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skullrock · 4 years

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the campers, chapter four - Steve x Reader

gif by @harringtown

chapter four: the routine

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: The first week of camp is in full swing, bringing a few surprises with it.

warnings: swearin’!

word count: 4k (hehe)

a/n: this chapter encompasses the time span of a week so it’s a lil long and has some stuff happening but I hope you enjoy! things are spicin’ up but not like you’d expect! you can catch up on the series here! (ps Hop didn’t die in s4 because I said so <3)

===

Camp Know Where buzzes with excitement as the new campers file in on Monday. This is Steve’s first ever orientation - well, besides the one he just went through. He’s never been in a position like this, and he’s nervous as he checks people in. But it’s an easy job.

Until the Party walks in.

Steve stares at them all, mouth agape. El, Mike, Max, Lucas, Will - they’re all here, all carrying bags. Mike takes the lead, glaring tensely at Steve, as usual. Steve avoids him and looks at El. “Are you allowed to be here?”

She nods. “Hop’s letting me.”

Steve shakes his head and finds their names on the roster. He should have known, should have seen their names, but it’s actually a nice surprise. Well, except for Mike. But he’s happy everyone else is here.

“Where’s Dustin?” Lucas asks.

“Helping with move in.” Steve looks up. “Does he know you’re here?”

“It’s a surprise,” Will says, beaming.

“That’s nice,” Steve says slowly. “Well, don’t be dickheads, okay? Don’t make my job harder for me.”

El shakes her head, but Mike scoffs, “You’re a counselor?”

Steve gestures to his shirt. “Did you think I just disappeared for the past two weeks?”

“I hoped so.”

Max hits his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

They all step past the table, and Steve puts his head in his hands. They’re gonna kill me, he thinks. A part of him is really happy they’re here, though. He’s not sure if that means he really is fond of them, or if he’s just happy that he can keep them safe here. He straightens and continues helping others check in, directing them to their cabins.

You come up a while later, suppressing a smile as you approach him. He looks flustered, perfected hair now a mess. His cheeks are red and his brows are furrowed as he tries to figure out how many more kids are left to come in.

“How’s it going?” you ask.

He looks up and smiles softly. “So great.”

“It’s not all this boring,” you explain. “Or stressful. It’ll be fun soon, I promise.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “You better not be lying to me.”

“What if I am?”

He thinks for a moment. “I’ll flip your kayak.”

You laugh - a loud, ringing laugh. Steve smiles, pleased to have earned it from you. He wants your friendship to go smoothly, he wants you to like him. After yesterday’s confrontation and subsequent confession of enjoyment, he was starting to think maybe it was going to work out. Maybe you both weren’t going to dislike each other.

You straighten, still smiling down at him. “I’d like to see you try, Steve.” You knock twice on the table he’s at. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Steve nods, and you linger for just a second longer before heading off.

===

Steve continues to surprise you through the first week.

Though you still don’t get the appeal of him, you notice that many of the campers love going to see him for their intramurals. And he’s really good at teaching kids how to dodge a ball, or serve, or kayak. You’d never seen nerds so excited to interact with a jock, but they were, and it was actually heartwarming to see. You watched from the sidelines on your breaks as Steve helped teach kids tennis and soccer, his face red from the sun but beaming. He’d pause to wave at you before continuing, and you had a hard time prying yourself away from the scene. It was like it was in his nature to be a teacher, to care after others - and you’d never really seen that in a preppy jock before.

You also never expected a guy like Steve, known jerk, to be so good at interacting with kids.

You’re walking along the shore before dinner on Thursday when you hear shouts coming from the lake. You squint as you look out before seeing the source.

Steve had taught the kids a new game on the kayaks. They’d pass a ball with their paddles back and forth, and if they could get the ball into the seat of their opponent, they got a point. It was probably extremely dangerous, but the kids had fun, and so did he. He was soaked to the bone after every game, but his face hurt from laughing, and that was enough.

You watch from the shore as he and three other campers play, and you shake your head. Another counselor, Mia, comes up behind you and laughs. “He’s pretty popular, huh?”

“Always has been,” you say, turning to face her.

“He’s nice to watch, isn’t he?” She stands on her tiptoes to look past you. “I could watch that man’s arms for days.” You roll your eyes, and she frowns. “You don’t think so?”

You sigh. “He’s just… Steve. I don’t get the appeal.”

“You’re the only one, it seems,” she says, smiling again. “What is he, your villain origin story?”

It’s surprising how accurate the phrasing is. “It’s complicated.”

She shrugs. “You seem to get along well now, at least. Put in a good word for me, yeah?”

Your words catch in your throat as she walks away.

Part of you does like Steve. You find enjoyment in him - he’s goofy, he’s funny, he’s kind, and he’s smart. But he’s also the person who made you cry every summer. He’s your childhood bully - how could you enjoy his company? You confuse yourself with your own feelings. It’s like mental gymnastics, trying to hang on to your anger and resentment while equally wanting to like him.

You shake your thoughts out of your head and walk off the shore, away from Steve and his charm.

===

The week ends on Friday, leaving everyone exhausted. The Party kept Steve busy when he wasn’t leading intramurals, draining him fully of his energy. They were going to watch a movie with Suzie in one of the recreation rooms, leaving Steve by himself. He was worn and tired, sunburnt and hot. But he still jogged up to you when he sees you after dinner.

“Y/N!”

You whirl around to face him, a friendly smile crossing your face as he comes up.

“Hey,” he says. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Just since Monday.”

He shrugs. “Felt like a long time.”

There’s a silence before you clear your throat. “How was your week?”

A wide smile spreads over his face. “It was amazing!”

You let him gush, because you’re genuinely interested. He tells you about how easy it is for him to talk to the campers, how he created Kayak Ball (“still working on a better name”), and how he’d made some friends with other counselors. Which leads him to ask, “Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

Shit.

The annual First Friday Bonfire was tonight, and you’d forgotten all about it. It was usually a very spiritual experience - people would write stories from their past, things that bother them, share it to the group, and then burn the paper in the flames. It was like a reawakening - fire is cleansing, after all. Just last year, you’d wrote about the Steve standing in front of you, hair disheveled and grinning dorkily. You burned the paper and went on with your life.

You never expected he’d be here. It’s a bit mind-boggling.

“Yeah,” you say. “Are you?”

“If you are,” he says, suddenly uncertain. “I don’t really know -”

“Steve, everyone here loves you. You’ve made friends.” You hope the bitterness you feel isn’t being translated into your tone. “You can hang out with these people. They like you.”

He nods, frowning. “I know. It’s just….” He sighs heavily. “I’ve never had people… like me before.”

Your stomach falls as you remember what he had told you about - how he hadn’t talked to Tommy since junior year. These were the first adults he had interacted with in years; he was bound to be nervous.

“I’ll be there.” You reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “But you don’t need me. Everyone here thinks you’re incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the only thing the girl counselor cabin talks about.”

You see a blush creep up his cheeks. “Really?”

You don’t want to indulge him - you shouldn’t indulge him - but you do. “Every girl here has the hots for you. Maybe even some of the boys.”

Steve’s breath catches. “Every girl?”

You stare at him awkwardly. “Well - n… no, not every girl, but - enough.” You feel embarrassment creeping hotly through your veins. “Not - not me, if you’re thinking -”

“No, no,” he says, just as awkwardly as you. “No, I know that.” He smiles slightly. “You hate me.”

A smile turns the corners of your lips. “Yeah. I hate you.”

“Right.”

A long and awkward silence ensues before he says, “Yeah - okay. I will see you tonight.”

===

Hours later, you saunter over to the counselor bonfire, located right off the shore of the lake. It’s a beautiful, clear night - a slight breeze rustles the trees and the fire licks the stars. You’re a bit late, and Steve’s nervous that you won’t show up. Despite this, he is literally surrounded by the female counselors, who are eagerly asking him about himself.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble as you approach.

“Look who it is!” Josh shouts out as you near. “Y/N, we’ve been waiting for you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” you say dryly, entering the circle.

Steve pats the log beside him - he had saved you a seat. With all these girls surrounding him, he saved you a seat. He had to tell them, “hey, don’t sit there, it’s reserved,” while he waited for you to show up. It’s a sweet gesture, one that sends your heart beating a little too fast for your liking. You sit beside him, giving a tight lipped smile.

The girls all smile at you, as if it’s all some type of game. And you know why they’re so amused - you had dramatically cut them off each night when Steve would be brought up. You’d throw a pillow over your head and shout at them to just shut up already. They thought you weren’t immune to his charms, just as they weren't. You roll your eyes at them.

Josh hands you a piece of paper and a pencil. “We’re doing the burning ceremony in a few.”

You take the paper and pencil from him gently, sitting it on your lap. Beside you, Steve is clutching his paper tightly to his chest. You bite the inside of your cheek as you think about what to write down - you’d already metaphorically burned Steve last year. You simply write down my past with no elaboration, intending to feed everyone a fake story and then throw it into the fire.

Steve himself didn’t need to think very long about what to write down. His biggest regret was the way he had treated people. A nauseous jerk tugs at his stomach when he thinks about high school, when he thinks about Nancy and Jonathan, when he thinks about the mask he always hid behind. He’s reminded of it every single day here with you - memories that he can’t quite touch but that he knows are there. The feeling of guilt when he looks at you, at the way your brows furrow and eyes narrow at him. How, even now, the pleasantries hide behind past aggression.

He doesn’t blame you.

And maybe, perhaps, burning a piece of paper will make him feel better. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever done.

You listen as everyone goes around and tells their story. Some talk about relationships, or mental health. Each story is met with support from the circle, almost like group therapy. When all comments are said, the paper is thrown in, and everyone claps and cheers as it burns. You can sense that Steve is getting more and more nervous as he gets closer to talking, and you wonder what’s on his paper.

When it’s your turn, you stand up. “I wrote down my past.” You clear your throat. “Uh - I’m not proud of who I used to be. I used to be so quiet and shy. But I’m happier now, and louder, and I’m not afraid of the space that I take up.”

Steve’s eyes burn a hole into your side as you tell your story. He remembers the girl you’re talking about. He remembers how quiet you were, always minding your own business. And his chest hurts when he realizes that he’s probably why you were that way.

It takes a lot of strength for you to not side-eye him.

Everyone tells you that they’re proud and you throw the paper into the fire, sitting back down and crossing your hands over your lap. There’s a tenseness between you and Steve, but no one realizes the connection.

Steve stands, his hands shaking. It takes him a second to find his voice.

“Um. Well, when I was younger - not younger, just a few years ago - I was a jerk.”

You tense up, staring intently into the fire.

“I was such a dick. I made the worst decisions and the worst friends. I used to follow the crowd, because I thought that’s what I had to do to make them like me.” He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “And I knew it was wrong - I knew it was - but that’s not an excuse. I let it go on for too long, and I hurt a lot of people. And that really kills me each day.”

You squeeze your hands together.

“I’m trying so hard to not be that person anymore, and I’m glad that I’m not. I got away from those people and I found better friends. Friends who believe in me and like me for me.” He clears his throat and sniffles. “But I’m so worried that I’ll turn back into that person again. I know there are people who will always know me as that person, and that sucks.” His eyes land on the top of your head. “But not as much as it sucks for them, I’m sure.

“I’m just ashamed,” he continues. “I wish I could change what I did. I wish I could make everyone believe that I’m not that guy anymore. I wish I wasn’t so scared. Most of all, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Everyone’s silent. Steve asks, “Do - do I throw it in now?”

“No,” Josh says. “Uh - wow. I don’t even know where to start.”

Steve feels the shame creeping into his chest again and bows his head.

“First of all, man, you’re allowed to change. You can change, and it’s obvious that you did,” Josh says.

Steve looks up, shocked at the validation.

“Yeah,” Nico, Steve’s roommate, interjects. “Dude, you’re one of the nicest, goofiest people I’ve ever met.”

A few yeahs echo around the circle.

“And it’s a good sign that you regret what you’ve done,” another girl, Emily, says. “That shows growth.”

You sit tensely, feeling cold in front of the fire. You know he’s talking about you. And you know he means what he’s saying.

You interject a few moments later. “What matters is that you’re trying to change. That’s the best you can do.”

Steve looks down at you, brows furrowing, but it feels like a weight has lifted off of him, freeing him. Feels like his collar bones aren’t cracking under pressure. His eyes are soft and filled with tears - he wasn’t expecting any of this.

You swallow hard, feeling your own tears swelling in your eyes. “And I think that - I think that it’s obvious you aren’t like who you were before.”

Never in your life did you think you’d say that, and never in Steve’s life did he think he’d hear it.

A few people agree, reinforcing that it’s okay for him to be ashamed, but it’s okay for him to grow, too. It’s a bit much for Steve, who makes a strong effort to not burst out into sobs. You can’t meet his eyes yet, but when he sits down after throwing the paper in, you reach for his hand and squeeze it. It’s more than the truce at the breakfast table - it’s an understanding. It’s forgiveness. It’s comfort. It’s friendship. You decide to truly, finally swallow your past, let the flames do their job, and embrace the new Steve.

Your hand leaves after just a second, but he understands the message, and you both smile the rest of the night.

===

It’s Sunday night now, and you’re doing rounds. It’s a little after one in the morning. You check on every cabin to make sure kids are asleep and safe, then decide to sneak a dip in the lake. It was a cool night, but the water was calling. You approach the pier but stop when you see another body already sitting on the edge, shoulders slumped.

You can tell despite the distance that it’s Steve, and you can tell that something’s wrong.

You make your footsteps loud so he can hear you coming, and you take a seat on the wood beside him. The lake is bright from the moon, and it illuminates on Steve’s sullen face. “You okay?”

He nods softly. “I just wanted to take a walk,” he says, but his voice cracks.

You frown. “Is that all?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, but you can see that his cheeks and eyes are red and swollen. Finally, he whispers, “I had a nightmare.”

Steve had awoken in a sweat, kicking his sheets off of him and gasping for breath. It was another dream about the Upside Down, and it hit him unexpectedly and hard. Nico had stood over his bed, worry etched onto his face, asking Steve if he was okay. Steve brushed it off and said he needed to go on a walk. When he slipped outside, he cried, hugging himself as he walked to the pier. It was the brightest spot at camp, the only place he felt safe. He had learned the lake like the back of his hand in three week’s time, had found a home in it, and he went there to pull himself together.

A nightmare was a bit of an understatement - it had felt so real. He went weeks without one, happily, assuming the distance from Hawkins was helping. It was disheartening to have one here. Embarrassing, too. He wonders if Dustin or any of the kids had been having them.

The anguish on his face and cheeks is apparent and you whisper, “Hey,” taking his hand and squeezing it again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head numbly. He would like to talk about it, but knows he can’t. “Just a stupid dream.”

You frown. “It’s not stupid to feel scared.”

Steve sniffles. “I know.”

“But do you know?”

Steve stills, eyebrows knitting together again. “I… it’s hard to feel like it’s not stupid.”

You nod. “I know how you feel. Well, at least a bit.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

“No,” you whisper. Your thumb absentmindedly rubs over his. “But I have anxiety. And I know how it feels to think it’s stupid to feel that way.”

Steve nods. “I just kind of… push it down. I try not to bother people with it.”

“You’re not bothering people who love you for talking about it. Have you told Dustin?”

“Yeah, but… he’s got his own problems.”

You nod in understanding. After a few moments of silence, you say, “You can talk to me.”

He laughs solemnly. He wishes he could talk to someone about it. Someone outside of the people who were there, or outside of the shrinks that Doc Owens had recommended. Anyone with a new perspective. But he can’t, because the person he’d confide in would die, and he really doesn’t need that on his conscience. That’s not something you could burn in a fire and forget about.

“I’m serious,” you say. “I can help.”

Steve kicks his feet back and forth in the water for a few minutes. Then he looks over at you. “How do you stop being anxious?”

“You don’t,” you say, laughing. “It just gets easier to hide. But having friends helps, and loving yourself helps.”

“I don’t have either.”

You elbow his side gently. “You have friends, Steve. And I’ll be damned if you don’t like yourself by the time you leave here.”

He’s quiet again, then says, “It’s really hard for me to think of people as friends. It’s hard to think that people actually want to hang out with me. Tommy and Carol used me for money and an empty house.” He shrugs lazily. “The attention just feels so… superficial now.”

And it makes your heart ache, because maybe that’s why he won’t give in to the girls here. He thinks they don’t like him for him - they only like him for his looks. Even if he wants them to like him, if he wants someone to love, it’s hard to accept it. The realization ignites an odd anger in you; he doesn’t deserve to feel like this.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But at least you’re aware of it, right?”

He nods and shrugs again. “I guess.”

More silence.

“Your speech on Friday…,” you say softly. “It meant a lot.”

“It didn’t have to -”

“But it did.”

He swallows and turns to face you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you say, rubbing his thumb again. “I forgive you.” You smile. “For real this time.”

He smiles, too. “Apparently, since you can’t stop holding my hand.”

You retract it quickly, holding it to your chest. You didn’t realize how long you’d been holding it, and you blushed deeply. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You sure?” he grins. “Because someone told me every girl here likes me.”

You kick water towards him and he laughs, kicking back. You’re happy to see the light back in his eyes.

“So Kayak Ball, huh?”

“It’s the next big thing.” He seems proud of it.

You hum. “So I’ve heard.” You splash water towards him again. “You gonna teach me?”

Steve laughs incredulously. “You want to learn?”

“Yeah,” you smile, shrugging. “Maybe I can stop by tomorrow on my break.”

He smiles widely. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

You push up and reach out for his hand, pulling him up with you. “Let me walk you back to your cabin, okay?”

“You don’t have to -”

“I don’t want you to get lost in the woods.”

You walk together in silence, but Steve feels comforted. Like maybe he could go back to sleep when he lays down instead of worrying about dying.

“Hey,” you say when you approach his cabin. “Um… Mia? She wanted me to put in a good word for her.”

“As in?”

“As in, you should sit with her at lunch.” You wink. “She’s one of those ‘every girls’ that likes you.”

His eyes widen and then he smiles, shaking his head. “You mean it?”

“No, it’s a prank.”

He laughs softly and shakes his head again. “Well, thanks for the tip.”

You smile and nod. When you turn to walk towards your cabin, you say, “Goodnight, Steve.”

He waves after you. “Goodnight.”

===

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington au #the campers #this chap is truly horrific but what can u do truly!

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illbefinealonereads · 4 years

Photo

Blog tour day! Today I’m sharing some information about Lobizona by Romina Garber, as well as an excerpt. Scroll down to learn more.

Some people ARE illegal.

Lobizonas do NOT exist.

Both of these statements are false.

Manuela Azul has been crammed into an existence that feels too small for her. As an undocumented immigrant who's on the run from her father's Argentine crime-family, Manu is confined to a small apartment and a small life in Miami, Florida.

Until Manu's protective bubble is shattered.

Her surrogate grandmother is attacked, lifelong lies are exposed, and her mother is arrested by ICE. Without a home, without answers, and finally without shackles, Manu investigates the only clue she has about her past—a mysterious "Z" emblem—which leads her to a secret world buried within our own. A world connected to her dead father and his criminal past. A world straight out of Argentine folklore, where the seventh consecutive daughter is born a bruja and the seventh consecutive son is a lobizón, a werewolf. A world where her unusual eyes allow her to belong.

As Manu uncovers her own story and traces her real heritage all the way back to a cursed city in Argentina, she learns it's not just her U.S. residency that's illegal. . . .it’s her entire existence.

Early Praise: “With vivid characters that take on a life of their own, beautiful details that peel back the curtain on Romina's Argentinian heritage, and cutting prose that shines a light on the difficulties of being the ‘other’ in America today, Romina Garber crafts a timely tale of identity and adventure that every teenager should read.”–Tomi Adeyemi New York Times bestselling author of Children of Blood and Bone

“Romina Garber has created an enthralling young adult fantasy led by an unforgettable Latinx character Manu. In Manu we find a young girl who not only must contend with the injustice of being undocumented she also discovers a hidden world that may explain her very existence. I fell in love with this world where wolves, witches and magic thrives, all in a rich Latinx setting!” –Lilliam Rivera, author of Dealing in Dreams and The Education of Margot Sanchez

Buy Link:https://read.macmillan.com/lp/lobizona/

Author bio:

ROMINA GARBER (pen name Romina Russell) is a New York Times and international bestselling author. Originally from Argentina, she landed her first writing gig as a teen—a weekly column for the Miami Herald that was later nationally syndicated—and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Her books include Lobizona. When she’s not working on a novel, Romina can be found producing movie trailers, taking photographs, or daydreaming about buying a new drum set. She is a graduate of Harvard College and a Virgo to the core.

Social Links: Twitter: @RominaRussell // Instagram: @rominagarber

Excerpt:

I awaken with a jolt.

It takes me a moment to register that I’ve been out for three days. I can tell by the well-rested feeling in my bones—I don’t sleep this well any other time of the month.

The first thing I’m aware of as I sit up is an urgent need to use the bathroom. My muscles are heavy from lack of use, and it takes some concentration to keep my steps light so I won’t wake Ma or Perla. I leave the lights off to avoid meeting my gaze in the mirror, and after tossing out my heavy-duty period pad and replacing it with a tampon, I tiptoe back to Ma’s and my room.

I’m always disoriented after lunaritis, so I feel separate from my waking life as I survey my teetering stacks of journals and used books, Ma’s yoga mat and collection of weights, and the posters on the wall of the planets and constellations I hope to visit one day.

After a moment, my shoulders slump in disappointment.

This month has officially peaked.

I yank the bleach-stained blue sheets off the mattress and slide out the pillows from their cases, balling up the bedding to wash later. My body feels like a crumpled piece of paper that needs to be stretched, so I plant my feet together in the tiny area between the bed and the door, and I raise my hands and arch my back, lengthening my spine disc by disc. The pull on my tendons releases stored tension, and I exhale in relief.

Something tugs at my consciousness, an unresolved riddle that must have timed out when I surfaced . . . but the harder I focus, the quicker I forget. Swinging my head forward, I reach down to touch my toes and stretch my spine the other way—

My ears pop so hard, I gasp.

I stumble back to the mattress, and I cradle my head in my hands as a rush of noise invades my mind. The buzzing of a fly in the window blinds, the gunning of a car engine on the street below, the groaning of our building’s prehistoric eleva- tor. Each sound is so crisp, it’s like a filter was just peeled back from my hearing.

My pulse picks up as I slide my hands away from my temples to trace the outlines of my ears. I think the top parts feel a little . . . pointier.

I ignore the tingling in my eardrums as I cut through the living room to the kitchen, and I fill a stained green bowl with cold water. Ma’s asleep on the turquoise couch because we don’t share our bed this time of the month. She says I thrash around too much in my drugged dreams.

I carefully shut the apartment door behind me as I step out into the building’s hallway, and I crack open our neighbor’s window to slide the bowl through. A black cat leaps over to lap up the drink.

“Hola, Mimitos,” I say, stroking his velvety head. Since we’re both confined to this building, I hear him meowing any time his owner, Fanny, forgets to feed him. I think she’s going senile.

“I’ll take you up with me later, after lunch. And I’ll bring you some turkey,” I add, shutting the window again quickly. I usually let him come with me, but I prefer to spend the morn- ings after lunaritis alone. Even if I’m no longer dreaming, I’m not awake either.

My heart is still beating unusually fast as I clamber up six flights of stairs. But I savor the burn of my sedentary muscles, and when at last I reach the highest point, I swing open the door to the rooftop.

It’s not quite morning yet, and the sky looks like blue- tinged steel. Surrounding me are balconies festooned with colorful clotheslines, broken-down properties with boarded- up windows, fuzzy-leaved palm trees reaching up from the pitted streets . . . and in the distance, the ground and sky blur where the Atlantic swallows the horizon.

El Retiro is a rundown apartment complex with all elderly residents—mostly Cuban, Colombian, Venezuelan, Nicara- guan, and Argentine immigrants. There’s just one slow, loud elevator in the building, and since I’m the youngest person here, I never use it in case someone else needs it.

I came up here hoping for a breath of fresh air, but since it’s summertime, there’s no caress of a breeze to greet me. Just the suffocating embrace of Miami’s humidity.

Smothering me.

I close my eyes and take in deep gulps of musty oxygen, trying to push the dread down to where it can’t touch me. The way Perla taught me to do whenever I get anxious.

My metamorphosis started this year. I first felt something

was different four full moons ago, when I no longer needed to squint to study the ground from up here. I simply opened my eyes to perfect vision.

The following month, my hair thickened so much that I had to buy bigger clips to pin it back. Next menstrual cycle came the growth spurt that left my jeans three inches too short, and last lunaritis I awoke with such a heightened sense of smell that I could sniff out what Ma and Perla had for dinner all three nights I was out.

It’s bad enough to feel the outside world pressing in on me, but now even my insides are spinning out of my control.

As Perla’s breathing exercises relax my thoughts, I begin to feel the stirrings of my dreamworld calling me back. I slide onto the rooftop’s ledge and lie back along the warm cement, my body as stagnant as the stale air. A dragon-shaped cloud comes apart like cotton, and I let my gaze drift with Miami’s hypnotic sky, trying to call up the dream’s details before they fade . . .

What Ma and Perla don’t know about the Septis is they don’t simply sedate me for sixty hours—they transport me.

Every lunaritis, I visit the same nameless land of magic and mist and monsters. There’s the golden grass that ticks off time by turning silver as the day ages; the black-leafed trees that can cry up storms, their dewdrop tears rolling down their bark to form rivers; the colorful waterfalls that warn onlookers of oncoming danger; the hope-sucking Sombras that dwell in darkness and attach like parasitic shadows . . .

And the Citadel.

It’s a place I instinctively know I’m not allowed to go, yet I’m always trying to get to. Whenever I think I’m going to make it inside, I wake up with a start.

Picturing the black stone wall, I see the thorny ivy that

twines across its surface like a nest of guardian snakes, slith- ering and bunching up wherever it senses a threat.

The sharper the image, the sleepier I feel, like I’m slowly sliding back into my dream, until I reach my hand out tenta- tively. If I could just move faster than the ivy, I could finally grip the opal doorknob before the thorns—

Howling breaks my reverie.

I blink, and the dream disappears as I spring to sitting and scour the battered buildings. For a moment, I’m sure I heard a wolf.

My spine locks at the sight of a far more dangerous threat: A cop car is careening in the distance, its lights flashing and siren wailing. Even though the black-and-white is still too far away to see me, I leap down from the ledge and take cover behind it, the old mantra running through my mind.

Don’t come here, don’t come here, don’t come here.

A familiar claustrophobia claws at my skin, an affliction forged of rage and shame and powerlessness that’s been my companion as long as I’ve been in this country. Ma tells me I should let her worry about this stuff and only concern myself with studying, so when our papers come through, I can take my GED and one day make it to NASA—but it’s impossible not to worry when I’m constantly having to hide.

My muscles don’t uncoil until the siren’s howling fades and the police are gone, but the morning’s spell of stillness has broken. A door slams, and I instinctively turn toward the pink building across the street that’s tattooed with territorial graf- fiti. Where the alternate version of me lives.

I call her Other Manu.

The first thing I ever noticed about her was her Argentine fútbol jersey: #10 Lionel Messi. Then I saw her face and real- ized we look a lot alike. I was reading Borges at the time, and

it ocurred to me that she and I could be the same person in overlapping parallel universes.

But it’s an older man and not Other Manu who lopes down the street. She wouldn’t be up this early on a Sunday anyway. I arch my back again, and thankfully this time, the only pop I hear is in my joints.

The sun’s golden glare is strong enough that I almost wish I had my sunglasses. But this rooftop is sacred to me because it’s the only place where Ma doesn’t make me wear them, since no one else comes up here.

I’m reaching for the stairwell door when I hear it.

Faint footsteps are growing louder, like someone’s racing up. My heart shoots into my throat, and I leap around the corner right as the door swings open.

The person who steps out is too light on their feet to be someone who lives here. No El Retiro resident could make it up the stairs that fast. I flatten myself against the wall.

“Creo que encontré algo, pero por ahora no quiero decir nada.”

Whenever Ma is upset with me, I have a habit of translat- ing her words into English without processing them. I asked Perla about it to see if it’s a common bilingual thing, and she said it’s probably my way of keeping Ma’s anger at a distance; if I can deconstruct her words into language—something de- tached that can be studied and dissected—I can strip them of their charge.

As my anxiety kicks in, my mind goes into automatic trans- lation mode: I think I found something, but I don’t want to say anything yet.

The woman or girl (it’s hard to tell her age) has a deep, throaty voice that’s sultry and soulful, yet her singsongy accent is unquestionably Argentine. Or Uruguayan. They sound similar.

My cheek is pressed to the wall as I make myself as flat as possible, in case she crosses my line of vision.

“Si tengo razón, me harán la capitana más joven en la his- toria de los Cazadores.”

If I’m right, they’ll make me the youngest captain in the history of the . . . Cazadores? That means hunters.

In my eight years living here, I’ve never seen another per- son on this rooftop. Curious, I edge closer, but I don’t dare peek around the corner. I want to see this stranger’s face, but not badly enough to let her see mine.

“¿El encuentro es ahora? Che, Nacho, ¿vos no me podrías cubrir?”

Is the meeting right now? Couldn’t you cover for me, Nacho?

The che and vos sound like Argentinespeak. What if it’s Other Manu?

The exciting possibility brings me a half step closer, and now my nose is inches from rounding the corner. Maybe I can sneak a peek without her noticing.

“Okay,” I hear her say, and her voice sounds like she’s just a few paces away.

I suck in a quick inhale, and before I can overthink it, I pop my head out—

And see the door swinging shut.

I scramble over and tug it open, desperate to spot even a hint of her hair, any clue at all to confirm it was Other Manu— but she’s already gone.

All that remains is a wisp of red smoke that vanishes with the swiftness of a morning cloud.

Excerpted from Lobizona by Romina Garber. Published by Wednesday Books.

#lobizona #romina garber #blog tour #excerpt

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wasalwaysagreatpickle · 4 years

Text

Friday 15 August 1828

7 1/2

11 20/60

Packing – breakfast at 9 35/60 – sat talking – Miss Duffin arrived in Brussels with her brother’s children – the following is an extract from Miss Ellen Duffin’s letter of 4 June last to Mr D- [Duffin] ‘she has placed Charles at the athénée where for £28 per annum he is boarded lodged, his clothes washed and mended, taught the classics, French, Dutch, German, mathematics, fencing and dancing, never is there even an extra charge – there are 6 weeks holidays, in summer, during which time he is to remain at school, to be perfected in the French language for the sum of 3 florins, about 15 shillings English money – she has very good furnished lodgings for about £40 per annum including the attention of the servant’ – the Johnsons at Interlacken with which Mrs J- [Johnson] is delighted – live at the cassino at 5 francs a day, bed and lodging and everything included – Miss Ellen D- [Duffin] to marry (next month) Mr John J- [Johnson], Colin’s younger brother –

What Mrs D [Duffin] leaves them is but annuity goes to the brothers at the sisters death cannot go to their husbands even for life and not even to their children without the person who made the will has luckily put it in Mrs D [Duffin] seems to think it is not but he strikes me as much altered in point of faculty –

Mr D- [Duffin] strikes me as much altered in point of faculty – Mrs D- [Duffin] allowed his memory was not quite so good – he appears in pretty good health – but somehow I scarce feel as if I should see him again, if I do not pass through again to Langton – Mrs D- [Duffin] evidently does everything – answers for him in all cases – he is evidently declining –

Mentioned but not much having been at the Thackerays’, and how kind of attentive lady Elizabeth was – Mrs D- [Duffin] shewed me in 1 of the York papers ‘at Edinburgh on the 3rd instant lady Elizabeth T- [Thackeray] of a daughter’ – said I might perhaps write to congratulate her – asked where else I had been – at the Seaforths’ – invited to the Riddles’ etc. said I most regretted not being able to visit Mr Stuart McKenzie (Lord S-’s oldest daughter and heir, and married first to admiral Sir Samuel Hood with whom she was in India) –

Tis singular but I have for some years fancied Mrs D [Duffin] somewhat jealous of my getting on, I have fancied this from the time of my getting as it were from under her governance. She has formerly said peevishly two or three times ‘you get on’ latterly nothing of this but then she never says as she might I am glad you get into such nice society etc. etc. On the contrary she has never latterly given me a helping hand where she might somehow or other she has kept back the Faifaxes this morning. I fairly put her to it about introducing me to the Simpsons at Brussels but she never said a word and of course I would not ask it plainly. I said we might go to Brussels that what I chiefly prized and wanted was a nice society she had before been, as it were, apologizing for not giving Jane Duffin a letter to the S’s [Simpsons]. They were in too high society for Jane who would be spending too much money if introduced to them. She cordially hates Jane, I said, by the way I will not say that I myself shall on her I know not whether she will smack the door in my face or not, you know why we quarrelled (it was about Miss Milne as she then was) she seemed pleased – she is surely jealous of my getting on. I do not admire Sophia and that too is heinous Mrs H.S.B [Henry Stephen Belcombe] told me she did it out of compassion, the poor girl received so much rudeness and inattention but this perhaps she would not say ill natured things which were also repeated against her. Her aunt had been very foolish about her every said was on sale and she was never likely now to marry well, scarce any but the Fairfaxes and Hutchinsons kind to her she would scarcely go out at all last winter – how different all this from Mrs D [Duffin]s puffing I am very cautious what I say to her tho I do seem to rattle away. She is a dangerous woman however good may be her intentions she owns now her brother has a fault that of over liking good living she says it is a let down to a man like him –

Off from the D- [Duffin’s] per True Briton light coach (starts from the Tavern at 12 3/4) at 12 50/60 – had an inside place but went on the box – at Tadcaster in an hour – 5 minutes changing there at the Rose and Crown – only 22 1/2 minutes going the 1st five miles out of Tadcaster i.e. to the Inn on Bramham moor, where we stopt a minute or 2 – the moment the coachman saw the opposite coach (from the Black Swan) before him he set at gallop for about a couple of miles – I certainly wished myself safe landed but never uttered – 2 gentleman behind begged him to go slower, but he took no notice – on going slower afterwards he began to argue with the gents that there was no danger – that the mails were much the most dangerous of all coaches – the least thing would turn them over – a yard higher than our coach, and the tops always proportionately larger than those of other coaches – a gentleman in the inside remonstrated – the man said he had a lady outside on the box who had never said a word – I said this was no rule – though not alarmed thought it much better and safer to drive moderately – for those who said nothing, might make up their minds never to trouble the coach again – the man seemed to think he had overdone it, and tried all the ways to make up for it, and went afterwards even slower than necessary –

8 minutes changing horses at the Flying horse, and did not get to the Rose and Crown, Leeds, till 3 25/60 – 1 1/2 hour to wait there to change coaches – my carpet bag had been left behind – wrote 2 or 2 1/2 pp. to Mrs D- [Duffin] by the coachman, to ask her to have forwarded by him and telling her that we had exceeded in the first five miles out of Tadcaster the quickest of the mails – the Edinburgh by York to London 400 miles in 42 hours (including stoppages) not quite 10 miles an hour – the Glasgow to Leeds 120 miles in 12 hours (including stoppages) just 10 miles an hour – we had gone 5 miles in 22 1/2 minutes about 13 miles an hour – stopped not more than a minute an hour at most – not reckoned, I think, at much more than 1/2 mile an hour –

Off from Leeds at 5 – Kirkstal abbey looks a fine large remain – I really must go and see it, and ought to see Wakefield and the village of Heath – at Bradford at 6 20/60 – changed coaches again – now a 3 horse coach that stops alternately at the White Lion and Union Cross, Halifax – this twice changing is rather too much – never try it again if a moderate quantity of luggage – changed coaches and off from Bradford in 10 minutes at 6 35/60 – very bad leader – by dint of whipping alight at the Pineapple, Halifax, at 7 3/4 –

Getting all my luggage safely housed here, and get to Shibden in 1/4 hour, at 8 10/60 – my father quite well again – Marian quite well cured by her journey to Market Weighton. Dinner about 8 1/2 – came to my room at 10 1/4 –

Letter from Mrs Barlow ‘Lemm’s hotel, 19 Park Street Grosvenor Square, London’ 3pp. and ends under the seal, and 1st page crossed – dated 30 July, and the 2nd and 4th instant – better for Dr Granville’s advice – has no disease, but her nerves are weakened – England the best climate for her – not to go to Guernsey for a year to come – her nerves to be kept quiet – Mrs Carter in London – providing her husband’s will – will be independent of her friends – Lady Ouseley recommended Lemm’s hotel – capital situation and quiet – about the same price as Webb’s – very much better hotel – last year full of people of rank – Mrs and Miss B- [Barlow] were 3 days at Fulham – the bishop now a bishop of Canterbury much pleased with his little cousin (Jane), and gave her £20 to buy something in commemoration of their 1st meeting – going to Winchester, Mrs Sophia Barlow’s (Miss Louisa Barlow] (Jane’s aunt) suddenly died a very short while ago) – then to the Thistelwaites at Lyndhurst 12 miles from Southampton –

Not to mention her father she will tell me why when we meet got in to some scrape or other –

Will go back to Paris for the winter, the end of September, or beginning of October – Lady O- [Ouseley] wishes her to settle in London – sent her carriage every morning, and gave her her box at the opera – but she will not have time to accept her pressing invitation this year – the rank she moves in too high for Mrs B- [Barlow’s] means – very kind letter – if I cannot be in Paris next winter, would like to be there on my aunt’s account – very fine cool day –

#anne lister #1828 #anne lister code breaker

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myheartbeatskids · 5 years

Text

So Declan loved me and we talked about science and lab babies and clones and all that. So He told me he loved me because i was the first person to really really listen and understand as opposed to being the one to teach.

And so he had understood what he was taught then developed and built upon it correctly with help from his own brain and God. And del Muerte whom helped me understand as well cause that shit was mind blowing.

So he asked me to have his soul mate. To give birth to her.

And I was pretty much dragged out and Declan ran the show after that.

I agreed but it was more like a thing where i had to focus and talk instead of fainting.

So Matt actually helped to implant because I have an upturned uterious and so things like that are painful because of the rigidity and non flexible as i need materials used while Jeremiah comforted and helped me relax.

So then essentially i was kidnapped.

Declan is part clone and part Neanderthal.

Annabelle is part clone and part Neanderthal.

So some of us from Michael Jackson's boarding school --- although I wasn't i stayed there alot on my own. So i was part of it, unofficially as i am a civilian doing military shit now. --- have clones in a laboratory. But they are miniature human size as they are kept in barbie size containers.

Since Declan was a clone Jesse gave permission to make, they said i should use a clone.

It took 5 eggs until Declan approved the child that would be created in the embryo. Del Muerte communicated to us what God said.

Most males get their soul mates at age 7. Declan was only 2 years old. So God hadnt had enough experience to program or create his perfect soulmate.

So it just so happened it was 2 years of plus 5 embryos which makes the year 7 while added together.

So when Annabelle was born Declan came to get me and her but my now ex-husband got me all fucked up and i had amnesia and all that and i remember the power struggle type issues while signing the birth certificate which is why i get child support as my ex swore bla bla bla and signed papers to those statements but I was all "Dude while he's signing let's run!" Because he pissed me off during that time and i was all no hes wrong and all... But I guess I was scared of him or his aura csused me confusion or Idk. I remember feeling sick.

So craziness. We are 16 years late. And unfortunately yet fortunately a lot of research was done and i have a lot of government apology money coming my way. Which i don't have yet.... But soon.

This is Cambria AvaLynn named after Alexis Dejoria.

Because Matt's parents were into hiding, they named him after a mat. A common object so in case of ESP feom the people they hid from they would think "welcome mat" like welcome to travel with us son named Matt. Welcome to eat at the dining table, Matt. Well, come, Matt.

So came or come because i would always want to see Matt so I would say "You came!!!" When i saw him and hug him and he would say "welcome"

And Bria after me.

Turning the x into a v (for Victory) and Lynn as in the 80s most of my friends on the military base i lived on has Lynn as their middle names. So to remind me she is a friend.

She's my child that was ectopic due to the sponges Jamie & Doug Otis found and reminded us of. But we went to the hospital because i began to hemmoragge and they were able to save her and her twin.

Then my mom killed her and he died naturally as he was in ICU TO experiment on them being raised/healed as premies temporarily as one within an incubator and the other skin to skin contact. As woman need to be comforted more, we picked Ava to bring home.

They were the first experiment with soul mates being born as twins. Both clones of my and Jeremiah and his being Ava and my being the male Andrew.

Andrew after Jesse... "And he drew" cause he was always drawing beautifully.

And the other clones were of Jesse James and Alexis.

Alexis got kidnapped by her dad and so the story goes... I did too Eventually

Jeremiah's dad helped us as the grandparent in house.

This is Declan.

He told Jeremiah "I'm not the one sitting around waiting with a pouted lip waiting for someone to do it for me. Now i found the woman and go get my kid!!"

Dude WTF I'm not having someones kid... I'm only 21!!

"Now im the man around the house and what I say goes!!! And you are going to have my kid!!"

Dude whatever. So i did dream into the lab with them but... I thought we were just playing and so i agreed and so next thing i knew there was a frozen child ready to be implanted. Thus my ability to be kidnapped so easily...

Cause when a kid is all telling you about clones and labs and shit... And you're hearing voices... that shit is insane. Literally.

So i didn't take it seriously enough.

But Declan is only 19 Now. And my kid is 16.

So it's old enough to have a romantic relationship. To avoid issues i had as a child with social services.

The plan was to have them grow up as friends but also believed it may been too dangerous....

Yet I still don't agree that it was.

However for the last 10 year's I have been working daily for my amnesia to be solved and also saving the world (of NHRA especially) at the same time.

And have earned multiple Nobel Peace Prizes which i have yet to receive.

So working on law enforcement and the military and government, about to break into the public school system and tear that up ;) as a civilian has earned me billions of dollars i have yet to receive....

But i have given away as i can and have bought businesses that I want.

As proof that the government does care about all its people's hopes and dreams they have bought them on my behalf and am gsining bank! And i shop st my own businesses too... Ironically! I been shopping at Loves for nearly a year... went into Speedway a few times now i drive an extra 5 miles just to shop there because i like it more!!

Robert, the shift manager finally told me tonight as I bought all the GIANTS for my Giant 6'7" man. And i turned the ones in Valencia County to Speedway in honor of Aaron and Paul (twins) who wanted to show the dangers of meth and the meth community as they honored me with my idea of how to end Breaking Bad with the movie reel of El Camino (the mother road) of the manner of the psychological reality of life gone wrong.

I freak Robert out... He was worried when he saw me there that I was to audit like a monster, fire everyone and work the cash register and store myself.

So tonight he saw I bought milkshakes (not available at Love's) figured it out and gave me a pack of smokes for free and blurted out why.

So i took all the giants as i always do and fucked them all up and made them better.

So i own them till i make my money back on the businesses and then they get given to who I intended it for... As I do double check they will always be worthy... If not i keep them for me because I was being good snd honest and fair the whole time.

So 360° K i own.

So i only compete with Love's whom I always promised the King's Highway to... You know him... As an old time Western Thug bitch ass womanizer player. Motorcycle Guru. Hot Rod extraordinaire. Texas loving son of a gun. Jesse James Smith! Just kidding... Just regular old ole fogie mad scientist Jesse Gregory Smith. Of West Coast Choppers. Which i own and always have as i put up the money for his business intending to always be in his life and helping him. So my apology... The only one i can ever give as i can't predict the future without help is Love. And he loves everyone and won't let Google tell.

I bought every gas station in the country as we will be switching to electric and hydro electric and non fuel and solar and hybrid autos by 2030. So the previous owners have a nice retirement and no stress. As the storage oil facilities that were shot in Saudia Arabia were actually empty. I own them.

Fossil fuels are actually the blood of dinosaurs and other dead bodies that are converted and broken down and dehydrated by plant life...

I found that out by the eternal bushes burning.. I mean growing... here on the mountain. Tumble weeds otherwise known as thyme. And we found via satellite tons of skeletons by Earth xrays under the bushes and some not as they are closer to the Earth surface. I found a wooly mammoth knuckle bone.

We moved here in 2002 and there was a patch of earth that looked like concrete by the mail boxes and we just drove over them assuming that's what it was.

They were mummified wooly mammoths. Now broken up and scattered all over the desert road.

I would not like my blood which could potentially bring me back to life wasted on a car... For someone to get to a job they hate. So no more. Not from the USA anyways.

One night I was at dinner and i said Obama needs to handle thwt South Dakota pipeline. My dad was all what is he supposed to do? All simple solutions were crap and had an argument. I said "then lie! Tell the American people they are scum! Tell them we opened the pipeline up and the pipes broke and destroyed the precious land that needs to be protected." My dad laughed and i felt kinda stupid for being so angry.

But Uncle Donald heard my point and so thats exactly what he did. Fake news? Its real.

Because he saw the change I made in the NHRA with some lies that laid very close to the truth.

You don't need to believe in reincarnation for it to happen. I didn't until about 6 months ago. But my mom's mom and my great aunt my grandma's sister ... Granny Bessie Heltons 2 daughters did. My grandma explained it to me one night when I was 18 as i had asked my Great Aunt Nita i was closer to but she didn't explain she just said "because i do" And the dictionary explaination i already knew. But my grandma traveled with me like y'all know i do And showed me.

We started in Heaven with only having one human life and having the soul figure of a human that we select. Hers was a teenage body, absolutely beautiful. With her old ass mind and experience. I told her what I wanted was to be a child. A dirty raggedy haired barefoot blonde without a care in the world, feeling smarter than I feel now... Because that is when i was happiest. When i saw i could end pain and suffering with death, when i knew life could escape heart ache, even when evil exist.

And so now on her second cat life with me, as her first caused her kidnapping by the same drug induced psycho piece of shit that arrested and molested Jesse James dog, Coco and her untimely death as I did record in Tumblr. "Sister Kitty" was kidnapped by him, hes in a special jail. He just had his pinkie finger nail and big toe nail removed as he did kidnap Mogar and slice his face and slice Kizzys leg. So in order to understand what he did he agreed to similar punishment as he did to our precious cargo...

Cargo my bitches!

Jesse: No! I only ask!

Me: who do i have to convince?

Jesse: Idk Jeremiah?

Me: Ava who is your dad?

Ava: Idk I guess not Jeremiah?? IDK!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL!? you all always told me they are both my dad's. Let me ask God. Oh! Jesse! ..... And Jeremiah

Me: your dad is your dad and dad he will always be no matter shine or high water, love will always be there for you and for me. Alexis, do you know that one?

She nods all teary..

Jesse: well did i get loves?!

Me: uhh yes ass hole! We always love you back. What do you want with a gas station with no gas? That's like having a family with out us, most especially me!

Jesse: well it got gas now!!!

Me: well gas up at your local, bring a truck. I got a lot of stuff.

Declan: you hear her? Most especially me! Me! Well, me too, you better pick me up.

Me: Jesse... You ready for Orlando?? I got a Chase bank account with the Princess Castle on the debit card... Just needs a little cash in the account.

Jesse: You Mean You Will Pay!!!

Me: i see that was not a question so that does not deserve a response. But yes. I am suppose to have a wire transfer per last night's discussions that will pay for it.

Jesse: WHOA SHIT!

Me: Jeremiah you down?

Jeremiah: to pay Miss Giant Owner?

Me: uhh I'm Miss Speedyway now. No.. Carry me through times square after some Disney World Fun!

Jeremiah: FUCK YES!! uhh yes thank you for inviting me. I will go

Matt Hagan: look look at this. Im the best friend i even got her kid named after me

Me: Matt Hagan... Looks like you're invited, The Best Friend. In or out of Disney World for the hotel.

Matt: IN!!

Me: youre definitely going you know how to do it right! Pops... You gonna stay home alone with your woman?

Pops: not if i don't have to

M3: you don't

Pops: shit! Oh yeah!

Chuck: what about Cookie!!

Me: you and bring Your comrades I need to talk to

Chuckie: oh Cookies going!

Me: I didn't know he could do the Conga.

Jesse: yes you did!

Me: no wonder it looked familiar.

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televinita · 4 years

Text

Books Read in 2019: The Why

In a tradition I accidentally started for myself and now quite enjoy, at the end of the year I look back at my reading list and answer the question, why did you read this particular book?

Below, the books are split into groups by target readership age, plus nonfiction at the end. This year I have added the category “how I heard of it” as well, because I just think that info is neat.

FICTION

The Visitor - K.L. Slater. 2018. Read because: Ten episodes of The Good Cop weren't enough, so I tried to find something w/ similar characters, and this looked kinda like "TJ as a slightly more withdrawn weirdo." By the time I realized it wouldn't work due to being British, I was too excited by the prospect of a thriller to stop.

How I heard of it: Googling keywords

Like the Red Panda - Andrea Seigel. 2004. The back cover and first few pages reminded me of a friend I had once.

How I heard of it: Library

The Lost Vintage - Ann Mah. 2018. What's that? You've got some secret family history/a mystery from the past to be solved using old personal papers, including a diary? My jams.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls (4th ed.) - Emilie Autumn. 2017. I googled for books that promised unique formatting/art design, and Emilie Autumn has always been an intriguing enigma to me.

I Heard the Owl Call My Name - Margaret Craven. 1967. I know this title, but not why -- when I tripped over it in the teen* section and saw how tiny it was, I decided to find out what it was about. (*it's there because it's often taught in schools. It's here because its intended audience is adult.)

Escape - Barbara Delinsky. 2011. Went looking for an audiobook -- the cover with a woman standing on a small bridge amidst the woods drew me in (I can't find that cover on the internet though), and the idea of abandoning responsibility and driving off to a small town sounded like my dream.

How I heard of it: Library

Saul and Patsy - Charles Baxter. 2003. Another search result from my attempt to cast Josh Groban in a novel -- Midwestern-set and a man very much in love with his wife, no worries about the relationship being wrecked? Sweet! (though ultimately, I had to mentally recast)

How I heard of it: Googling

California - Edan Lepucki. 2014. Needed an audiobook. The title and green forest cover caught my eye, and the off-the-grid life + promise of a mysterious and possibly suspicious settler community described in the plot appealed to me.

How I heard of it: Library

The Lost Queen of Crocker County - Elizabeth Leiknes. 2018. Woman moves back home to rural Iowa in a book described as a "love letter to the Midwest"? Look at all these good choices.

How I heard of it: Library

All The Things You Are - Declan Hughs. 2014. Was looking for a different book w/ this title, but saw Spooky Dark House cover + wild summary and wanted to know how that could possibly happen / what the explanation was.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

Tumbledown Manor - Helen Brown. 2016. Cover love. A book about restoring a historic family manor?? BRING ME THERE.

How I heard of it: Library

The War Bride's Scrapbook - Caroline Preston. 2017. IT'S LITERALLY A SCRAPBOOK. I loved her other one like this.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day - Winifred Watson. 1938. Rewatched the movie and needed to relive an alternate take immediately (especially for more Michael).

How I heard of it: special features on the DVD

April & Oliver - Tess Callahan. 2009. This just screamed "(slightly less storybook) Ned/Chuck AU!!" [Pushing Daisies] at me. There was semi-platonic comfort-spooning in the second chapter, COME ON.

How I heard of it: Half Price Books

A Short Walk to the Bookshop - Aleksandra Drake. 2019. This looked like an even more solid Ned/Chuck AU, missing only the childhood connection/age similarity, with bonus fave keywords anxiety, widower, bookshop and dog.

How I heard of it: Googling

Girl Last Seen - Nina Laurin. 2017. Recently watched "Captive" and wanted a story of the aftermath from the captive's perspective.

How I heard of it: Goodreads (specifically, I looked up an older book by this title intending to check out related recs, but this came up first)

The Road to Enchantment - Kaya McLaren. 2017. Gorgeous cover/title + "single [pregnant] woman inherits late mother's ranch" = an alternate life I want to try on.

How I heard of it: Library

From Sand and Ash - Amy Harmon. 2016. Love between childhood best friends who can’t (well, aren’t supposed to) touch? Sounds like a Ned/Chuck AU to me!

How I heard of it: a book blog post

My Oxford Year - Julia Whelan. 2018. Always here for age-appropriate student/teacher romances -- I had this one saved for a while -- but read now specifically to cast David Tennant.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond - Jaime Jo Wright. 2018. There's a mystery from the past being solved in the present. Also, "inherited hoarder's trailer" made me v. curious about what was inside.

How I heard of it: a book blog post

My Husband the Stranger - Rebecca Done. 2017. It's Find Books That Remind Me Of David Tennant's Roles Month, and this was my crack at "Recovery."

How I heard of it: Googling

The House on Foster Hill - Jaime Jo Wright. 2017. Fixing up a spooky abandoned historic house + solving a mystery from the past in the present!

How I heard of it: a book blog post

Broadchurch - Erin Kelly. 2014. Fell in love with the show, had to immediately relive it in text form.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Vanishing - Wendy Webb. 2014. Spooky historic mansion from a reliable author for the spookening season.

How I heard of it: looking up the author’s back catalog

The Scholar - Dervla McTiernan. 2019. The Ruin - Dervla McTiernan. 2018. "Hmmm looks kind of like (Irish) Broadchurch but where the detective character has a girlfriend to fuss over and worry about. Nice." Read out of order because the second one had more girlfriend content, and enjoyed it enough to go back for book 1.

How I heard of it: Googling

The Day She Died - Catriona McPherson. 2014. The cover looked perfect for the Spook Season/gloomy weather. Sign me up for insta-families and murder mysteries w/ MCs in possible danger any day.

How I heard of it: library (literally because it was right next to McTiernan)

Still Missing - Chevy Stevens. 2010. Collecting base material for when I play this scenario (abduction/prolonged captivity and its aftermath) out w/ TV characters I like.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

This Is How You Lose The Time War - Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone. 2019. It sounded EXACTLY like a (genderbent) Doctor/Master or Crowley/Aziraphale relationship.

How I heard of it: a book blog post

The Tale of Halcyon Crane - Wendy Webb. 2010. Wanted an audiobook and I like this author (esp. for spook season).

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

The Child Garden - Catriona McPherson. 2015. I liked her previous book and this setting looked even spookier and more atmospheric.

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Quiet Neighbors - Catriona McPherson. 2016. One last dip into this author...because what part of "woman gets a job organizing the books in 'the oldest bookshop in a town full of bookshops' + an old cottage to stay in" does not sound like my dream life?

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Doctor Who: The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker. 2006. After 2.5 months in a Ten/Rose spiral, the time was nigh to pluck one of their novels I didn’t get around to reading back in my original fandom heyday.

How I heard of it: can't remember

Misery - Stephen King. 1987. I just woke up one day and decided I was in the mood to try this infamous mother of all literary whumps.

How I heard of it: can’t remember

The Whisper Man - Alex North. 2019. Went looking for books that would remind me of the father/son dynamic in "The Escape Artist."

How I heard of it: Googling

Open Your Eyes - Paula Daly. 2018. Second crack at a "Recovery"-shaped novel (it failed instantly because I didn’t take the possibility of diversity into account, but suspense is still a good genre regardless).

How I heard of it: Googling

The Last - Hanna Jameson. 2019. "Dystopian psychological thriller" + the gorgeous hotel on the cover.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

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

YOUNG ADULT

Blood Wounds - Susan Beth Pfeffer. 2011. Established quality author + (what I thought was a) thriller premise.

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Beware That Girl - Teresa Totten. 2016. I wanted an audiobook, and contemporary YA options are limited at the library. The mystery/thriller aspect sounded good enough to spend 8+ hours with.

How I heard of it: library

Trafficked - Kim Purcell. 2012. I am mystified/intrigued by domestic/non-sexual slavery, and have not seen the topic covered in YA.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Wild Bird - Wendelin Van Draanen. 2017. I have long been fascinated by teen reform camps for girls in the wilderness.

How I heard of it: library

The Year of Luminous Love - Lurlene McDaniel. 2013. The Year of Chasing Dreams - Lurlene McDaniel. 2014.

The library didn't have Girl With the Broken Heart, but it did have a fat duology featuring similar elements of horses + tragic illness, and a trio of friends that called to mind Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

The Pull of Gravity - Gae Polisner. 2011. I was looking for quality male friendships, but the male/female friendship + road trip in this search result sounded like I could cast them as teen versions of Survivor contestants. I forget which ones.

How I heard of it: Googling

The Summer of Jordi Perez (and the Best Burger in Los Angeles) - Amy Spalding. 2018. Established quality author + bright cover, cool title, burger quest, MC's love of fashion and job in a clothing store, and summer in L.A. setting

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Tiger Eyes - Judy Blume. 1981. Found out Amy Jo Johnson was the mom in the movie version, decided to read the book as prep since once again, I knew the title, but not why I knew it.

Darius the Great Is Not Okay - Adib Khorram. 2018. I turned the internet upside down in search of books with quality male friendships, and was pointed here.

How I heard of it: Googling

Big Doc's Girl - Mary Medearis. 1941. Went looking for vintage stories of simple country girls who reminded me of Katharine McPhee's character in The House Bunny. (spoiler alert: this was not it even a little bit, why did I think it was)

How I heard of it: Googling

With Malice - Eileen Cook. 2016. Always here for random teen thrillers, including a fictionalized version of Amanda Knox.

How I heard of it: library

The Girls of No Return - Erin Saldin. 2012. Like I said, I'm big on girls reform camps in the wilderness.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Hope Was Here - Joan Bauer. 2000. Needed an audiobook. This one was short and by a proven quality author.

How I heard of it: library

Rules of the Road - Joan Bauer. 1998. Best Foot Forward - Joan Bauer. 2006. Bought the first super-cheap a while ago because of the cover/road trip aspect/fascinating first few pages; read NOW to keep the Bauer train rolling, followed immediately by its sequel.

How I heard of it: Goodwill/Goodreads

Now Is Everything - Amy Giles. 2017. Interesting format, sympathetic-sounding main character (edit: What Makes You Beautiful - Ha Ha Ha version.mp3), potential for a sweet and protective romance.

How I heard of it: library

Radical - E.M. Kokie. 2016. Survivalist/prepper teen? Intriguing and underrepresented concept in YA.

How I heard of it: library

Hit the Road - Caroline B. Cooney. 2006. “It's spring, which means it's time to think about road trips.” Plus I just read a fun teen + old lady on the road book (Rules of the Road). It's thematic.

How I heard of it: library

I Am Still Alive - Kate Alice Marshall. 2018. I dig survival stories, especially in the wilderness, and this one was well recced.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Caged Graves - Dianne K. Salerni. 2013. Spook cover!! I MUST KNOW WHY THERE ARE CAGES OVER THESE GRAVES.

How I heard of it: library

Fancy Free - Betty Cavanna. 1961. Found cheap and will read this author always.

How I heard of it: antique store

Once And For All - Sarah Dessen. 2017. Stubborn determination to complete this author's canon and literally no other reasons.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Wired Man and Other Freaks of Nature - Sashi Kaufman. 2016. People in the Goodreads reviews were mad that the guys were so close yet not gay for each other. That's the very specific male friendship wheelhouse I've been looking for! Plus I know this author can write teen boys in a way I can tolerate.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Field Notes on Love - Jennifer E. Smith. 2019. Needed an audiobook and this was on display at the library; it looked cute and fluffy and I was ready for an antidote to the Dessen book.

How I heard of it: library

Midnight Sun - Trish Cook. 2017. Needed an audiobook and sick!lit seemed the most reliable of my options, given that previews for the movie had looked okay and it was real short.

How I heard of it: library

9 Days and 9 Nights - Katie Cotugno. 2018. Sequel to a book that drove me insane, but where I loved the writing style and was frustratingly fond of the characters so I Had 2 Know what happened next.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Your Destination Is On The Left - Lauren Spieller. 2018. Attractive cover + keywords like "nomadic RV lifestyle," Santa Fe, post-high-school YA, and internship

How I heard of it: library

Weird Girl and What's His Name - Meagan Brothers. 2015. X-Philes?? In MY modern-day YA fiction?? (with a side of inappropriate age-mismatched relationship?) My interest is more likely than you'd think!

How I heard of it: library

All Out of Pretty - Ingrid Palmer. 2018. Attractive design + arresting first page piqued my curiosity

How I heard of it: library

Hitchhike - Isabelle Holland. 1977. Vintage book w/ a puppy on the cover, by an author I like.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Send No Blessings - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. 1990. Reread from high school after it came up on the What's The Name of That Book? discussion group; felt a strong pull of positive feelings but couldn't remember much.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Year of the Gopher - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. 1987 Wanted better understanding of the source material before reading an essay about this book and the above in Lost Masterworks of Young Adult Literature.

How I heard of it: another book

Up In Seth's Room - Norma Fox Mazer. 1979 There was an essay about this in Lost Masterworks too. I had read it a long time ago and remembered NOT liking it, but figured I might as well revisit it to review on Goodreads.

How I heard of it: library

Blizzard's Wake - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. 2002. Happened to be on the shelf when I checked to see what non-Alice books of hers the library had in stock, and figured as long I'm on a Naylor kick, this might as well happen. Mainly ‘cause I saw "deadly blizzard" on the back and was like "WOW this seems useful for my hurt/comfort scenario stockpile."

How I heard of it: library

A Whole New World - Liz Braswell. 2015. Seeing the new Aladdin trailer blew up my heart with FEELINGS for the original, so I went looking for a YA retelling. Can't believe I found an actual Disney-based retelling.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

After the Dancing Days - Margaret I. Rostkowski. 1986. The connection between Roy and the little girl in The Fall reminded me of this book, so I reread it specifically to visualize Andrew as Lee Pace.

How I heard of it: Library

There's Someone Inside Your House - Stephanie Perkins. 2017. I'll read most any teen thriller you throw at me. The more murders the better.

How I heard of it: Library

All the Forever Things - Jolene Perry. 2017. Loved the author's writing style on a previous book, but couldn't stomach the love triangle. Wanted to give her another chance.

How I heard of it: Library

Aristotle and Dante Discover The Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Saenz. 2012. Been on my TBR for a while because quality male friendship; read it now to see if I should keep or get rid of the dollar store copy I bought. (answer: get rid of. it's good but not amazing to me personally)

How I heard of it: Goodreads

The Hollow Girl - Hillary Monahan. 2017. Violent revenge fantasy against rapists? Especially to save the life of a guy you like who was brutally beaten during your assault? Heck yeah.

How I heard of it: Library

The Opposite of Love - Sarah Lynn Scheerger. 2014. The hurt/comfort potential was off the charts and it vaguely reminded me of Ryan/Marissa (the O.C.).

How I heard of it: Library

Sophomore Year is Greek to Me - Meredith Zeitlin. 2015. It just looked light and cute, like summer.

How I heard of it: Library

Girl Online On Tour - Zoe Sugg. 2015. Girl Online Going Solo - Zoe Sugg. 2016. Two sequels to a book I enjoyed.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Plague Land - Alex Scarrow. 2017. Plague Land Reborn - Alex Scarrow. 2018. Always here for illness-based apocalypse/dystopia. Would have finished the trilogy but library doesn’t have book 3 yet.

How I heard of it: Library

Pretty Fierce - Kieran Scott. 2017. Spy daughter of spies running for her life along w/ doting boyfriend (named Oliver, a name that has never let me down in fiction)? The ship radar is sounding OFF.

How I heard of it: Library

The Leaving - Lynn Hall. 1980. Will read any LH book, but this one was small and easy to take on an overnight trip plus everything about the summary and first couple of pages drew me in.

How I heard of it: author’s back catalog

Speed of Life - J.M. Kelly. 2016. Beautiful cover, blue collar family, unusual premise (twin sisters co-parenting the baby one of them had, no dad in sight), and I love stories where teens are (essentially) head of household.

How I heard of it: Thrift Books

Freshman Year and Other Unnatural Disasters - Meredith Zeitlin. 2012. Looked light and cute, because it's back-to-school time and lately I've been enjoying study blogs from people just starting high school.

How I heard of it: Library

The Land of 10,000 Madonnas - Kate Hattemer. 2016. Unsupervised teens a-wanderin' through Europe? Sign me up for that vicarious wanderlust.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

A Thousand Boy Kisses - Tillie Cole. 2016. A romance w/ astronomical hurt/comfort potential. (spoiler alert it’s too sickly saccharine even for me)

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Hooked - Catherine Greenman. 2011. Random reread of a book I had come to believe should have been 4 stars rather than 3, but couldn’t remember well enough to feel confident in changing the rating without checking first.

How I heard of it: Library

Appaloosa Summer - Tudor Robins. 2014. Horsey YA + after years of it being on my TBR, the author saw me post about this fact and offered to send me a free paperback copy for review.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

I Stop Somewhere - T.E. Carter. 2018. I too identified as a girl my classmates would never notice was missing (moreso in college, but still). Plus it's getting close to Halloween, so time for spooky/true-crime-esque reads.

How I heard of it: library

What Waits in the Woods - Kieran Scott. 2015. An ideal spook setting for the spook season!

How I heard of it: Library

Illuminae - Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff. 2015. The formatting/art design just sounded cool and unique.

How I heard of it: a book blog post

Boot Camp - Todd Strasser. 2006. I went to the library to check out a different book of his, but this caught my eye because WHUMPITY WHUMP (with a side of pining for the teacher he had previously been in a relationship with).

The Last Trip of the Magi - Michael Lorinser. 2012. Picked up cheap at a book sale for the struggling-to-survive-a-winter-night-outside aspect.

A List of Cages - Robin Roe. 2017. Male friendship loaded with hurt/comfort.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

-------

MIDDLE GRADE

Sparrow Road - Sheila O'Connor. 2011. The setting -- an artist's retreat at an old mansion on sprawling estate grounds formerly used as an orphanage -- captivated me.

How I heard of it: a Little Free Library (outside of a mansion repurposed as an art council's center, actually)

Annie's Life in Lists - Kristin Mahoney. 2018. I LOVE LISTS.

How I heard of it: library

Hope is a Ferris Wheel - Robin Herrera. 2014. Still grinding my teeth over Dessen's Once and For All, I was desperate for a sweet middle grade story to refresh my palate. Gimme that bright cover. Ooh, and a trailer park kid?

How I heard of it: Library

The Education of Ivy Blake - Ellen Airgood. 2015. Prairie Evers - Ellen Airgood. 2012. Also intended as a Dessen antidote, I picked up the sequel first due to the incredibly charming excerpt on the back, and then fell so in love with the character and writing style I needed more of her world.

How I heard of it: Library

When You Reach Me - Rebecca Stead. 2009. Rave reviews from friends; mystery aspect sounded intriguing.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Counting By 7s - Holly Goldberg Sloan. 2013. Picked up cheap at a fundraiser garage sale I wanted to support; seemed easily readable.

Summerlost - Ally Condie. 2016. Young!Ned/Chuck AU?? (spoiler alert: maybe if it wasn't so boring)

How I heard of it: Googling

Where The Heart Is - Jo Knowles. 2019. "Country girl taking care of the animals at a hobby farm across the road" = the childhood dream and also I wanted to ignore the summary and hope I could still get a Young!Ned/Chuck AU. How I heard of it: Library

The Wizards of Once - Cressida Cowell. 2017. Twice Magic - Cressida Cowell. 2018. First one: David Tennant reads the audiobook, and literally no other reasons.

Second one: Ah heck turns out I kind of loved how David Tennant read that audiobook and want more.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece - Annabel Pitcher. 2011. David Tennant reads the audiobook, and literally no other reasons.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

----------

NONFICTION

Seinology: The Sociology of Seinfeld - Tim Delaney. 2006. It's sociology, it's Seinfeld, what's not to love?

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Survivor: The Ultimate Game - Mark Burnett. 2000. At the beginning of the year I was obsessed w/ this show like never before, so a detailed recap of one of its seasons seemed like the ticket to complement that.

How I heard of it: Googling

Jungle: A Harrowing True Story of Survival - Yossi Ghinsberg. 1985. Loved the movie, wanted to relive it in text form.

How I heard of it: special features on the DVD

Lost Masterworks of Young Adult Literature - ed. Connie Zitlow. 2002. There was an essay about Send No Blessings in here. If that's the kind of book this book is about, I wanna hear all about it.

How I heard of it: Library catalog

Animals in Young Adult Fiction - Walter Hogan. 2009. From the same publishing line as the above, which I loved, I figured this was even MORE my specialized reading niche.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Phantoms of the Hudson Valley - Monica Randall. 1996. When I have I ever NOT wanted to read about grand mansions of yesteryear -- especially if some are abandoned ruins?

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Seven Cats and the Art of Living - Jo Coudert. 1996. Picked up cheap at a library sale because cats (and the cute author-illustrated cover painting).

Psychic Pets and Spirit Animals: True Stories From The Files of Fate Magazine. 1996. Random reread of a childhood favorite.

How I heard of it: B. Dalton's (THAT’S how long I’ve had this book, y’all).

Extreme Couponing - Joni Meyer-Crothers with Beth Adelman. 2013. Who doesn't love saving money? But I am not very coupon-savvy and wanted to learn.

How I heard of it: Library

Cabin Lessons: A Tale of 2x4s, Blisters and Love - Spike Carlsen. 2015. Having the money/skill to build my own cabin on MN's north shore is a fun daydream.

How I heard of it: Library

The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap: A Memoir of Friendship, Community, and the Uncommon Pleasure of a Good Book - Wendy Welch. 2012. Opening a used bookstore is my impractical dream too.

How I heard of it: Library

Belonging: A German Reckons With History and Home - Nora Krug. 2018. Illustrated memoirs are always awesome.

How I heard of it: Library

The Astor Orphan: A Memoir - Alexandra Aldrich. 2013.

Rokeby was one of the estates that fascinated me in Phantoms of the Hudson Valley, and the content of this one took place around the same era that book was written.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

I'll Be There For You: The One About Friends - Kelsey Miller. 2018. Am I going to turn down "a retrospective" about one of my favorite shows?? I am not.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Season Finale: The Unexpected Rise and Fall of the WB & UPN. 2007. Recommended after the above because I love hearing how network TV stations are built in terms of programming decisions.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

Paperback Crush: The Totally Radical History of 80s and 90s Teen Fiction - Gabrielle Moss. 2018. Take how I reacted to Lost Masterworks of Young Adult Literature, and multiply it by "fully illustrated with brightly colored pages." These are the kind of books I’m familiar with and always down to talk/hear about, but hardly anyone else is.

How I heard of it: Goodreads

#why i read #queued

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theslasherchild · 5 years

Text

Michael Myers love story part 1

Hi guys!, this is a story I've bine thinking about writing for a while the characters in this are my own, except for obviously any characters from John Carpenter's Halloween 1978- which is wear the story is being based from (I'm also ignoring every film from after 1978 + this version of Michael is what I think of him to look like BUT I don't wn tis character at all).

hope you enjoy it x

chapter one ~ beginning

As a sun beam shined through the small gap in my curtains I look over to my alarm clock 7:00,”CRAP” I thought as i rushed into the bathroom to take a shower and quickly get dressed I pulled on a white blouse, black pencil skirt and some tights with some kitten heels. I rushed down to the kitchen t make myself some coffee. minute later Ellie come bursting in waving a newspaper article in my face, “ILEEENNNEEE LOOK LOOK ITS HORRIBLE LOOOOOKKKK”, my tired eyes took a moment to focus on the hovering paper in front of me.

KILLER HAD DISAPEARED OUT OF SIGHT AFTER HAVE BEENING SHOT OUT OF WINDOW BY CHILD PSCHOLOGIST “oh my god that's awful” I said as I read the article. “ I know right, and he went after that little strode girl, remember her we used to babysit her when we were in university and she goes to the school we both work at you know, I teach her English”. ”yeah I remember she’d be 17 now, poor thing she must have been terrified”, “right, anyway well chat more about this later, lets get too work, if you want we’ll pass by her house to see if she alright after work” , “okay, yeah well do that”.

during the car ride to work I realised I was still clutching onto the newspaper, I stared at it for a few moments my eyes kept running over the word ‘killer’ that word it so dangerous..yet oddly sexy to me. “Ilene hey, Ilene wakey wakey were here” I look up from the paper to see the school, I worked at the local school in Haddonfield, I was a chemistry teacher I taught in the secondary grade 6-10.

we walk into the school and I said goodbye to Ellie and started to walk to my classroom, I sat down at my desk when I noticed a man standing outside the school on the side of the road from the big window at the back of my classroom, at first I thought he might be a parent for one of the infants or primary kids...but the drop of was at the other side of the school and he was staring at me, the anxiousness crept up my back slowly the feeling was so strange I got up and swiftly made my way to the exit door at the back of my classroom next to the big window to go and ask this strange man what he was doing and if he wasn't dropping off a child he needed to leave immediately, but the second I exited the door and look around to see the man again he wasn't there.” how strange I thought” and that maybe I just imagined him I mean I was pretty sleep deprived.

just as I was going to walk out and look around to see if I could see him, “ miss Johnson what ae you doing?” I turn around to see Jennifer Williams a 8 grade student how always tended to turn up earlier then others to my lesson. “n-nothing sweetheart I just thought I saw someone, please sit down and wait for the others to come in”.

Finally it was lunch break I tiredly walked to the staff room where I saw Ellie sitting next to the window and slumped my way across the room to sit next to her. “hey Ellie, how your day bine so far”, “ it was alright, unless you are trying to teach Shakespeare to a bunch of 15 year olds” she said half laughing.

“so I've bine thinking”, she began making me look at her curiously look at her, “how do y feel abut having some fun this weekend” I didn't say anything just gave her a annoyed look, “oh come on Ilene it'll be fun I promise, besides...” she lowered her voice and looked me right in the eye, “how long has it bine since you got any”, “Ellieee” I half yelled at her, “wwhhaaatt” she said laughing at m cherry red face. “Ilene come on you haven't done anything fun since Peter, loo I promise itll be fun and you now we don't have to even talk to any guys it can just be us too...and David ”, I sad nothing, “Ilene you know David doesn't technically count as a guy you know he gay”. ”fine” I said whilst watching her face light up.

~ time skip ~

As I dismissed my final students for the day and started to make my way up to Ellies classroom I suddenly got this strange feeling I was being watched, this feeling similar to his morning crept up my back making my spin crawl as I walked along the long corridors, finally I made my way into Ellies classroom, she must have notice the anxiety on my face because she immediately asked me what was wrong, I told her I was fine and we walked back to her car, “do you still wanna go to the strode house to see if Laurie there” she asked “ yeah, lets go see if she there”, I said franticly still feeling this strange feeling.

once we got to the house there were still swarms of policemen scoping the area, we got out and began walked t the house but we were stopped by a policeman, “sorry no more reporters” he said sharply “oh no were not reporters, we were just wondering if Laurie was still here and if she is can w see her please”, Ellie asked hopefully “sorry ladies, but miss strode bine taken to the hospital poor lass” the policeman said “you ladies should probably get home, you must have read the news, crazy bastards still loose you should make sure your keeping safe”, as Ellie continued to talk to the officer I walked off back to the car to wait for Ellie there, suddenly the feeling came back but lot stronger, I spun my head around to scope the area but all I could see was police men and a few neighbours talking to them abut that night.

ugh, I thought, pull yourself together Ilene your being ridiculous, you don't even live in this area there's no way your being stalked. after about five minutes Ellie came back to the car and took me home just before I got out the car she grab my arm “Ilene are you sure your okay” she asked with worried tone “ El honestly I'm fine I'm just really tired”, she let go of my arm an we said goodbye as I started to unlock my door this dumb feeling came back again, I fumbled with my keys and finally unlocked my door slamming it shut and locking quickly a wash of relief came over my body as I went upstairs to get a shower.

after I had showered I walked into my bedroom I caught myself in the mirror and stood there for a moment as I studied my body, I had always bine small I think I around 5,0ft 5,3ft in the heels I wore for work I had a body type sort of like a triangle I guess I had most of my weight on my hips and bum, pear shape is what Ellie always told me considering I had small shoulders and smaller breast .my thought were interrupted by a loud crash coming from my kitchen, I quickly threw on a oversized shirt and a pair of baggy pj pants and grabbed the only thing that I cold uses as a weapon, my straightener, and as quietly as I could I made my way to my kitchen.

I noticed footprints that definitely weren’t mine, they were much bigger than my feet and the footprints were dirty, my anxiety was high and the fear of who was in my house terrified me. as I as only a steps away from my kitchen I stay there for a few moments before swinging around in the kitchen ready to put a fight...but there was on one there.

suddenly I felt a pair of big hands grab my waist firmly and fight or flight kicked In and I swung around waking the stranger In the face with my straighteners, the man flew back slamming himself into the wall behind him, I stood there panicking on what to do...when suddenly he just fainted and I thought damn how hard did I hit the guy considering I’m the legit height of a child. I dropped my straightener and ran to go get the phone to call the police, but...something was compelling me to check him out in a sense, I walked slowly to this strange man. it was then when I noticed how tall this man was, he looked strong and stocky but he wore a mask. I kneeled down and slowly tugged of the mask which revealed such a handsome face even despite the filth it was covered in, he had sandy blonde hair that brushed past his shoulders and such strong feature that together made him so attractive, as much I didn't want to admit it,he look...sexy.

I don't really know what compelled me not to call the police but for a odd reason I wanted to help him. Then I notice the reason real why he had fainted, on the right side of his body he had a large gash, bleeding heavily. I remembered the newspaper article, he had bine shot, I ran back into my kitchen grabbing towels and the first aid kit in my kitchen, luckily I had been trained to clear this up, before I became a teacher I wanted to be a doctor but i dropped out because it wasn't what i really wanted to do.

I started to clean the wound and a relief strangely came over me when realised the bullet only grazed him and didn't go into him, after a while I had clean the wound out as well as disinfecting it I couldn't bandage it with him lying on the floor, I had to move him but the only problem was I tiny he's not so these are definitely problems for me.

after I dragged him to my sofa and force him to sit up and started to wrap a bandage around his torso to cover the wound, I couldn't help myself I couldn't stop blushing, he was very well built I wouldn't say he was ripped but there were definitely sign of muscle, he look like one of those statues you'd see in a museum. I cursed myself for finding this criminal sexy, for the love of god Ilene what are you doing, i thought as I finished bandaging him up.

I went up stairs to grab some cloth's for him because I cant have him sleeping in a dirty jumpsuit all night, I still had some cloths from when my ex-boyfriend used to live with me but honestly I wasn't sure if Peters cloths would even fit Michael definitely the shirts wouldn't. I pick out some pj pant in hope that they would fit him, I remember Peter always complaining they where too baggy on him.

luckily they fit him, even though I was blushing like teenager through out changing his cloths. for some reason hiding a killer in my home and letting him sleep in my living room and giving him clothing seem completely fine and dandy as I tiredly dragged my body to bed thanking it was Friday and I didn't have to go to work tomorrow.

Thankyou so much for reading my first chapter and hope you are okay with me ignoring pretty much all the other Halloween films

I’ll most likely be writing another chapter pretty soon so if anyone does read this thankyou and I’ll have the next one out as soon as I can x

#michael myers #halloween1978 #laurie strode #fanfic #slasher fanfiction #my ocs #except john carpenters

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unholyhelbiglinked · 6 years

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Artifice | Chapter Four

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

[A/N: Heads up, this is a bit of a backstory chapter. Nothing too extensive, but now that this is a full story, I have to backtrack a little]

“Tienes que concentrarte en el arte, Beca” His words were sharp and laced with a hissing venom. It dripped past his tongue, picked up on every aspect of his thick accent. Each syllable was over pronounced and drawn out. His chin was held higher than his ego at this point, back against a clay wall. It was undeniably steaming from the Spanish sun that bore down on the pair.

His skin was like leather, wrinkled and worn from the countless hours spent in the whitewashed courtyard, a thick sweat forming right above the mans’ brow. He didn’t make another advance towards the young painter- the ran welt on her cheek enough to quell his movements for more than a few moments.

Beca breathed in deeply, chewing the inside of her jaw. Her ear was ringing, pulsing with her heartbeat pounding against the inside of her wrist. He had struck her before, never this hard, never with this much passion behind his movements. She clenched the graphite closer to her palm, not shifting at the black mark it created on her skin.

“vete a la mierda” She grumbled out with discontent. “You don’t think I’m trying, Christian?”

He wrinkled up his nose, making his aged features look even more so. This man, the one in front of her, was supposed to be a skilled painter. One that Beca had traveled months to follow in studies. It took another thirty days to even convince the borderline drunk to give up his seat at the tavern and pick up a pencil again. Except, he hadn’t. Not in the past four weeks.

All Christian Calderon had done so far was lecture the brunette about art styles on his rooftop garden. Something that was a bit extravagant and overlooked the city of Madrid. A beautiful view that Beca wanted to sketch the second she got a good look at the expertly crafted buildings and streetways.

Calderon had refused it, though, stating that she was under his teachings now. She placed her instrument to the paper when, and only when, he allowed it. Now was not one of those times- her back resting against the far side of the wall, a ripe apple in her hands, growing warm from the lack of storage.

“I know you’re not trying,” He let out an exasperated sigh, running his hand through his dark mane of pitch hair. “If you were attempting to see what I am to instruct, then we would not be having this conversation, and I would have had to-“

“Strike me?” She asked, toying with the sarcasm in her voice, “I got it.”

“Then tell me,” he squatted down in front of her, gently, placing his hand over hers as he pulled the apple up to her view, her midnight stare focusing hard on the piece of fruit that he had picked from the tree in a yard three blocks over. “What do you see?”

‘hungry’ hadn’t been the right answer, and neither had red. Beca was stating the obvious at this point. She had even gone as far as stepping into a few different hues of the bloody color, but all was met with a hard glare and an even harder smack to the face. Not out of ill will, out of discipline. She understood- but the taste of iron was itching at her tongue and clawing at her throat. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take of it.

“Please, young one.” His voice began to crack under the pressure. Christian hating this almost as much as she did. Hated drawing his hand back and bringing it against already irritated bone. “Tell me.”

She drew in a small breath, fingers digging into the malleable skin of the fruit. It was smooth, weighted in her palm as she spun it to the side. It was just an apple, the same thing she had seen at every bodega, hanging off of multiple oaks that reached towards the sky- and pressed its branches into the blue depths.

“I uh,” She swallowed thickly, “I see summer, I suppose.”

Beca drew back, wincing involuntarily for a strike that never made contact. He just stared, his chestnut eyes not showing any type of emotion or sign that she was right. A sign that was wrong would have been worse, however, her stance tightening.

“Red can mean war,” She sounded out carefully, “But it can also mean love. Something that took the time to form around one tiny seed in the soil. It wasn’t instant, but it was there. It grew, and it flourished, and now it’s sitting in my hand in the warmth of a mid-day sun.”

Christian lifted his chin in the slightest of ways, rolling his shoulders back. “Take a bite.”

She was hesitant, raising the item to her lips as she stared at the gold flecks that circled the man's pupil. He didn’t’ make a move to interject, her tongue tankful for the change in taste as sweet juices dribbled off her chin and soaked into her cotton shirt. She chewed slowly, eyes darting down to the sizable dent she had made in the fruit.

“Good,” he breathed out, stare darting to the sketch pad to her side. “When you paint, La Hija, you should remember this feeling of summer, and taste of apples- because it is all you have to hold onto. All you should allow yourself to display within the lines.”

She gulped back the residual taste, staring at him with wide composure. “You want me to?”

“Draw, young one.” He nodded solemnly “make it count.”

Beca Mitchell drew in a soft breath, fingers running over the smooth edge of the apple. It was a deeper shade of crimson than she had ever seen before- grown in different soil and brought up in a different climate of the world. It would be undoubtedly sweet, tooth-rotting.

She held it up, inspecting the bruising and the slight deformed edge that it had to its shape. It wasn’t perfect, but no apple was. The weight of it making her fingers ache. The brunette had lost her train of thought a few moments ago, listening to the steady chopping that Stacie provided each time her steel knife came down on the crisped edge of the fruit.

“I lost you a few minutes ago.” The taller of the two spoke out, swiping her palm against the wooden cutting board, brushing all the juicy pieces to the side tactfully. “Thinking about anything interesting?”

“I don’t like apples,” Beca said, instead, placing it down with a look of disdain on her features.

“Ah, what an eloquent speech you have been piecing together Madame Mitchell.”

“Fuck off,” A smile found it’s way to her lips regardless, she liked the way that Stacie teased and berated her. She didn’t’ tip-toe like the rest of the staff did. They wouldn’t even meet her eyes on most occasions, going about their work just like Beca had intended to do for the past three days of near silence in this place.

However, Chloe Beale is a hard woman to track down within the walls of this estate. It had become apparent to the young artist that if she wanted to be found, she would be. There was no point in looking for a woman who had no interest in the work that was sure to take place at some point- their shared conversation by the Southern swamp was the last she had seen of the girl in forty-eight hours.

For now, she sat at the island, residing to the far corner of the place while she watched Stacie prepare what looked like an apple dessert of some kind- maybe even a pie. She wasn’t sure- she was more focused on the woman’s movements; how fluid and precise they were compared to the clunky ones of her own. Residing to the fact that she was meant to be a painter and not a cook. She had even begun to sketch a rough drawing of the woman in front of her, messy and always coated in some form of baking material.

“Good thing this thing isn’t for you,” Stacie continued her train of thought. “Unless you can get past your unnatural distaste for apples?” She cocked an eyebrow, throwing a glance Beca’s way. By the scrunched-up expression on the woman’s face, she assumed that was a no. She didn’t question the girl, instead, bringing the sharpened edge of the knife into the crisp fruit.

“Does the woman of the house have a thing for them?”

“A thing?” Stacie sounded out carefully, “I would say no. What she does carry an affinity for is my apple cake. No one can refuse it.”

“Watch me, Conrad,” Beca grumbled under her breath. She couldn’t stand the thought of that sickeningly sweet taste anymore. It was just what Christian had taught her- it wasn’t about the object, but the feeling connected to it. This feeling was laced with dread and questioning of self-worth, something her old teacher mastered in. “Speaking of which, have you seen her?”

“Not for a few days,” She lifted her shoulders up slightly. “Are you that keen on packing up your brooding attitude and heading back out to sea?”

Beca drew in a careful breath. These last couple of days had been calming, albeit, strange. She hadn’t stressed the worry of where her next meal was coming from, or how early she had to wake up to be out of quarters before the real owner returned to their storefront. It wasn’t that she didn’t miss life on the streets, and crave for even one bit of danger, because she did. But it was so quiet, and still. She was stuck in time, frozen in golden amber with her wings raised and pension building.

“Aye aye.” Beca gave her a tantalizing wink. It was easier this way, to shove everything off with a light wave of the hand instead of going into her psyche with a girl she barely knew but felt connected to. She wasn’t afraid to talk with her, to open up and share the worries that plagued her.

“And what about you?” Beca asked, not sparing much detail. “Ever see yourself sailing against the Pacific?”

“Mm, never.” Stacie shook her head. “That’s left for my brother, a sc-all-y wag.”

Beca had to bite down a laugh at the way the leggy brunette struggled through the word. Her tongue stuck out a bit from her lips, eyes staring up at the ceiling as she tried to place her words. It wasn’t natural, almost aloof. It brought a genuine smile to the smaller woman’s features, her fingers spinning the brown stem of the apple absently.

Both women glanced up as someone new entered the kitchen, Beca’s breath catching in her throat like it was sticky, the air humid from the working ovens overtime and the streaming sun still creating a large reflective rectangle against the tile. Chloe’s hair was wet from a shower, her lavender bath soap coating her throat and lungs. It was soothing, catching.

Chloe’s wild mane of copper locks flowed over her bloused chest. An armed guard strapped to her forearm and going up past her elbow. It made her arm look a little awkward and straight- but her shoulders were pulled back in a defined way. She flicked her royal stare to Stacie.

“Is that what I think it is?” She asked, a sprouted smile on her lips. Chloe breathed in strongly, a look of bliss making Beca sit back in her seat, the stem still between her forefingers.

“Mm-hm” Stacie wiggled a bit, shoving more apple pieces to the side, Chloe’s own eyes widening with excitement.

“Seriously,” Chloe pointed a finger towards Beca “her apple cake is the best thing in the whole entire world.”

“I wouldn’t’ go that far,” She laughed “Nothing is better than sex, including this cake.”

The girl let out a huff as she reached forward, attempting to dip her finger in the buttercream icing, resting softly in a spreadable pile. It almost looked too pure, too sweet. Stacie, however, batted the girl's hand away before she got a chance. “Chlo,”

“Come on,” She groaned like a child, Beca smirking until her jaw was sore. She had only seen a poised side of the woman, the type where every little movement was overthought. She had even gotten a taste of the dangerous and daring woman who knew how to fence like no other. But not this, not a girl struggling to get a hold of sweets, just waiting to get scolded. “Stace, you expect me to wait all day?”

“That’s exactly what I expect you to do.” She snipped back, pulling the last apple from Beca’s grasp with a sparing glance. Chloe let out a discontent huff. She quickly got over it, flashing that indigo color back to Beca. It sent a wave of dissipating chills through her spine, lips parting slightly.

“Hi,” Chloe let out a long sigh, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Hi,” Beca rolled her shoulders back pulling her arm over the edge of the chair so she could turn to face the woman more, her other hand resting on the table, a leather-clad book under her fingertips. It seemed she took it everywhere, palms coated in black charcoal.

“You need to get changed.” Chloe scanned the length of her stare over Beca, the girl in long sleeves and even longer pants- her whole body always having a bit of a chill to it despite how many layers she allowed herself to hold, Stacie cocking her head to the side.

“What? Why?” Beca held her arm out a bit, staring down at her dark clothing.

“I am going to teach you how to fence,” Chloe stated matter-of-factly.

Beca squinted her dusky eyes, “Gee that sure sounds like fun, Chloe, but I would rather take that fork and stab myself in the throat.”

Stacie drew in a careful breath, slowly pushing the metal utensil away from the small artist. Chloe crossing her arms over her chest as she elicited an amused scoff. “You want to get to know me? Well, you have to know fencing first.”

“It’s a sport with pointy things that you thrust into the air.” Beca waving her hand in the air.

“No,” Chloe took a small step forward “It’s a practice of agility and swift movements that help regulate heart rate and overall pain tolerance. Kind of like painting.” Beca raised her eyebrows, bemused. “Get changed, Picasso. Meet me in the yard in twenty.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #Fanfiction #bechloe fic rec

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akira-seijuro · 4 years

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Hmm you see I turned 24. I am not narcissistic but I am when it comes to my birthday, I am the Empress of every existential entity on this one fucking day. You don’t get it? Fine, but I do.

Lets see, a small girl holding a peach colored teddy bear in a world filled with dinosaurs, mammoths and well, plants and water bodies. Beautiful world. But just one girl standing there, right there absorbing all that she can and believing that the world is just this, till the sight of the horizon with no one to communicate, the only human growing a spine. I do not actually mean those historic beings, it’s metaphoric for all character-set society with standard roles to observe which is rhetoric and non-adaptive at the same time because every one looked like they belong to different species of humans. She was the weird one trying to be one of those historic beings, the best of those for 13.5 years bearing all the torture of the dirty minds, passive minds and well, stupid minds trying to make believe that she was one of them, one of all those there. Nevertheless, she was beneficial to every single person she encountered in that ice age and the Mesozoic era before, she helped them by remembering the paths as to where they could find food, how they can play defensive and the offensive. She was the damn good empress of that small world democratically praised. But then once they didn’t need her, she was cast aside and sent into exile. Oh if you are wondering about her parents, she was brought up by two humans that belonged to the Mesozoic era. So she was self sufficient in food and all other she needed to survive to perform her duties as the little girl before and after the peach teddy bear tore apart by her cousins. So, as I was telling you, she was exiled by her fellow Mesozoic human species after they became self-sufficient, a common characteristic of many homo sapiens I would say.

Then she realized she either needs to adapt and become one of them, one that could tear up a person after he/she is no use or leave them. Well, given her character, common, she is the main character what else do you expect? So, she left them. Lived alone for years, seeing the the destruction of ice age and Mesozoic era and how the world turned it’s back on the creatures it once homed and nurtured because it was unable to accommodate them. It just put itself as first priority just like how the air hostess always said, put your own oxygen mask first then get to your child. It just followed the rules very strictly for once. While this transformation into a pure Cenozoic happened, there came fossil fuels that were made out of her so called friends, she learnt to be able to use the fossil fuels, not her friends, now to go to places and electricity and for the good, blah blah blah. See, the transition, it wasn’t smooth, it had taken the lives of many, well it also was making the lives of many Mesozoic humans inhabitable, so she saw all the struggle. World turned it’s back on her father, so she saw him trying to adapt with all the means available and fellow Mesozoic humans pretending, sometimes truthfully trying to use their.. Wow. Finally. the word comes out. their ‘brains’ to go against the world that was turning it’s back. She used to think, weren’t we all supposed to be the same, we all have digestive system, nervous system, reproductive system in all our bodies. Why different DNA’s? Why these DNA’s were not able to adapt. Why weren’t we able to become X-Men, so much of collateral damage so that the world can find it’s perfect match as to who can live on it. How inhospitable was this environment because of the competition, why was there a lot of chaos all of a sudden and suffering, pain and difference in standard of living across the world based on a paper product that was different everywhere. How could a paper dictate how forward a world can be at one place and different at another. I know too many real questions. Obviously she tried going with the herd, fell in love that was never nourished, she was laughed at because the questions were too real, some called her retarded for not being able to fake an emotion, some called different names because she believed that humans can co-exist without taking gender and blood into consideration. Family doesn’t necessarily mean having the same last name. Scientifically we all have the same last name. Sapiens. But fuck science, right. Doesn’t let the bureaucrats flourish, doesn’t promote Julius Ceasers’ because you know not all the can be Julius’, but being the senators who stabbed him, it was always easier to be one of them in all the universal time coordinated plus or minus based time zones. North pole keeps shifting, still humans fasten the process by a year, 34 miles. Record. So proud. El Ninos’ don’t stop, plates keep rubbing against each other, volcanoes, my god, they have had enough. They bottled up for centuries and they were sick and tired of tiny bugs trying to show off everywhere. So, yes, where was I? co-existence. Fancy word. She realized she needed to get out of this comfortably disillusioned circle and go to some oblong place where she can see some things straight as in how she needn’t prove her character or have to put in so many efforts to see what is in front of her. Congratulations babe! she thought she finally made it.

Just about to enter the free zone of independence, she was hit hard with neoplastic activity in her family. Metastasis to her beloved man who made her feel like a princess for 14 years. It was an achievement. Trust me. I haven’t seen anyone who has more guts than her when it comes to standing up for what she believed in. Man taught her well, though he himself couldn’t do that. He was her army, her general, her armor that cut through anyone that tried to fight her. Though this might be an exaggeration, she was one of the closest to being an ideal human according to Epictetus and Buddha, a Julius Caeser species, say some 60% because she stuck to her ideals which sometimes did not shed the light, which sometimes threw her into infinite darkness, because her body and brain were not built to live in any other way. So metastasis was one of those things that threw her into infinite darkness, because of just one word. Love. What the fuck man, a chemical reaction in brain can cause a human with wbc, rbc and thrombocytes go bizarre? Shut up. But it is true. No wbc can counter the excessive production of cortisol or insufficient production of dopamine. She badly needed serotonin-nor-epinephrine re-uptake inhibitors. She, only she made all the calls to define the way she could take care of herself, because no one could and no one gave a damn because everything looked strong and alright on the outside. She met more cenozoic humans, mesozoic humans, got more cortisol and got her brain shrunk and body bulged up. She practically was failing in terms of self defense of the mind game. Note that she was commendable at playing video games. She tried to channel many people struggling with the same cortisol function, such as Vincent Van Gogh, Ellen DeGenres, Angelina Jolie. She read tirelessly, she painted and developed her signature styles in everything, she wrote countless pains, she wore her broken heart on her sleeve, trying to spread warmth even when she knew that there was no hope. She defined herself, she built a character and strength for herself and was real. She became the human who could be happy, sad, depressed, ecstatic, a person who could jump when someone she believed in succeeded and cried when someone she saw was in pain. She was emotional. But, she always had the right emotion with respect to the situation, just how a human could be. A real human being. She was good, she was bad, she was warm, she was cold. She was distant and she was close. There wasn’t a single human whom she met, who didn’t connect with her soul, the ones whom she believed in especially. Likewise they were able to be their own selves with her because she was accommodating and simply put, she gave everyone a chance, she gave a fuck. But that’s a dangerous zone. Being original. So people tend to deny that. But nevertheless, she was a lone wolf crying in silence, howling at the moon every night. When she lost, she accepted and held her head with grace. She took charge and tried to honor her dad’s death. She was the person who tried until the very end just like her dad. She still is too. Unfortunately, not all want to be given so much fuck. Because shit gets real when they live as an original. She fell in love again, this time consciously and responsibly, she did not want to give up without trying. But cenozoic human liked her too, at least she thought he did and she wanted to live with a renewed hope. That she could do it. That she could have almost everything.That she would laugh, she would cry, she could have a safe space that would not require her to put in efforts, she felt understood, but little did she know about that differently placed human. The reason why she could make friends with anyone on the planet, who necessarily was not from her place was because she was a human being first and she behaved like one instead of affiliating herself with certain alias of the herd. That was why people opened up, she encouraged being real, she made people dis comfortable first, but then comfortable with themselves later, that created a bond. She never forgot to show gratitude, she was loyal and worst, she was courageous to grow a spine everywhere, every time life threw a punch at her. But world was may be too real to believe in, her renewed strength turned into pain, unbearable and shattering once again. She was not a dark person, but life was dark to her. People she loves, always left her and disappeared one way or the other. She just wanted someone to make her laugh. Stop saying bullshit that you don’t need anyone to make you laugh, you alone are enough. Yes, she alone was enough to survive and sometimes happy, but having someone to share it with, who could have her back, being able to love someone takes shit load of strength and courage, to believe to share a future, which might sound melodramatic, but man she laughed without pain because of this guy many times. Now she is afraid if she could ever laugh again. I don’t think she does anymore. She gave up. She realized, she is probably cursed and would never be happy, would always see the loss and renewal of the world but she would always be alone. The only thing she could probably do is live authentically and help those who are not enabled like her. Because there might be many little girls, but not all would have the belief of beauty or the privilege of being self sufficient when they are in their own ice age and Mesozoic era. As she thought before, she is broken beyond repair, beyond any save. She is exhausted and she is done to an extent that a cry for attention by ending, on her birthday would eventually turn into a blame game, worse would not actually gain any attention for a second, even though many people would meaningfully shed a tear for her, because she is an inspiring, bold, emotional and brilliant badass woman. She is now a woman standing at the edge of a dessert still growing a spine to see the sun rise beyond the horizon on the other end, all alone, without hope and without love because she still has a leash that only lets her be in the dark fearing to explore beyond what eyes could make her see, trying to keep her mind in its right size, fighting every breathe, because she is universally disappointed and unloved.

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dfnews · 7 years

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Episode Recap of "Joy Gets Engaged"

Season 4, Episode 6 - July 10, 2017

Only five weeks of new episodes this season plus two weeks of Duggar after show crap. This has got to be the shortest season ever. The season started with Joy's wedding and ended with her engagement. The Duggars are backwards type of people so that makes sense. They didn't even get to the wedding prep yet! Hopefully they'll just skip that and move on to Joe and Kendra's wedding.

This week:"Jinger makes a care package for the family back in Arkansas. Meanwhile, the Dillards prepare to return to Central America; Austin has an important question for Joy; and Joe asks for permission to enter a courtship with Kendra."

1. Austin is planning to propose and DerJill are planning to go back to El Salvador. Somebody remind me why they came back home in the first place. I think it was it for Jinger's wedding and to get pregnant away from the Zika virus. Anyway, they took a vacation from their vacation throughout the fall and returned in March for just a few months only to return again. Derick really needs to give up the phony missionary gig.

2. Izzy is helping Jill cook and is quickly expanding his vocabulary. His deep voice is too cute. Izzy's babbling counteracts Jill's inane limited vocabulary. They are preparing for a last supper with Derick's family. Derick's brother and wife arrive and sidehug Jill. Derick's mom arrives and Derick sidehugs her and almost forgets to greet his stepfather. Derick doesn't refer to Ronny as his stepfather, just his mom's husband. Ronny seems like a sweet guy. I don't know why Derick seems cold to him. Derick and Jill say they have to take all the hot showers and eat all the food they have left before they go but Derick adds, not in a gluttonous kind of way. They live down the block from the compound in the Duggars' guest house. I'm sure one of the Duggar kids will pop over to finish up the Dillards' food. And the first world problem of not having hot water or good food as a missionary living among the poor does not need to be mentioned. Nobody has any empathy for your minor self-entitled problems. You choose to live among the poor, you should live as they do. Stop whining! Just a dinner with 6 adults and they still use paper plates and plastic forks. Lazy! Jill gives Derick's mom her engagement ring so some gang member doesn't cut off her finger for the stone. Meh! Just like living in any big American city. You don't wear the bling on the streets. This is not solely a Central American crime issue. My sister sold me one of her rings because she was afraid to wear it in Manhattan where she lived. Anyway, Jill rarely leaves the house on SOS Ministries property. She'll be fine unless she pisses the gangs off by liking dumb comments on twitter about wanting them to be executed. Uh oh! She already did that. At dinner they talk about Jill's pregnancy and how they'll deal with any problems in Central America but assure the TV audience that they will not be having the baby on the mission field like the Shraders. They didn't bring up the Shraders but I will. Esther Shrader is Anna's sister and she has had several babies in Zambia as a missionary. The Dillards will be coming home to the good old inconsistent US healthcare system. I'm glad they did because it seems there were major problems with this birth. The family has been very hush hush about Samuelito's and Jill's health since Sam was born.

3. Jinger goes shopping to send a care package to her family back home. Buy used and save the difference is thrown out the window. She is not thrifting today. Why is she sending a care package in March when this seems to have been filmed? Because TLC needed something to film and would pay for it. Jinger says she gets to escape the apartment when Jeremy isn't home to shop and explore but I wonder if that is true. Jinger needs to get a job or volunteer somewhere so she isn't wasting her god-given life by just staying home rinsing out Jeremy's taco stains. Jinger arrives home to the apartment with the loot where Jeremy is waiting. They quickly pack everything up and ship them out. Those two are so not exciting. I thought JinJer in Texas would bring some life into this show. I was wrong. I believe the Duggars have created a new form of entertainment called Coma TV. A new channel for those needing help getting into that deep sleep state to escape all their problems and pain. Instead of anesthesia, operating rooms now have Counting On turned on during surgery. It works like a charm. I fell asleep watching this episode myself.

4. Derick decides to cut his hair before going back to El Salvador after growing it out for 16 months. He says he just found out that long hair is seen differently in the country and he doesn't want to offend or distract from his purpose of being there. Ummm, he just found this out? Derick thinks a lot of himself doesn't he. I doubt his information is true but I did find this article that he may want to read. It's about government soldiers who have become more dangerous than gangs in El Salvador. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/feb/06/el-salvador-gangs-police-violence-distrito-italia DerJill's and SOS Ministries presence in El Salvador has done nothing and never will. The country is a human rights mess.

5. Benessa just happen to drop by the compound when JinJer's packages are delivered. They explore Laredo candy by making rude comments and Josiah puts on a mask with fake hair that causes Jason to say at least it has hair. Snap! Poor balding Josiah. Just wait a few years Jason. You are in the same genetic boat as Josiah. Again Jed is missing from this big group family scene. Jed has apparently taken leave from the show and the family after Joe stole his girl. I'm worried about the kid. I'm hoping he hasn't been sent away to some abusive christian camp. The family then goes to the airport to say goodbye to DerJill+Iz and Jeer is there but I don't see his twin. Then the self-entitled so-called missionaries fly back to El Salvador in their first class seats to their air conditioned home with their own armed guards on duty. Poor babies.

6. Austin sets up for a proposal with a Deliverance twist. Joy is kept busy at Jessa's house. Jessa makes her change her sexed-up sheets and clean the baby snot and puke off of the couch. The same couch she birthed Hank on. This alone should have caused Joy to reject Austin's proposal and catch the first flight out to Canada to live the life of a free woman. But no, she stays and accepts the future snot in her life. Austin and his dad worry about remembering the ring and the bandana. The ring is to symbolize the love between the two and their promise to marry and the bandana/blindfold is to symbolize future kinky sex. Maybe that's why she stayed.

7. Austin sets up a rough outdoors engagement scene. They will be barbecuing venison which they murdered together. One of the guys drops the grill rack in the dirt as they set up and I hope Joy brought dental floss to get the pebbles and dust out of her teeth. Joy arrives with Jenni and Hannie in her Mercedes. You get nice things when you sacrifice your life to keep the family show going. The girls get on their horses, though Jenni has to ride with Austin, and take off into the creepy winter woods. The camera crew pretends to hide in the woods and take long shots but I'm sure Joy knew they were there. There weren't really good places to hide with the leaves being down and it was daytime plus Joy was mic'd up. Then things get really creepy. Austin demands the little girl chaperones run up the trail leaving him and Joy alone. That's not what chaperones are supposed to do but girls in this cult are taught to never question a man. Then Austin asks Joy if he can blindfold her. She asks, "What are you gonna do?" I'm sure she's having flashbacks of Josh at this point. Now if Joy was really alone and this happened and of course she has been taught to be submissive to men, then Joy could have been in deep shit. This could have been Doug Phillips' nanny all over again. Austin leads blindfolded Joy down a dirt road to the edge of a cliff. Kind of symbolic for a fundie girl's path in life. He gets down on one knee and tells her to take the blindfold off. I've been telling the Duggar girls to do that for years. Then he proposes and she says yes and I mentally jump off that cliff.

8. As they prepare to eat into the sunset I notice Joy's jacket has magically appeared. She wasn't wearing it on the horsie ride. I'm sure Jim Bob and Michelle are sitting atop some deer stand watching this unfold to make sure nobody backs out. Jim Bob has a new plane he wants to buy. The talking head kids are asked another lame question. How long do you think the engagement will be? Three months is the most popular and the correct answer. Just long enough for the new season to begin.

9. Joe is getting ready to ask ignorant Pastor Caldwell for his teenage daughter's hand in courtship. Joe says, "He wasn't looking for a relationship but the Lord just kind of brought her to mine or mind." Joe tends to mumble. Actually, it seems Jim Bob and the Pastor brought Kendra to Joe after ripping her away from Jed. You know, God speaks directly to Jim Bob and told him Joe was the right one not Jed which is exactly the same thing that happened to Cain and Able. Buttinsky parents thinking they are God tend to mess everything up for everyone. Joe talks about him being only the second guy in the family to enter into a courtship. Actually, Josiah was also but his girl split. The Duggars didn't take a chance this time because the Caldwells are very close friends and they won't let that happen again. The other married Duggar guy, Josh, has also been a huge failure so a lot is riding on shy, nervous Joe. Joe mumbles his way through this scene and the pastor says they've already talked about this for 60 hours, so it's a yes. Joe romantically (LOL) plans to take Kendra to a car auction and then to the place where he grew up, the house that was demolished and turned into a parking lot, to ask her to court. What a doofus!

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cecilspeaks · 7 years

Text

108 - Cal

There’s a billboard along the highway that reads: “Everything. Must. Go.”

Welcome to Night Vale.

I don’t talk much about my brother on this show. Cal. He visited the other day from his home out near Eagle Farm, up in the mountains. He looked gaunt and pale. When I opened the door, he was bracing himself against the porch beam with one arm and coughing.

Cal was holding a suitcase. It was old-fashioned, leather, the kind without wheels or an extendable handle. He drove to my house in a 1980 Mercury Monarch, brick red, four doors. The front left bumper was caved in and the headlight, which looked to have been taped into place, had loosened again and fallen forward. I asked Cal what had happened to his car. He didn’t know what I was talking about. I asked about the bumper and headlight, and he said, “That’s just how they make them, Cecil.” Them he teased me for not understanding cars and walked into my home before I could invite him in.

“Have you ever opened a box, only to find another box inside that box, and then you open that box and there was another box within it, and then you kept opening boxes hoping to find the last box. But the boxes became so small, your comparatively large fingers could no longer open them. Until the box was so tiny, you couldn’t see the box at all.”

I’m not sure what that means. It’s neither here nor there. Which is to say it’s nowhere. Aquí, ahí, todo el mundo, no hay nada.

I don’t know Spanish.

Yesterday afternoon, Hadassah McDaniels and the other five-headed dragons, outraged at the partial execution of Hadassah’s brother Hiram last fall, moved into City Hall. They displaced Mayor Cardinal and her staff, who then called upon the Sheriff’s Secret Police, and the rarely seen Double Secret Police – a police so secret that even their members do not know that they are members. Both the Secret and the very surprised Double Secret Police, just that morning informed of their jobs, showed up at City Hall and tried reasoning with the dragons. The dragons ignored the weak efforts of the police and made straight for City Council. The Council climbed up on the roof of city Hall, their many sharp appendages swinging down from their single giant body, punching out windows and grabbing whatever long dragon necks they could reach. And the City Council’s newest member, 16-year-old Tamika Flynn, the only member not connected to their primary form, rode on the rest of the council’s back with a long bow. The dragons breathed fire upward at the City Council, who shrieked in pain, or possibly delight. The battle ended when City Council was knocked off the roof by five-headed dragon and private estate lawyer, Dirk Andrews. The council, minus Tamika, retracted form the advancing dragons, called a Lyft and sped out of town, as they are wont to do in times of crisis.

Tamika paced at the edge of the City Hall lawn, cursing and thwacking a well-worn copy of Glen David Gould’s “Carter Beats the Devil” into her calloused palm. Above the City Hall, a long black slit was torn into the light blue sky, and no one reported seeing the moon.

When Cal entered my house, I offered him some tea, and then called Carlos to come join us. But Cal said he doesn’t drink, and Carlos didn’t respond to my calls. I told Cal it was just tea, no alcohol, and he said he doesn’t drink anything. I peaked into Carlos’ office, but he wasn’t there. Nothing was there. It was just an empty room. Carlos wasn’t gone, he had never been there. And for a moment I did not miss him, as for a moment, I did not remember he existed. It was just an empty room, I thought casually.

Cal sat down his suitcase and said, “You hear that Cecil? You hear that noise?” He pointed straight up. “In the firmament,” he said. “Do you hear it?” he repeated. I listened, and I heard. I heard paper being torn, I heard weeds being pulled, I heard – egg shells crumbling.

When I looked back to say yes, he was holding his hand to his mouth and lurching forward over the sink. A trickle of blood ran down the outside of his hand. I could see his tongue moving rapidly along the insides of his cheeks, as he let out small grunts. He finally removed his hand and spat sharply into the kitchen sink. I heard a loud rattling in the stainless steel basin and saw two teeth, unbroken, root, bones and all, lying in the strainer. I stared at them and remarked at how long a human tooth actually is.

Cal wiped his face and hands. “Nice to finally get rid of those,” he said as he tore off pieces of paper towel and wedged them into the holes in his gums. Then he asked, “You got a girlfriend or what, little brother?”

In my life with Cal, I’d never told him I would never have a girlfriend. In Night Vale, no one cared either way, but I felt like Cal would have. In this other reality, I was single. So I only said, “No.”

He shrugged and scratched his head. As he did, a patch of dark hair fell to the floor. We watched it fall, lilting and looping slowly downward.

Which falls faster, a brick or a tuft of hair? Carlos taught me this physics riddle. It’s a trick question. The brick falls faster, not because of its weight but because a brick falling is less horrifying than the unexpected loss of even a minor part of your body. Time does not slow down for that which is uninteresting.

“Hah, better not look in the mirror,” Cal said, as he nervously simulated the sound of laughter. A dribble of blood ran down his chin and onto his chest.

When the Public Library disappeared last week, no one celebrated nor mourned its absence, as we could barely remember it being there. In its place, a long black sliver of nothing. A hole in our universe, near which no one wanted to go. Except for Carlos, who’s a scientist and wants tot study everything, but I told him no way. The pteranodons which poured out of a similar hole inside the Rec Center last month have taken over the Barista District, building giant nests from canvas bean sacks and flyers promoting local bands and burlesque shows.

Near the City Hall, dozens of angels, more than I have ever seen at one time, are still surrounding the Hall of Public Records, demanding expedition of their application to be officially recognized as living beings. The angels are waving hand-drawn signs with phrases like “Look at us”. But their handwriting is so shaky as to make the typography quite distracting, so most bystanders did not notice the angels, but instead fixated on trying to read their signs. The angels are shouting, “It only works if you believe it does!” But as this sentence has an erratic rhythm, it didn’t catch on with many passers-by, many of whom were busy screaming and running from vengeance-minded dragons. Some even pointed into space and yelled, “The Distant Prince!” He’s less distant than ever before.

Cal told me stories of our youth. How, as kids, we would sneak out late at night and vandalize houses and cars for fun. Little things like stealing hood ornaments or placing live scorpions in mailboxes or making creepy ghost noises outside bedroom windows. He smiled as he regaled what was for him, a funny story of boys being boys, but I didn’t like his story. I could remember it, but I also knew it wasn’t real at all. In his story, I was prying loose the aluminum ram’s head at the front of a 1975 Dodge pickup with a flat head screwdriver. The truck was dark blue with tan leather bench seats. I remembered it was parked in front of a mid-century ranch style home with a rock garden full of succulents and herbs.

As Cal spoke, I could smell rosemary in the cool desert air.

Cal placed his hands on his belly, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “You OK?” I asked. “It’s just the after effects man,” Cal shrugged. “Hey, you remember when Mom used to take us to the library to read, but we would look up dirty words in the dictionary instead?” “Mom would have never put us in such danger,” I protested.

He stared at me for a moment, his head cocked sideways, an eyebrow raised. Then he lurched forward out of his seat onto his hands and knees and vomited onto the rug. We both stared at the viscous red stain concerned. No, not concerned – embarrassed.

Let’s have a look at the Community Calendar. This Thursday afternoon, the Faceless Old Woman and the Woman from Italy will be at the Night Vale Mall from noon to 4 PM, offering bespoke tortures for anyone who walks by. The Woman from Italy will recite the unlucky passers-by future pain, in the form of a catchy poem like:

[normal voice] The Woman from Italy will leave you in stitches. Not laughter, though she’ll laugh. A sound which is full of diabolical torment And wicked behavior, As she flays you before your friends and your neighbors. You’ll yet be alive when she opens your chest, The wet beat of your heart and the choke of your breath. She coos, “Don’t fear! It’s as quick as can be.” But in truth, there’s years left to this misery.

The Faceless Old Woman will simply write some harsh insults in silver sharpie on the side of an eggplant and hurl it at your family.

Saturday afternoon, the Night Vale PTA will be holding an emergency bake sale to raise money for the elementary school gym, recently burned down by Hadassah McDaniels. It’s also a clearance sale to finally get rid of the store room full of baked goods that have gone unsold the past two years.

Monday, another hole will open in the sky, and then another. Things will come, other things will go. I will remember that Michigan is a real state and its capital is Lansing. And that I once when camping with Cal and my mother, and some family friends, up near Higgins Lake when I was 9. Soon after knowing this, I will stop knowing it again.

This has been the Community Calendar.

I tried to explain to Cal that something was amiss. I had a sister, not a brother. I wasn’t single but married. I tried to show Cal photos of Abby, and of my husband, Carlos. But when I went to our photo albums, they were different. There were photos of Cal and I as children, but none of Abby or Carlos or Steve or Janice or this radio station. Noen of a recognizable Night vale.

Based on our clothing and the cars and the fashions, no photo was older than – I’d say the early 1980’s? There was a picture of me as a teenager at Cal’s wedding. I pointed at her and said, “Bethany. Still just as radiant, I bet.”

And Cal said, “Don’t!” “How is she these days?” I asked Cal, and he pushed me and shouted, “Don’t!”

He started to cry. I kept my eyes down the hall toward the empty office. I knew someone should be in that empty room, someone I c ared for, someone I loved but – I didn’t know who.

Cal’s crying turned to sobbing and he isad, “I’m sorry I, I didn’t mean…” I put my arm around him and said softly: “I know, I know Cal. Shh. It’s OK.” “It’s just when you asked about Bethany,” he said. “You know she didn’t- she didn’t-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence, but I knew Bethany didn’t. That year, most people didn’t. But also that’s not how it happened. And also, I don’t have a brother.

He quivered in my arms, and above us, I heard the sky tearing open. Smoke in the distance. Most days I see distant smoke.

“You OK?” asked my brother. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you for… thank you for understanding.” “Sure thing, I said to him. “Please, leave my house.”

And now, the weather.

[“Robert Frost” by Mal Blum]

I don’t talk much about my brother on this show. Cal. Because he’s not my reality. I almost said he’s not real, but that’s not true. There is still a bloodstain on my rug, and a bruise from where he pushed me. I remembered Cal’s wedding. I remembered stealing hood ornaments. I remembered the smell of that rosemary bush in that rock garden. But then Cal left. He did not drive away, but vanished as the gash tore open above us. I had trouble remembering his visit, so I wrote it all down. I’m reading it now, to you, verbatim from my journal, and I cannot believe my own writing.

Carlos and his office are back. They were never gone, Carlos says. Multiple timelines is basic quantum physics, which is the most exciting kind of physics, he said. This morning, I gave Carlos a tight hug in bed and kissed him along the back of his beautiful hair – perfect, even when matted asymmetrically from sleep.

The angels are still standing around the Hall of Public Records, demanding that people look at them. There is one sign that says “We’re angels, and we’re totally real, and you’re making a huge mistake not acknowledging that. Trust us, we’re totally angels.” And while I appreciate the sentiment, I do think they’d be better served hiring a copywriter, or at least a decent graphic designer.

Holes are tearing open across the sky, and I can barely hear myself thinking most days.

The dragons have marched into the City Jail freeing all the inmates, mostly political prisoners being held for an unnamed international leader, as well as a handful of college-aged drunk tankers.

Mayor Cardinal, from her home, issued a statement about the disintegration of our town and bleeding together of realities. The statement reads: “My father, who died of liver cancer when I was five, has returned. He arrived from a hole in our reality. I am choosing to go with him, Night Vale. I am choosing the world where he did not die, where I did not kill my double, where dragons did not destroy our town. Listen to the ripping of the firmament and find a world you prefer, Night Vale. All else is pain.”

[sadly] Listeners. I beg you not to do this. This is the world we built, right here. If you leave, if you don’t accept it – [whispers] it cannot hold together.

Hold tight those you love, Night Vale. Not for fear of their loss, but for love of their presence. Hold onto what you know is real. Life is only a narrative, but it’s a narrative we write together.

Stay tuned next for – huh? Whatever was on the schedule for this month has all been scribbled out with charcoal. And with the same charcoal, someone has scrawled “A story about Huntokar” across the entire broadcast calendar. So stay tuned for that, I guess.

And for what it’s worth, and for however long our own narrative has left, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but you’ll catch even more with a corpse of some sort.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 108 #cal

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swoocrew · 7 years

Text

First paper i’ve written in years. Just posting here for record keeping

Exploring the elements of Borderlands (1987)[1](A)

The basic premise of Anzaldua’s work is that all dichotomies are unnatural (1987:3) and that there exists a beautiful and bountiful presence between binaries and dichotomies of all kinds. The most aggressively present manifestation of this is the U.S./E.U.-Mexico border itself, partially securitized in 1987 but lacking the now distinctive imagery of dominating fences and barriers that define the visual makeup of the region today. Anzaldua argues that this division separates the mestizo people from fully occupying their ancestral homeland of Aztlan (1987:4). This unnatural division creates conflict, the blood of that conflict soaking into the character of the earth and creating a new people, a new world that exists in opposition to the U.S.-Mexico binary, La Frontera (1987:3). This return to and the creation of a neo-Aztlanian people makes up “El Retorno”(Anzaldua 1987:11) or the idea that the Mexica people have always been drawn back to Aztlan. The inexorable drive to survive by the neo-Mexica, los Mestizo has them willing go to this dangerous and constantly in flux region, to risk it all for a chance to make a little cash to send back home or to escape the hopelessness of extreme poverty (Anzaldua 1987: 11,12); they seek to return home even if they will be labeled as pigs and sinners in the face of Anglo capitalists, knowing full well that they too unlawfully invaded in to “take” what was theirs some 200 odd years ago (Anzaldua 1987: 6,7)

However this sense of danger extends beyond only the political borderlands and impacts the barriers between cultural norms and practices as well; it is within this cultural space that Anzaldua (1987) spends much of the work, even within the culture of the Chicano itself there are the transgressors and cultural lepers, victims of a double or triple bind caught between dichotomies of all sorts. In critiquing these cultural dichotomies and exposing their contradictory nature Anzaldua(1987) furthers the idea that all divisions are an unnatural state. The most powerful cultural binary explored is that between man and woman, masculino y femenino and of course what happens to those who fall into neither; the Chicano culture creates the idea of the “Good Woman” (Anzaldua 1987:17) which is epitomized by the objectification and deification of La Virgen De Guadalupe and the rejection of La Malinche, La Chingada, the whore, the fucked one; the binary between the two is used as a tool to establish male control, authorizing the use of force, ostracization and more to subdue La Chingada and bring back at least the visage of La Virgen by force(Anzaldua 1987:16,17,18) ; the true tragedy of this is that the split between La Malinche y La Virgen is relatively recent, a product of the rent soul of Coatlalopeuh, the snake woman and the primordial spirit of mesoamerican femininity(Anzaldua 1987: 27); The subjugation of and rending of the spirit of the snake and by extension of the woman began long before the arrival of the Castilians, with the “male dominated Azteca-Mexica culture” (Anzaldua 1987: 27) splitting her into the light Tonantsi and the dark Coatlicue Tlazolteotl y Cihuacoatl; the arrival of the Castilian invaders hastened the split as they “desexed Tonantsi/Coatlalopeuh” (Anzaldua 1987: 27), making Guadalupe into La Virgen and the rest of the snake aspects into Chingadas; creating a new dichotomy for women that works to create guilt in those who embrace the whole possibility space. The Castilian invasion also brought along with it a rigid and fecundity focused heteronormative gender binary, creating a fear of those that would not procreate I.E the Homosexual, the Trans, the Genderqueer; this view of sexuality and gender also extends to Anzaldua’s (1987 : 19) idea of “Mita y Mita” or half and half where the possibility space for women is so constricted by the institutionalization of the Virgin-Whore dichotomy that some women “choose” to become more masculine or to be a lesbian (Anzaldua 1987: 19) to rebel, to feed the dark side of the serpent forgotten by time; this idea also presents a rejection of the gender binary stating that contradictory aspects can coexist in a single soul, and that the existence of binary restricts every single member within the community by not allowing them to accept all aspects of their true self.

Once again the concept of a rigid binary pops up when Anzaldua turns her pen towards the language used by the people of neo-Aztlan. Anzaldua embraces that she can blend the Castilian and the Anglo-Saxon to create something new unto itself Chicano Spanglish (Anzaldua 1987: 55). This new dialect is manipulated by the binary focused Anglo elites in order to shame the Chicano of their heritage and promote the erasure of the “unnatural” Chicano state of being, primarily through education where Chicano students are taught that they speak “bad English” (Anzaldua 1987: 53,54). Chicano as a tongue is also used to control the norms within the community, with the use of language in public becoming a male coded action and women being robbed of their voice (Anzaldua 1987: 54). This combines to declare that for a Chicana to speak is the ultimate flippancy to the respective elites in each culture, creating that which both Chicanos and Elite whites fear, an empowered, active and aware Chicana.

The Application of Borderlands to my own life (B)

Almost every arrow in Anzaldua’s salvo strikes true at my heart. Most saliently amongst these points is the discussion of homophobia and heteronormativity in la cultura, being a bisexual Latino I’ve seen and tackled some of these issues head on, I’ve heard the venom in their voices, the denial and doublespeak, the actions against helping us. It becomes abundantly clear that I much like Anzaldua(1987:19) have a “homophobia, a fear of going home”, knowing that if I go home out as myself then there will be no home to go back to. Simply reading the title promotes an intense and visceral reaction deep in my soul, the putrid soup composed of internalized homophobia, self preservatory fear and desire to fit in. I also relate to sense of oppression and vitriol that my native tongue brings upon myself from the Anglo population; being of fair skin I experience the dramatic shift that the tongue we brought from Aragon causes in the Anglo-Saxon population. The immediate shift from being one of them to being an outsider is swift and merciless. This combines with my heritage to Mexico and my sexuality to form a quadruple consciousness (DuBois 1903), making me aware of and partially experiential to the experience of the white Anglo Saxon elite, painfully and utterly aware of how they see me because of my sexuality, because of my ethnicity, and how my own people see me for much the same reasons. I end up finding myself wondering If those tastes of white privilege compounded with my other privileges in life leave me unable to accurately ascertain the situation of or help my supposed compatriots (Scott-Heron 1970). I live my life navigating through the flux, hoping to find a place with low enough turbulence to simply relax, knowing that in a world composed of binaries I have no true home but the one I carve from the stone face of the earth in the borderlands.

Works Cited

Anzaldúa, Gloria. 1987. Borderlands -: La frontera. San Francisco, CA: Aunt Lute Books.

DuBois, William Edward Burghardt. 1903. The souls of Black folk. Chicago: A.C McClurg & Co. .

Gil Scott-Heron. n.d. A New Black Poet - Small Talk at 125th and Lenox Track: Comment #1. 125th and Lenox Av [Now Malcolm X Blvd], New York, New York.

Footnotes

[1] - The 2nd Edition of Borderlands is used in the creation of this paper

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