have I at any time watched concert footage online taken by somebody else? Yes, I use. A few years ago I was by a golf ball game with my Dad. I have been in the habit of checking Tweets during video games to follow along with the city of followers and media to help boost my connection with the game, and to know more about that which was going on. And that’s great for when watching at home. However I had been there. I didn’t will need that community - I had been with 20, 000 people, and my father. So I set my phone in my bank. I missed the comments. I skipped the details of issues I didn’t see since live, you miss much more than you think.

Yet I was in a position to soak in the surrounding. I had been able to talk to my Dad about what we thought would happen next. And later, at nighttime, when we brought up the game, we all reflected upon so many different occasions, details I might have overlooked had I looked at my own cellphone even more. So almost always there is a trade-off. You will come across moments when the mobile phone may distract you. That muddiness can be a awful thing (when you should be discussing with a loved one) or possibly a good thing (when you’re sad and alone and want something to cheer you up). It can disconnect you (when you avoid another person by diving into social media) or enable you to get together (if you look up a joke to see or employ your cellphone to turn on music to boogie to). Let us not hold our equipment responsible for your condition. A couple, lovers, let’s say, lying down in bed. In a single moment, they are both on their cell phones, lost within their own sides. In the next, their particular phones will be off, for the bedside table. What happens subsequent? Anything could happen. It’s up to the two people included. That’s true whether you may have your telephone in your hand or not. Of course, if you do, you also choose how to use your telephone: in a disconnecting way or possibly a sharing approach. If you’re sense bad or perhaps responsible about being with your mobile phone, guess what happens you should carry out. You really should trust your gut. Is essential to carry the person having the phone accountable, do not blame the product.

#smartphones

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dylan-hague · 7 years

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Chapter 34

Jump City. May 4th, 2018. 11:44 AM.

Damian scanned the shelves of books lining the wall of the little shop, overcome with embarrassment. He was always so good about keeping an eye on the gas in both his bikes, so having to pull over because his motorcycle literally wouldn’t go any farther was a total shock to him, and it was accompanied by many bewildered looks and annoying questions from bystanders outside the bookstore where he’d come to a stop, because “why is that kid riding a Yamaha, he can’t possibly be old enough to drive”. Wanting to avoid any more awkward questioning, Damian decided run into the bookstore, because somehow he forgot to charge his phone last night, and when he went to ping a Lyft, his phone was dead. Of course he had his charger on him (preparedness is a prerequisite for victory, after all… although he’d be better prepared if he’d just remembered to charge his phone), but it would still take a while for the cellular device to build up enough juice to get him home. So he went inside, asked if he could plug in, and the man behind the counter was nice enough to let him charge up, as well as use the store’s landline call for someone to bring him a gas can.

While he waited, Damian figured that the least he could do to repay the man for his service was take a look around the store, see if anything caught his eye, which it certainly did: Todd had been nagging at him to pick up a copy of Wuthering Heights for sometime (“It’s a classic! How have you not read it yet??” his brother carried on), and Raven mentioned that she had enjoyed it. Damian figured it couldn’t be any worse than the last book someone had recommended to him… Make no mistake, Machine Man was perfectly fine as a book. It just wasn’t as spectacular as Damian had been led to believe. It relied greatly on ironic turns and played heavily towards the action sci-fi crowd, which Damian found to be an odd mixture that could have worked out better than Drake had convinced him it would. Either way, Damian decided to pick up Wuthering Heights, as well as a new copy of Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales for Raven. (She had apparently loaned her copy to Tara, who then let Garfield take a look at it… Raven got it back yesterday in shreds. She was pretty upset about it.) By then, Damian’s phone had enough power for him to call Jon, who was there a few seconds later with a can of gas for the bike. Say what you will about ol’ Jonno, he was dependable. So once a Damian filled up on gas, he took off without another word to anyone on the street, determined to get home as soon as he could.

And why did Damian not pay attention to his fuel tank? Because he was distracted. Everything was practically upside-down in his life at the moment; despite his claims that he would publicly bring Damian to his knees, Riddler had yet to make any further appearances to anyone, and certainly wasn’t leaving any clues to his whereabouts. Damian didn’t know if he had been immensely over-prepared for his one-on-one with the green-suited puzzler, or if Riddler intended on dragging out this waiting game long enough to wear him thin, but he was upset about it either way. And somehow, Riddler was on the back-burner of Damian’s mind, as he was much more concerned about Raven… she was still shaken up over what he’d done. Damian kicked himself for being so inconsiderate of how she was feeling, because he hadn’t seen her so quiet since before Pier 64 two years ago. She refused to acknowledge it, insisted that everything was fine, but her sentences had become quick, one-word snippets of speech, and it seemed as though she held onto him tighter now than she’d ever done before, wouldn’t let go for much longer. Everywhere in the Tower he went, she would be close by, like she didn’t want to let him out of her sight for a second.

Damian would have loved this if not for the fact that it came as a result of her hurting… it had taken every bit of misdirection, distraction, and disappearance he could think of to keep her from following him right out into town. Why he insisted on going alone, he still didn’t know… but he had an inkling. It was that craving for intimacy that he’d been experiencing, the need to be more affectionate with one another. He and Raven had discussed it, sure, and they agreed they wanted to get closer. But something kept eating at him, gnawing at him from the pit of his stomach. He wanted more, and this time he didn’t like it. He was afraid to find out how much more would be enough. He was an addict, hooked on her like a drug he’d barely tasted. She was his heroin. He didn’t know what he could do, because for every thought he came up with for how to fight back against his body’s unruly impulses, ten more thoughts manifested that made him turn beet red, filled him with shame, and that he couldn’t for the life of him shake off. That look in her eyes that made him wonder if she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, that curve in her lips that made him want to drown himself in her kiss, the warmth of her silky-smooth skin that swallowed him up every time she drew near…

Damian found himself so consumed by his thoughts, he failed to notice the drunk man plowing through the red light to his left until his bike–and the world–had already disappeared from underneath him.

Titans Tower, Jump City. May 4th, 2018. 11:44 AM.

“He ran out of gas.”

Raven kept her eyes shut as she focused on Damian from the roof of the Tower. She could feel the breeze running through her long black hair, she could hear the sound of her breath as the air moved in and out of her lungs. She could even feel Jon’s eyes lock onto her, bewildered by her statement. But her attention stayed on her Damian.

“What? Who ran outta…” Superboy ask about to ask, but his voice trailed of as he realized what she was referring to. “… Raven, are you seriously watchin’ Damian right now?”

“You should go get a can ready for him, he’s gonna ask you to bring him enough to get him home.”

“Raven, look at me.” Jon’s brow furrowed as the pale girl turned her head slightly, half-opening one eye. “I get it, alright? What happened was scary, and Damian coulda got hurt real bad if we all hadn'ta been there. But that don’t mean ya gotta keep him under lock'n'key like this.–”

“No, Jon. You don’t get it.” Raven’s shadow began to waver as she opened both eyes to look back the boy. “You could have caught him yourself, no problem. You’re a Superman, nothing is too big or moves too fast for you to catch. But I couldn’t have saved him by myself. I put everything I had into grabbing him, and he still would have died. I understand you’re only trying to help… but he already died in my arms once. I’m not gonna lose him again.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Jon let out a sigh as he stood up to fly away. “… Y'know, I can hear your heartbeat from anywhere in the world. Once you found him, I could hear his again too… and I heard it stop.” His feet slowly drifted off the roof as he moved out into the open air. “… you weren’t the only one who lost him that day.”

Raven’s eyes were already closed again by the time Jon took off towards the nearest gas station.

She hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense… like she said, he was a Kryptonian. Of course he could hear their heartbeats. Of course he liked to check on them every so often… she did that all the time. So of course he was probably listening for her everyday when she left for Gotham, just to see if she’d found their friend yet. Damian wasn’t just her best friend… Damian was Jon’s friend too. They both loved him.

“Jon, I’m sorry…” she reached out to try to speak to Jon through their minds… she’d never done so before, but she figured it was worth a shot. “I just… he’s all I have. Everything in my heart, it’s for him…”

Silence.

Again, it was worth a shot.

She turned her mind back to Damian. Apparently he’d picked something out at the bookstore, but she couldn’t tell what. He had already put the purchase out of his mind and was just then texting Jon for gas. He walked out the door, and there was Jon, already waiting for him. Many things could be said about Jonathan Kent… but he was a good friend.

Damian seemed troubled, so Raven decided to peek into his mind as he filled the gas tank… she smiled as she saw herself looking back at him in his mind. She blushed as she realized why he seemed so at odds with himself: he wanted to be more. More intimate, more… physical. He was ashamed… no, not just ashamed, afraid. The thought of being so close, so interwoven into someone else… he was terrified. He’d never been in a relationship like that with someone before. Neither had she, now that her mind was on the subject… did she want the same thing? Well… yes. Yes she did. I mean, look at him now. The wind running through his hair, those pale blue eyes looking coldly down the road in front of him, the hands covered in callouses that still felt gentle and welcoming on her skin…

She almost didn’t notice the white station wagon racing towards him from his left. But she did. And she nearly shattered when it barreled into him, sending him spinning through the air, crashing into the back windshield of a blue van parked several feet away.

She let out a scream as she threw herself off the edge of the roof, flying towards the city as fast as Azar’s magic would carry her.

…

When “Rachel” finally reached the hospital, Jon was already there, hugging his knees anxiously in the corner of the waiting room. As she ran to him, he jumped up to do the same and the two latched onto one another, each one clutching at the other’s back for dear life.

“Oh my God… Jon, oh my God…” Raven could barely manage the words before she broke down, falling into the alien’s arms as he sobbed.

“I know Rachel, I know,” Jon fought as hard as he could to hold himself together. “The doctors are doing everything they can, I swear. It’ll be alright… it’ll…” he let out a cough, and sucked in a shaky breath as he struggled harder to keep the tears at bay. “Listen, he’s alive… he’s alive, okay? His heart is still going. He’s breathing, his blood is still pumping.”

“I saw it, Jon…” the witch’s words were broken, and she pulled Superboy in tighter. “I watched him get hit… I… Jon, it was so bad. It happened so fast. It was so fast.”

“Rachel, don’t talk like that. He’s gonna be okay,” Jon was insistent, pulling away and looking into Raven’s eyes. “I promise you, Damian is gonna be fine.”

“Rachel! Jonathan!” The Titans turned to see Bruce and Cassandra Wayne marching towards them.

“Daddy!!” Raven cried as she jumped into Bruce’s arms. “Oh God, I saw it happen! I saw him!!” Bruce wrapped his arm around the half-demon, the other arm bringing Cassie in and holding them both as tight as he could.

“It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart… listen to me, that’s our boy in there,” the Batman whispered into Raven’s ear comfortingly. “That’s our Damian. You know he’s a fighter, you know how strong he is. He’s gonna be fine.” As he held the two girls close to him, he realized what she’d just done: she didn’t cry out “Bruce” or “Mr. Wayne” or even “Batman” (thank God she didn’t say Batman). She called him Daddy. And as much as it warmed his heart to know she felt welcome in his family, he knew what that meant… they were in a public place, surrounded by slack-jawed ordinary people... and frankly, he was Bruce Wayne. Word was bound to get around. He could already picture the headlines… “Daddy’s Girl: Bruce Wayne’s Second Daughter?”

“Rachel…” Raven looked up over Bruce’s shoulder to see Talia al Ghul standing behind them. She rushed forward, cupping Raven’s face and looking right into her with her piercing jade eyes. “Rachel, I’m so sorry. We came as soon as we heard…”

As Raven reached up and put a pale hand over Talia’s dark fingers, a grey-haired doctor stepped out into the waiting room. “Excuse me, we’re looking for the family of Mr. Damian Wayne…?”

Bruce turned to look the man in the eye. “I’m Bruce Wayne. I’m Damian’s father… we’re his family.” The billionaire began gesturing to everyone in their group. “This is his mother, Talia Head, his sister Cassandra, and his fiancée, Rachel Roth. And over there is Jonathan White, Damian’s Best Man.”

Cassie stepped forward. “How is he?”

The doctor put a hand on Cass’ shoulder and smiled. “It’s a miracle, but he’s gonna be fine. We’d like to keep him here for a few days just to be on the safe side, but he’s sustained very little injury. We had to pull some glass out of his back, and he’ll have to come back in a few months for the stitches to come out, but he’s practically undamaged otherwise. No broken bones, no damage to any organs… all he has are some shallow glass wounds and a mild concussion.”

“Oh God!” Bruce fell to his knees, hugging Raven close to him as he began to tear up. “Thank God!! Oh God, my boy… our boy’s okay. He’s okay.” Talia threw her arms around both of them as Jon ran up and did the same, all of them crying and laughing at the good news.

“Can we see him?” Cass asked, her face expressing her relief.

“Of course. He’s just woken up, and asked for Ms. Roth by name.” The doctor beckoned them forward. “If you’ll all just come with me…”

The group rushed down the hall and into a small room at the end of the corridor. There lying in a bed by the window was Damian, all dressed down in a hospital down, his eyes half-open and glazed over, with a little smile on his face.

“Hey…” the Son of Batman said slowly, still clearly dazed from the sedatives. “Dad? Cassie…? Mama? What are you guys doin’ here?”

“Damian…!” Raven ran to the bedside and grabbed her Damian’s face, pressing their lips together as tears streamed down her face. Damian’s eyes drifted shut as he brought his hand to her face, one lighting on her cheek as the other ran through her hair. After a brief moment, Raven broke away to look into the boy’s tired eyes.

Damian licked his lips and grinned back at her. “Rae…” he mumbled, “… have I ever told you you smell like strawberries…?”

Raven bit her lip as she felt her laughter coming up, holding in her reaction as best she could… unlike Jonathan, who had to walk back out into the hallway because he was laughing so hard. “Baby, you were in an accident,” she said, fighting back her giggle. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah… yeah, I got hit by a car.” Damian scratched his head as he thought back. “Like… I got hit by a car… into another car, right?”

Raven grinned as she nodded. “That’s right, Damian,” she stuttered. “But the doctors say you’re okay. You’re gonna have to stay in bed for awhile, but you’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh, good!” Damian exclaimed, his face beaming. “That’s really good! Can I… can I come home?”

“Not yet, baby…” the mage-girl cooed as she stroked Damian’s hair. “We need to wait a few days, okay? But I’m gonna be right here. I’ll be right here until we get to bring you home.”

“M'kay…” Damian smiled back at the girl. “Raven, I’m so glad you’re here…”

“Me too, Dame… me too.” Raven touched her nose to his gently, prompting a tired giggle from the boy. She turned to walk off so someone else could see him, and…

“Ooh… still cute.”

Raven’s face turned completely red as she realized what the drug-addled Titan was referring to. Damian lazily snickered as the poor girl walked past Talia, whose jaw had long since dropped at her son’s practically non-existent inhibitions.

“Damian!!” Talia yelled, biting back a cackle. “That was incredibly inappropriate!”

“Hey, Mama!!” Damian shouted, arms outstretched. “I love you, Mama!” Talia just shook her head and wrapped her arms around her son.

“Damian, I think we ought to have Raven heal you now…” Bruce whispers from across the room. “I heard about Riddler being here in California, and it would be best for everyone if we got you back in the field soon.”

The half-conscious Damian shook his head. “We rely too heavily on Rae-Rae’s healie-doo…” (Raven visibly cringed at the mention of the nickname) “I think I should juss do thissun analog. Old-school healies, y'know.” At this point, even Bruce had to hold back a chuckle.

“Well, that still leaves the issue of Riddler to deal with. I have to get back to Gotham, but I think I know someone who can help…” the Batman smirked as he pulled out his phone, holding it up to his ear. “… Hey, it’s me. Your semester just let out, right? Because I’m calling in a solid you owe me.”

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kristie-rp · 4 years

Text

monster - lyle/josé

In the dark, in the dark it can hear when I breathe Now it’s closing in on me

it’s getting louder now, it’s getting louder now ((now))

It would be easy, he thinks, watching the drunk stumble in the alley. The man is overweight and staggering, and he knows he was just thrown out for putting his hands on the performers at La La Lace without consent. He doesn’t respect woman, at a glance, and he doesn’t have friends who come out to check on him.

No one will miss him, says a voice in Lyle’s head. It’s the voice that sounds like a terrifying hybrid of everything he’s running from, his mum and his dad and his younger brother and his baby sister, dark and twisted and selfish. His life is worth an end to this goddamned agony.

He spins away from the guy, forces himself back into the run he is on. He stopped to down half the water he’s brought with him, but he shouldn’t. Every time I stop lately, I think like that. It’s not worth it. Just keep running.

So he does, feet pounding on the pavement, shooting stabbing pain up from the balls of his feet. It shakes through his legs and is lost in the throbbing and aches the rest of his body has settled into. The pain is a constant, and running is rarely a relief, but he needs to do something to try to burn out the thoughts, the cravings, the twitch of his fingers and the way his blood thrums in his veins.

It isn’t like it’d be hard to kill him, the voice starts up again, louder and reaching for attention. This is his brothers voice.

His fathers voice adds: it was our idiotic ancestor who caused this, not us. Our guilt is pointless when it’s clearly their fault.

His mother: There is no reason I should be feeling pain when a little drop of lifeblood will make it all go away.

Lyle pushes himself harder and faster, refusing to look at anyone he passes on the sidewalk. If he does, the thoughts will become more directed, more like planning. If he plans, he is terrified he will lose control. If the temptation gets too much, or he stops to think even passively about a plan, then he’ll be able to feel the desperation and desire for a reprieve clawing at his veins.

I will not be like them, he thinks desperately. He will not kill more people for no reason at all. He will not take a life. He will not become what he fears and hates, a soulless coward afraid of his own pain. He can own it, he’s been owning it for years. He’s only slipped up twice, and the guilt each time tears him apart almost as badly as the pain he’s in now.

I will not be like them, he tells himself, but he knows the thoughts about how to make this fucking invasive agony s t o p are just waiting for him to slip up for a second to claw their way to the top and take control of his life again.

don’t make another sound (I can feel it coming to life) ((then – the first))

“You knew this man was a killer,” she accuses. She is crackling with energy, rage and grief battling for dominance on her delicate features.

“I had no proof, I only suspected. He had not yet been caught in the act.” Ioseph sounds bored, defensive and blunt; he has no interest in defending his decisions, but considering he is on the cusp of receiving accolades for stopping a mass murderer, he has no choice but to listen.

“You killed him,” she says, very slowly, “only after you saw him kill my daughter?”

There’s a flash of guilt at this, but Ioseph steels himself quickly. “What is one life in the face of the countless I have saved, now? Without putting myself at risk of angering the courts? Witnessing a murder warrants a kill. Suspecting a prior crime does not.”

“You will pay for your hesitance to kill him,” she spits, acidic, and storms away.

Ioseph dismisses her claims easily, and focuses instead on his work.

it’s getting closer now, it’s getting closer now ((then – the witchdoctor))

The pain is debilitating enough that Ioseph struggles to move, but it is his infant daughter who worries him so. He has pain bad enough to keep him awake and on the cusp of howling from it constantly, now, whereas before killing the killer, he was healthy and fit.

His infant daughter, Melanie – she screams constantly, does not sleep, refuses the food he and his partner can offer her. His wife is sleeping poorly, as well, complaining of a constant ache in and around Melanie’s screams.

He is desperate for a cure, and it is that that brings him to the witchdoctor who calls herself Devi. She works with all kinds of ailments, it is said. The townspeople whisper that she can solve anything.

“It is you who let Elizabeth die,” she says bluntly, opening her door to him. She is brewing him a cup of tea as she says this. “What would you have me do?”

“I have had pain ever since shortly after that,” he says, “a constant pain that will not abate. It was a struggle to get here; I thought I would collapse with every step. The clothes I am wearing are too much pressure, too heavy to be comfortable, and I am not sleeping. That is at least partly because my daughter – she is less than a year old. She has been screaming ever since this pain started.”

“And you didn’t bring her to be looked over?”

“She screams louder when touched,” he explains, exhausted and guilty and miserable.

“Hm,” Devi says, placing a teacup before him. The liquid is a dark brown initially, but after he takes a sip and puts it down, swallowing despite the terrible taste, the liquid has turned a vibrant violet, more at home on a flower petal than in this cup.

He stares at it for a moment, then glares at the witchdoctor. “You have poisoned me,” he accuses, annoyed and on edge.

“I have diagnosed you,” she corrects, dumping the violet liquid into the fire and busying herself putting together something else. The flames gutter and shoot upward, and he is instantly confused and annoyed. “And now I am offering you medicine, and a cure.”

Ioseph watches intently as she produces a small phylactery of what looks like blood, rich and dark red, from the midst of her cupboards. She empties it into a cup, and gives it to him without adding anything else. “This is blood,” he says, convinced without checking.

“Drink it and I will explain,” she orders, and he does so. He stares at his hands as the ache recedes, just enough to be manageable. Enough to eliminate the shaking. “It’s vampire blood,” she says, “mixed with the blood of a human child.”

“That’s disgusting, and you’re insane,” he says, scrambling to his feet.

“That is not the treatment, and it will wear off by midnight,” she retorts, brow raised. “Besides, the treatment I have in mind would help your baby. I have a theory.”

“A theory,” he echoes, horrified and morbidly curious. What medicine involves human and vampire blood? What cure can help Melanie?”

“Vampire blood, from the source, for now. That will be enough until she becomes a woman,” she says. Devi the witchdoctor has a reputation for being insane and offering outlandish cures – but the thing is, the whispers say it will work. “For you and for her, when she’s older, though – well. Blood is the best cure I can offer.”

“Drinking it?”

“Eh,” she says, “touching it would be enough, were it lifeblood.”

He’s quiet for a long while, as he processes the implications of this. Lifeblood, not just blood? Murder, not injury. Unforgiveable crime. “It wouldn’t be once and done, would it.”

“No. It’d be quite regular. More regular for your descendants.”

Ioseph does think about it. He thinks about the blood on his hands for agreeing to this, of how he could end the line and end the problem. Of how he killed a man for murdering a single girl, but that this is infinitely worse. That if his family continued to have this curse, then he is technically responsible for every person they kill in the future. And then the thinks of his daughter, tiny and fragile, screaming her agony to the heavens. He sighs. “I have to protect my daughter,” he says quietly, devastated but strong. “How do I arrange this – treatment? The blood of a vampire?”

The witchdoctor smiles grimly.

it’s gonna run me down (I can feel it coming to life) ((then – it hurts))

José has curled in on himself and is holding very still, fighting not to move. The trembling defies him, makes him a failure, and he worries that he might shake out of his skin. The last time he experienced pain like this – well. He doesn’t think he has, ever. If it gets bad, his dad says, the key is to take something from someone else.

The ‘something’ is their life.

He’s not stupid. José is fully aware that his dad is a psychopath who kills people in their basement. Their mum helps, lures people in with saccharine smiles and sugar-sweet bribes, cookies and candy and home cooked meals, a Stepford smiler if ever one existed.

He has proof, too, in his own memories, in being forced – by his father – to slit a womans’ throat with shaking hands. The woman had been a tourist, and she’d been the first, but he still remembers fear and pity battling on her face, the way she’d tried to tell him she understood this wasn’t him who wanted to hurt her around the blood she was choking on. He’s never going to forget how it felt, the heavy guilt and pain of ending a life, especially a woman whose only crime was trusting the Madison family. He remembers his mum waiting near the top of the basement staircase, remembers the encouraging smile when he looked to her for help. Remembers his hands, steadying as the tourists blood pours over them, pain fading for the first time since he started to go through puberty.

He’s shaking apart in his room five and a half years later, recently graduated with the blood of plenty of others on his hands, and he feels most guilty about what stands out – the first one. He never even found out what her name was, not like the other ones, where he stole ID cards from the pile his parents were disposing of, picked names and contact information from others, faked being older than he is and called from payphones and borrowed landlines to let people know their loved ones ID had been found, and that there was no sign of the person. At least it gave some closure, even if he was constantly insinuating people who’d done nothing but die had decided to abandon everything.

“José, baby? Come downstairs,” his mum called, “it’s time.”

He stared at his hands for a long moment, willing them to stop shaking. Of course they don’t. The pain is always there, will or no, and he’s been putting this off for too long – long enough that he would describe himself as in agony. “Coming, mum,” he croaks, dragging himself out of his bed and out from his room.

He forces himself to smile at her when she greets him at the base of the stairs, allowing her to eagerly escort him to the basement. “This one is special, a destructive brat,” she is saying as the door opens and he adjusts to the swinging single lightbulb his father has already turned on.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to play in the neighbours garden?” his father is crooning. José can hear the smugness of it, and does not allow himself to cringe at the mocking, infantile tone.

“I’m sorry,” says a high voice, and José stops and stares. The victim – the one his mum is so excited to see die – cannot be even seven years old. She’s a little bigger than the average six-year-old, round with baby fat, and her face is contorted in a desperate, miserably confused visage, in the midst of a tantrum but restrained. “I didn’t mean to. I promise if you let me go I won’t even tell my mum.”

There are two who stand out, he corrects himself. The first one, whose name he will never know, and this one. This is Claudia, he knows. She is friends with the kids who live across the street. She chatters excitedly about horses and how mummy is busy helping animals whenever she can get José’s attention. She’s six years old and asks a million questions and is unfortunately incredibly clumsy. He doesn’t know what she did, or what his mum think she did, but he does know this: whatever it was, it doesn’t warrant the end of her little life.

“No,” José breathes, then, louder: “Are you getting stupid in your old age? She knows us! Her babysitters know she knows us!”

“Please,” his mum says, disinterested except for faint amusement. “Leslie is a paranoid alcoholic rumourmonger who only ends up babysitting because she lacks the commitment to keep a job. No one will believe a word she says.”

José is grasping desperately at straws, and he clenches his fist to keep his fingers from shaking away from his hands. “I won’t hurt her, d’you hear me? Her name is Claudia – I met her mum. If you hurt her, I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them all.”

“Don’t be an idiot, José,” his father says. He has left Claudia’s side, at least, and he has one hand on the banister. He looks up at him with mild concern. “You have been involved for years. Henry will need it, soon. What will you tell them? ‘My parents force me to kill people so that I and they don’t have to live in agony, because my fool of an ancestor upset the wrong person’? Please. We know you better than that; you won’t send yourself to jail to protect some brat. Besides, it’s too late now. If we let her go, she can report us.”

José’s lip twists in disgust. Wouldn’t he? Is he really not the sort of person to do this? Has he played the part so perfectly that his parents are convinced he would never betray them?

“Come have some milk, darling,” his mum says, hand on his arm. She looks worried, and a little annoyed. “I’m sure this silliness will pass afterward.”

José forces himself to meet his fathers gaze, and tries not to think about the pain, and the way the medicine to stop it is in Claudia’s bloodstream. “Let her go,” he orders, as though he’s ever had any control over the man. “Knock her out and let me take her back to Leslie. I can tell them she tripped and knocked her head. They’ll write off anything she says as a lie from a dream she had while unconscious,” he says, forcing his tone to be placid and reasonable. He goes for soothing and thinks he misses it, but his parents exchange a look.

It’s his father who sighs first.

“Fine, have it your way,” he says, and knocks Claudia out.

José thinks a lot as he takes her home, struggling to hold her with shaking arms. Leslie answers the door with her sneakers swinging from her fingertips and audibly gasps in alarm. “I was just coming to look for her, her mum’s due to pick her up in two minutes,” she explains, allowing both of them into her home. Her kids hover in the doorway, and she waves off their presence and fetches them to get first aid kits and water. “Poor thing, what happened?”

“She must have tripped,” José says lamely. “I found her around the side gate at our place.”

“Oh, dear,” Leslie says, sounding worried and upset. “I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine what she was doing there by herself. She always wonders off. When she didn’t come back, I thought – well, you know how many missing people they report in this part of town.” José shifts uncomfortably as Leslie rattles on, aware of the numbers, and of how all of them, so far as he knows, are courtesy of his family. There are more, he knows, more who disappear to the Madisons and never come out, taken in groups of two and three so no one can report them missing, when everyone is coming up having not touched lifeblood for too long.

“I need to get going,” he interrupts awkwardly as a car pulls into the driveway – Claudia’s mother, he figures. He has accidentally timed this perfectly, and Leslie lets her go.

He barrels past his mother and into his bedroom, dragging a suitcase with shaking fingers. Henry, his younger brother – nine years old, too close to all of this, and already a psychopath, torturing animals from the park for fun while their parents coo and approve – comes to his bedroom doorway and stares at him. “You going somewhere?”

“Go away, Henry. You wouldn’t get it.”

Henry’s expression doesn’t shift. It very rarely does. “Sure I do. You’re weak. You don’t like putting people through suffering ‘cause you think yours isn’t important enough to stop.” The brat snorts. “You don’t understand that if they’re dumb enough to get killed, they deserve it.”

José looks at him, horrified to hear the idea put into words – and by his nine year old brother, no less. What the fuck, he thinks, and then: this is so wrong. Pain is wracking his body, and he’s just had to talk his parents out of killing a kid he likes, and he’s tired and depressed and feels so, so isolated and alone. He hasn’t had a friend since primary school; his parents discourage connections for obvious reasons, and once he was in on it, the idea of walking temptation in front of them didn’t much appeal. He’s the only decent person in this house, except maybe for Kyle, who doesn’t know the pain yet and who is never going to know him if he does what he’s planning. “We don’t get to say who deserves to live and die,” he says quietly, and shuts the door in Henry’s face.

He shoves things into his bag as neatly as he can, considering he can’t get his hands to still. He’s unsteady on his feet, exhausted in his bones, and all he can think is this is a house, not a home, except it’s a home with his family, except – and it goes round and around as he shoves things in, until he stops, sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands even though he knows he’s going to find it a struggle to unfold himself.

“It’s not fair,” he mutters aloud, thinking, it’s not on me.

He pulls out his phone and loads up the town transport app to figure out how he can get anywhere but here, in as untraceable manner as possible.

#kwrites #kwriting #kristie's writing #kristie writes #ft. lyle #ft. kylie #ft. henry #ft. jeff #ft. marilyn #ft. ioseph #ft. devi #hc #headcanon #hc: lyle #hc. lyle #tw murder #tw blood

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psychotherapyconsultants · 5 years

Text

Hidden Losses

No one should die in December. Not that death is ever convenient or well timed, but it is the rare person who has extra time during the holiday season to accommodate the disruption death brings to life. As a psychologist, it is the time of year when my practice is the busiest and sessions often have a poignant depth, setting the stage for the hard work to come in January. The contrast between the joyful expectations of the season and the holiday blues is probably felt most acutely in therapists’ offices. On December 9, 2018, I was hanging ornaments on my Christmas tree when my home phone rang. Assuming it was an end-of-year solicitation, I almost didn’t answer it, but I thought it might be my mother calling. At 93, she is one of the few people in my life who still uses my landline.

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Instead, the call brought shocking news that Larry was dying. Larry was like a brother to me and had been part of my life since I was 10. Larry was the person I would call if my mother was in the hospital as he lived only a few blocks away from her in New York City. But suddenly I heard, “Larry had a massive stroke an hour ago and isn’t expected to make it.” Two weeks earlier, I had given him a hug goodbye after another memorable Thanksgiving at his home. Our families have shared Thanksgiving for over 25 years. This year, we had celebrated Larry’s recent retirement and 65th birthday as well. Less than a half hour later, my husband and I were in the car on the Massachusetts Turnpike heading from Boston to Manhattan. Not knowing how long I would be gone, I had grabbed my briefcase with my appointment book. As my husband drove, I began texting my Monday appointments to cancel our sessions explaining that a friend had suddenly died. Over the next month, despite multiple trips to New York City for family gatherings and the memorial service, I missed just two days of scheduled work. As a result, only a small percentage of my practice learned about my recent loss. Typically, whenever I share personal information with a client, it’s a thoughtful decision timed to illuminate something specific for that person. In this case, it was an arbitrary act of scheduling that created two groups: those who knew and those who didn’t. This contrasted sharply with my experience 30 years ago when my father died, and I canceled all my sessions for a couple of weeks. More recently, I had experienced another loss, when a former client was murdered, a loss I carried privately and never shared with any of my clients. Now, I realized I needed to be cognizant of who knew and who didn’t so I could be emotionally prepared to respond when someone offered condolences. I suddenly found that I was straddling two worlds within my own practice. I was having the mirror experience of some of my clients, those for whom I serve as the person in their life who knows about a “hidden loss.” I carry the knowledge of abortions and abuse. I am privy to unfulfilled dreams and broken promises. One of the gifts of an established therapy relationship is not needing to give the “Cliffs Notes” version of life events. Clients count on me to understand the complexity of their relationships. I know when the death of a parent is a relief and when it is a deep hurt. Therapy is not a reciprocal relationship, and I do not expect my clients to take care of me, but admittedly, it was comforting to be asked, “How are you?” Not surprisingly, I found myself feeling closer to the clients who knew of Larry’s death than to those who didn’t. When I could speak about my love for this friend, I felt more whole. When clients asked how I was doing, acknowledging my grief allowed me to put it aside and enter into the therapy hour better able to listen. In the few moments I took to explain that Larry was a dear friend whose hospitality and generosity over the years had made Thanksgiving my family’s favorite holiday, it was an opportunity to pay homage to this extraordinary man. Introducing the information to clients who did not know about this event in my life seemed intrusive and unhelpful. Perhaps at some later date, when my experience of an unexpected death felt applicable, I might have revealed this bit of my own history at my own discretion to a particular client. For now, the discrepancy between the two groups of clients in my practice was the consequence of cancelled appointments. Switching between sessions with people who were aware of my loss and those who were not reminded me anew of how much energy it takes to conceal pain. Keeping parts of ourselves private is important professionally, but it does come at a cost to our own psyches. As those clients who were not aware of my loss offered well wishes for the holidays and the new year, I tried to join in the cheer. But inside, I was struggling to adjust to a new normal, a life without someone I loved, a loss hidden from much of the world, but certainly not from my heart. from http://www.psychotherapy.net/blog/title/hidden-losses

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danithebookaholic-blog · 7 years

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My Top Five Favorite Books of All Time

Over the last 30 years I have read a small mountain of books. Classic works such at Dante’s Devine Comedy and Cervantes’ Don Quixote. Literature works by Jane Austen and Nikolai Gogol. To the modern day works of Stephen King and Patrick Rothfuss, Kristen Hannah and Sylvia Day, Stephenie Meyer and Rick Riordan. There are so many writers and stories out there to be told and experienced, it’s hard to pick just five that I love. But after considerable thought, I think I have if narrowed down…ish. So, in no particular order, the following are my top five favorite books of all time…for now at least.

1) The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

I first read The Great Gatsby in my high school AP English class. Unlike most of the student in class, I actually read it and fell in love with it immediately. I love the roaring 20s in America. I often tell myself I was born too late. I should have been born in the late 1800s so I could have enjoyed the ever-changing world at the turn of the century. I envy my grandparents who could remember the first time they ever saw a car. They started their family just after the Great Depression, and got to experience the 1920s all on their own! The music, the dress, the speakeasies. This was my era, and I missed it by almost 70 years.

The Great Gatsby has so many lessons in it, and the first one is found on the very first page:

“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

I think that’s the biggest reason why I love this book so much. What can I say, I’m an old soul. I like books that have a deeper meaning than what’s on the surface. I like books with moral lessons, and that ask the hard questions. And you get this with The Great Gatsby.

The writing style can be a bit dry at times, but that was also the style and language during the time in which it was written. If you can get past that part, you’ll thoroughly enjoy the book. It’s about glitz and glamor, extravagant parties, old and new money, adultery and car chases, and learning a lesson in the end.

2) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K Rowling

Of course, I loved the entire Harry Potter series, but I’m not going to cheat and say the entire series. I chose The Deathly Hallows because it amazes me how good of a job J. K. Rowling did with not only concluding the series, but how she began the series. Let me try to explain.

In the very first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Rowling introduces to you to the cloak of invisibility, one of the Deathly Hallows. Throughout the series Rowling continues to introduce you to the other Deathly Hallows. As you’re reading the series you don’t think twice about these object that she has made know to you. You just think, “Oh, that’s cool,” and move on. When the Deathly Hallows are introduces in The Deathly Hallows things start to click. You start to realize all the time and effort she put into planning this seven-book anthology. Years before, when she first thought of The Sorcerer’s Stone she already kind of knew the ending. She knew that she was going to have to bring these objects in throughout the series and make you understand how important they are, without giving the ending away, and she did an amazing job at it.

Another piece that she did this same thing with were the horcruxes. From the beginning, little do you know, the horcruxes are a part of your life and you don’t really begin learning about them until book six, Harry potter and the Half Blood Prince.

I understand that all authors must create this world of theirs before they can publish. They should come up with the history of each character and how each character’s life intertwines with the others throughout the story. There are authors out there who do this and do this well, but I firmly believe that Rowling is bar none the best. I don’t know how long she worked on this story in her head or on paper before finally going to a publisher with a rough draft, but I’m sure it took a long time. More that she probably gives credit for. The complexity of this series is on a whole other level, and yet it’s simple enough for it to be in the children’s section. The whole thing boggles my mind and inspires it all at the same time.

3) Wizard’s First Rule (Book 1 of The Sword of Truth) by Terry Goodkind

It has been many years since I read Wizard’s First Rule, 15 at least. I hold this book in such high regard though because it is the book that opened the fantasy world to me. Before The Sword of Truth series, I only read Nicholas Sparks, Harry Potter (which I know is a form of fantasy, but in my mind, not the same thing), and classics that you read in school. This is also probably the book that made my love of books flourish.

Wizard’s First Rule is a story of a mythical world that closely resembles our own. A world in which goodness and honesty are plagued by the forces of darkness and deception. It’s a tale of risk all for the sake of love, and a journey into the darkness of the human soul. Filled with magic, indigenous peoples, and far-off places, this is a great book to spark the love you’ll soon have for fantasy stories.

4) The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks

The Notebook holds a special place in my heart because it makes me think of my early relationship with Jack, and so, I’m probably a little bias on this one due to this reason. I first read it right before the movie was to come out in 2004. Jack had graduated high school in 2003 and almost immediately went into the Navy. While he had been out of boot camp for some time, he had stayed in Chicago on the Naval base there for further schooling. I, on the other hand, was getting ready to start my senior year of high school and was missing him terribly.

One day, while on the phone, I convinced Jack to let me read The Notebook to him. He must have really loved me, because he said yes. It took the entire day, and looking back at the memory, I’m surprised my parents never caught us—after all this was before everyone had cell phones, and I had called him from the landline.

I love this book of Nicholas Sparks not only for that memory, but because the story reminds me so much of Jack and me. A young, unusual couple meet through the most unlikely of circumstances, and fall in love. With everything in the world against them, they somehow (eventually) make it and get to spend their lives together. The part that really gets me is the part the Jack and I have yet to experience: those golden years, of being old and still in love. Anytime we see an older couple together, hand in hand, I always ask him, reassuring myself, “That’s going to be us one day, right?” His response is always the same, “One day.”

I’m incredibly nervous for that day. First, to think that I will have spent most of my life with one person is awesome and scary. Second, I’m afraid that I, like Allie, will develop Alzheimer’s and not remember that I love him. My grandmother was one of the youngest cases of Alzheimer’s in the state of West Virginia, and while it’s still unknown if it’s a hereditary trait, anytime I find myself forgetting something, or not being able to remember my words, I freak out a little on the inside. It’s a scary and sad disease to watch someone you love slowly forget who you are. And I never want my family to have to experience this. The Notebook encapsulates all of this for me.

5) The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The Little Prince is a book I plan on reading to my children from a very early age and multiple times over. It’s a book that I wish I had read at a younger age, but wasn’t introduced to it until Jack found it in his parents’ basement shortly after his mother had passed away. When he found out I had never read it, he handed it to me and told me that I must read it, and I couldn’t agree with him more. If you haven’t read it—or seen the Netflix Original—then you need to do so.

The Little Prince is loved by children and adults alike because of its view of what is important in the world. It opens with a pilot that is stranded in the desert who finds himself face to face with a young boy. The boy asks the pilot to, “Please, draw me a sheep.” After a while the pilot realizes that when life’s events are too difficult to understand there is no choice but to succumb to their mysteries. So, he pulls out a piece of paper and begins to draw. And this is where the wise and enchanting fable takes flight and teaches the secret of what is really important in life.

The Little Prince, like Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie, is a book that every child needs to read to keep them young, and every adult needs to remind them to never grow up.

From one wine-loving bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix. —Dani

Start a conversation: What is your favorite book of all time, and why?

Have a book you’d like to suggest or one you’d like me to review? Please feel free to leave your comments down below.

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