#mine’s black because my hair’s black but my glasses are a pale nude

[vmfx]

PANDEMIC BLUES (SUMMER).

At the tail end of Spring, I posted Merzbow’s Pulse Demon here on my sister site. I noticed that someone from the New York City / Long Island area liked it and I decided to see who she was.

Hesitation marks. Satanist. Anorexia. Borderline Personality Disorder. Medications. Has an OnlyFans account. Topless Shibari pics- of herself. Too-much-information posts about cream-pies and wanting to fuck some random guy she met who ended up abandoning her to get high with his friends. Wow. For most people, there’s so many red flags waved to say “no” the first time and move on. Amazingly, the t.m.i. - not the self-abuse, Satanism, or BPD - had me say “no”, too, until I found her other page which showed a more leveled side to her. Posts relating to her anxiety and depression issues. The color pink. Cute Japanese cartoon animals, Animal Crossing, and owns animals herself. Her paleness laying on the backyard grass with her long dark flowing hair down her neck and skinny wrists across her purple tee holding her pet rabbit. I re-considered because I empathized and related with some of what she suffered through. It’s May, and if I don’t take it now then I may not have it later. So hand me the dice and let’s fucking roll.

Ruth* posted about doing your 100% in a relationship and I checked it off. A few moments later, she caught me posting something of mine I took from the neighborhood veteran’s park. She messaged me to ask if that’s where I got it from. We finally reached out to each other. Lo and behold…she’s from the very same town I am! In fact, we’ve crossed paths before in that same park on one warm Wednesday before sundown, but we didn’t realize it was each other until after the fact. She’s into darkwave, some noise, the post-punk / d.i.y. aesthetic, noise rock, and introduced me to The Mountain Goats. Overtime she’s disclosed her use of LSD, acid, and getting blackout drunk as coping mechanisms of years-long bullying and social isolation. One story she told me was when she approached Jamie Stewart (Xiu Xiu) after his Brooklyn Bazaar performance and ended up telling him her life story. Fortunately, no heroin. She’s stayed away from it as half of her friends she’s ever known have perished from it. But most importantly as mental health sufferers we also matched on our worlds of hurt, our worries of opening up and having doors shut in our faces, text anxiety, and remembering that last time we felt excited about something.

At times I was on edge because I’d assume the worst if I didn’t get her texts that night or seen her posting and ignoring me. Not so. We kept in close contact. Intense texting during off-days and breaks, in parking lots and even me laying in the emergency room two days before we met. She’d finally disclosed her Satanist practices which her ma’ hated (no animals sacrificed) and her nudes which she feared would lose my approval. No judgment. She didn’t send me any, just a bathroom selfie of her 5’7” Polish-Jewish self with black curly hair, pouty lips, and large-rimmed glasses. The concepts of re-assurance and honesty made me chance it and open up to her that I’d never did with anyone else that quickly…despite her somewhat shy shortcomings. I was feeling euphoric once again. I now had someone I’d fight for. She was unique and could give me most of what I was looking for in a female.

I saw her post occasional suicidal thoughts and had to intervene on sight, taking no chances. But Ruth assured me everything was OK and were just that - thoughts. On a happier note, she lamented on how she missed riding her bicycle because of how nice her butt looks. She got points for that one. The moment she felt sad about not being at the beach, I went for it and asked to take her. “Sure!” she said. Boxcars! To hear her say that made me feel so fucking good. It meant everything to me. With minimal worry, we were on our way in meeting each other soon.

I absorbed the June moment sitting in my backyard against the fence under the trees, the stars, the moon, and the dark blue night skies. Personal tranquility, promise, and hope segued into something good while the nation was burning from all the civil unrest and pandemic restlessness. Violence, protests, and scorching fires were born from George Floyd’s murder by the police. People none more fed up than ever in lockdown lost their jobs and their livelihoods by witnessing the collapse of their favorite pastimes, venues, and restaurants. All the while an enablist president with a lust for dictatorship, hate, and murdering democracy dead was steering this country towards a fascist state to the point of no return.

* * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday’s here. I wake up, I shower, and have a light breakfast. Fresh clothes are ready to be worn. Buzz, brush, and razor. Take the phone out of its case and polish it up. Wash the car and vacuum it because who knows what type of person she is. 3PM came and I got her text. Ruth and her ma’ were in the neighborhood tending to an injured animal. She gave me her address and told me to be there at 4PM. I’m on my way.

It’s a breezy but silvery day. The weather is in a drab mood, but not enough to tarnish my excitement. Ten minutes, three miles, and some narrow wooded roads east later, I arrive at her house - and it’s about to fall apart. The slightest flick of the match would burn it all down. There’s tin statues of mini-animals and mossy bird fountains all over the place to pony up the storybook charm. No sight of her 20 cats, her bunny, or bird. It’s been five minutes waiting for her to come out. Lord knows what she’s doing but it felt special that’s she putting the finishing touches on herself for me. The front door opens and here comes Ruth. I was very happy how she turned out. Green and white-striped tee, a denim overall mini-skirt and torn black hosiery with rainbow specks and black boots. This is the same girl who’s been posting lewds and Japanese schoolgirl uniform shots? You would never ever know it by looking at her. It’s Irma Langenstein with social media accounts and that 2010′s online edge but she’s still got that weirdness. We trade hellos and smiles, got in the car, and rode west on the service road to the south shore through the salt-and-peppered day.

I was so nervous with her that I couldn’t even form a complete sentence. I felt like I owed her an apology for stepping over some personal boundaries in getting privy about feelings and her hedonistic side. The soft-spoken nerd assured me that everything was OK. The more we spoke, the more things smoothed out and relaxed themselves. We slowly drove as she explained to me about her BPD and gradually went into her interests before we arrived at Gardiner Manor Park.

We cut through the wooden trails to reach the shoreline and walked on the sands, walking by the sea ribbons, discarded shells, and old aquatic artifacts. It was where she told me she attended the same university as I and had friends at the radio station. Who does she know? J-Ro. Everyone knows J-Ro. They’ve worked together at the organic supermarket. What did she get him for last year’s Secret Santa? Sacred Bones’ Killed By Deathrock. Wow, she knows what’s up. We backtracked through the woods where she opted for the long way out and worked out because I wanted my money’s worth. She saw me constantly being pinched by the mosquitoes, and kind enough of her to actually care and hose me down with her organic citrus repellent.

We had time after showing each other our SE’s to drive to Argyle Park still under the cool cloudy skies. We circled twice around the large duck pond dodging both the goose smears on the asphalt and people fishing off the elevated walkways, aiming to fill the air with nothing-talk to make up for the awkward silences between us. My mind’s racing, my breathing heavy, and my pace almost couldn’t keep up with this quick little walker. I’m exhausted, she’s exhausted, and so was whatever daylight Wednesday had left. It’s 7PM. Time to drive the mouse home.

One amusing point of our day was while driving back east on Main st. we heard screetching behind us. I look up and there’s a group of people on the sidewalk looking over to see what just happened. In my rear-view I saw an SUV that blew a light penetrated into a parked car. Ruth and I slowed down and looked at each other mortified to our chests. Had we been 5-10 seconds slower, we might’ve been casualties. We still drove north towards her house, up Railroad Ave. and past what used to be the old Vinyl Paradise which was now George’s Vintage Clothing & Records.

I’m with a woman whose Williamsburg-mind would fit more in the city than on the island. Ruth had many friends to rely on in case of shelter and recently celebrated with a close friend who found an apartment in Queens, while she just returned from a winter job in Denver and came home with no car, no job, and no money in the bank. I wasn’t fazed at all. Along the way she’s disclosed to me that she’s had ten straight years of relationships lasting from five months to two years with at most four-month gaps of being single in-between. She’s been undefeated in the break-up department because she gets sick of them. All of them. No reason needed.

We pull up in front of her house. We have our final smiles and say our goodbyes to each other. I see her walk in through the front door and I slowly drive away. I arrive home and came down sad that our day ended. It shouldn’t have. With my luck, a day like this should’ve never happened, but somehow it did. And now I’m wrapping my head around it. I take off my black shirt. The aura of her citrus repellent overlapping mine of basil, black pepper, and cedar on fresh woven cotton lingered on for what would forever burn in my mind of our day together. I had a great time with someone who was on my level and wasn’t like anyone else from the island. That was capped off when I just got a happy positive text from Ruth: she had a great time, and it was nice meeting me.

* * * * * * * * * *

I gave it a few days to see how Ruth was doing. I texted her and asked her if she could go to George’s Vintage- one day with me.

“Sure! I’d love to go!” she exclaimed. So far so good. Then I asked her when she was available. No return text. My attempt to see her again fell on deaf ears. That’s odd. I didn’t want to push it, so I waited a couple of days and asked her again. She did somewhat reply, saying that she couldn’t talk because she had friends over and wasn’t able to make plans. There were times during my lunch break at work where I would shoot her a random text or music video like she had with me before. No response. Something wasn’t right. I had a feeling that things were deteriorating between us.

I saw that she just re-blogged something - about playing on people’s feelings, enticing them for sex and weed before abandoning them and never seeing them again. #that’s totally me! lol, she tagged. Are you kidding me? Is she really serious? Displaying her intentions for all to see about taking people for a ride and leaving them at the curb is all a silly game to her? Absolutely disgusting. I felt it, because this could be something she was setting up for me. The tension was tightening up and pulling away from the center. The metal thick-gauge wire was fraying and was about to snap apart. I said nothing about it to her and rolled the dice again on future plans, hoping she would snap out of it. I texted her if Thursday or Friday was good. She replied and said that she couldn’t. She had other plans to celebrate a couple of birthdays in with her family. I wasn’t going to hustle it, and with respect I told her to have fun and have a good time.

That week, New York State announced that all restaurants would re-open providing safety measures were implemented. I had no work that Thursday. I was craving for Japanese food after three months of total closures across the board. I went to Commack to sit down and chow down as much as I could for a couple of hours. I tried out half of everything they offered on the menu. All the red tuna and salmon sushi rolls, sashimi, miso soup, dumplings, fried rice, noodles with peanut sauce, and lychees I could possibly eat to the point of almost passing out. I tapped out and asked for the bill, paid my way out and left the restaurant almost unable to walk to my car. I got home and took a two-hour nap to relieve the food coma I was suffering from. It’s 6PM. The gym was still under lock-down and I felt like I didn’t accomplish enough for the day. Off to the neighborhood park I go.

My visit started like any other. Arrive with my SE in hand with my headphones and start walking around. Dark sounds of grimy, electric dancehall were in my ears as I minded my own business and wandered around the crooked wooden pathways. A group of people caught my peripherals during my travels. I look to my left to see a group of three people and…Ruth? She recognized me and waved hello in my direction. Such a…surprise to…see her? My mind knew something was wrong and couldn’t help to ask why she wasn’t with her family. That was my first instinct.

“Hey, Ruth…weren’t you supposed to be with your family?” I asked. “Yeah, but we’re taking a different shortcut through the park to meet our other friends!” she smiled. I took a pounding one-two punch. I was baffled when two and three equaled zero and nothing added up right. I saved face and said goodbye to her and the two others she was with.

“It was nice meeting you!” said one of her friends as I walked away from them; a verbal smack in the face disguised as a sweet, pleasant manner. I left the park feeling disposed and thrown out. What a dirty low-down tactic for someone to blatantly lie to me and smile in my face like I was nothing. Never had I felt so dejected and disgusted with anyone. She turned into a totally different person, othello-ing me in only a week’s time. There was nothing I could do except to sit.

She purposely stayed off for a few days until after the 4th of July weekend because she knew I wanted to make plans with her. Now here’s a new update on her leveled blog: blow-job posts and golden showers are her new fetish. Great to know. I asked myself why we’re still following each other. I had to get out of there and cut my losses before I discovered other things about her I didn’t ask for. At this point I don’t even know who she was anymore, so I unfollowed her. Ruth, being self-conscious of people leaving her, saw it. She finished the job and unfollowed me in return with the quickness. Snake eyes. Money’s over. Good-bye and good riddance to each other.

How did I fuck this one up? It could’ve been our shaky nervous start, the age difference, my openness, or pushing the accommodations too hard. But she didn’t tell me. Why would she? It’s more fun to keep people dazed in circles guessing. The games and deceit, careless abandon, moments that would never be, losses accruing, and what was once OK now non-acceptable made the hurt-avalanche come down hard. My anxiety, depression, and loneliness returned with it. If there was one moment in life that I was right the first time, it’s this one. Kevin Parker said it best: “the less I know, the better”. Had I stuck to my guns before, then none of this would’ve happened. But no. Common sense flew right out the window because Summer was at stake. It came down to risk versus reward and I lost.

Days after the fact and my mind was keeping itself busy over-calculating and over-thinking what hurt the most. I still couldn’t get her out of my head. Envisioning her getting shaken and rocked by some other luckier undeserving guy. What in Christ’s name she’s posting on her money accounts kept me up at night because I went out of business and who knows above what I’ve done to have it all collapse. The intense flares in my mind lit vividly and radiantly thinking of what I could’ve had with her and lost.

Before we met, I read the risks as much as I could and did my 100% to support her. I got all the difficult questions out of the way about her kinks, drug use, and t.m.i. because I wasn’t going to revisit another life-changing personal collapse like what happened before: the Brooklyn goth girl who gave me my latest heartbreak that forever changed me for the worse. Since then, I pay an even heavier price for strikes and losses these days which, adjusted to inflation, I’m still struggling to pay off. This time, I took everything I saw at face value instead of ignoring the ugly truths shielded by the beautiful lies. I already knew at first sight, so why pretend to be naive and ignore the cards on the table? Because I asked, my situation with Ruth didn’t hit hard as before. Yet, I underestimated how severe her instability was and that’s why I’d never thought it’d backfire that quickly. Did she intend on turning against me all along? Did she know what she was doing? Am I right to feel hurt and upset as I should? How fucked up was it that what we both suffered through were the very same things she ultimately used against me? Does she really hate me that much? Can I blame her? It may be her mental duress that already made her feel sick of me like the other men she’s been with, but what’s the difference? Sufferers do what they do with no apologies like non-sufferers do, just like Satanists need little or even no reason at all to go for the kill as much as non-Satanists who are as naturally heartless when they tell others to fuck off; compacting the sting of being suddenly tossed aside so quickly like an option while I’ve made them a priority.

My anxiety / depression drove its fangs deeper into my skin and almost right to the bone. The venom induces black spots, obscura, cataracts, and tinnitus. Illusions, juxtapositions, and reversed images. Everything made me lose focus on myself and the beauty in things I’m after. It’s scrambled the ideas that gave me value in myself and separate myself from the others. I couldn’t see and experience things others were enjoying because my mind was on overdrive, scrambling to find answers or imagining all the relentless regret, false constructs, failures, catch-22’s, contradictions, double standards, and fear of being left behind. My memory was failing on me because my mind was burnt out on fighting these intense obstacles that clouded my vision.

Anxiety / depression and BPD are such demons; always behind the controls to make one raging hot or on total shutdown. No matter how hard I shake them off, they never let go. Look around in this dystopian America I live in; the three-ring circus politics, the constant barrage of lies and defeatist news producing ubiquitous toxicity. The self-demoralization and -devaluation from friends, family, and co-workers. Social media, dating-site pitfalls, repetition re-enforcement, the quarantine and isolation have all lowered human emotional morale. I’ve come to realize that my lifetime threshold of tolerance for drama, rudeness, and being taken advantage of has way exceeded its limits. I’m sick and tired of being disappointed, mistreated, and broken. But as I learned dealing with mental illness, it’s out of my hands. There’s no end to it in sight. Not where I’m from.

I’ve seen a huge push for mental health awareness along with a growing urgency for it to be more inclusive and less ostracized in society’s eyes. Unlike my dad who used to attack everything that moved, I confided to my surviving family who listened with welcoming ears. Friends whom I can count on one hand stopped and took the time to listen to me unconditionally. Followers of mine opened themselves up to me about their emotional struggles and that support went both ways. Everyone else who saw me down on my luck picked me up with no judgment because I chose the right ones. (Save for my general manager who seemed concerned about my well-being but was really interested in how far I gotten with her.) Some of them warned me to issue common sense next time and to stop at red flags instead of speeding past them - doing so to see the good in people would certainly cost me later.

Knowing me, I would’ve kept going because she was more than I had: nothing. There are nights I still think of her and sympathize with her hellish struggles. We should’ve been supporting and sympathizing. Instead, we despise each other. We have our own reasons. I can’t ignore the fact that she acted spitefully. I’ve been hurt way too many times but she didn’t see it, and those effects still linger to this day. Sadly, in Long Island’s disposable world of dating and meeting people, it’s all or nothing. No in-between, no gray area, no room for error, no negotiations. Once it’s over, it’s over. And after all that happened, I don’t regret meeting her. Not one bit.

* * * * * * * * * *

Every evening after my workout session, I sit by the lakeside for peace of mind and meditation. Come 6-7PM I’ll watch families, couples, and groups of friends stroll along the decks and sandy shorelines under the setting sun behind the trees. The bright yellow sunbeam streams are blocked by the trees surrounding the water all around as the horizon turns different dim shades of gray, orange, turquoise, and dark blue morphing by the goodbye sun; peeling back all shades of light to reveal the moon hanging overhead. A car full of young teens pull into the parking lot behind the lake with The Weeknd’s “Blinding Lights” blaring, the new Summer hit sensation. The daily treks through my neighborhood to the trails with an iPhone full of post-punk and d.i.y. grasping the aesthetic are over. I can never return. What a waste that I can’t enjoy myself in the very town that I live in, that is, unless I want to chance re-opening new wounds and enjoy feeling sick to my stomach, running into friends-turned-strangers who threw me away.

It’s 2AM Monday morning. I’m in my own spacious backward sitting on the fresh cut grass away from the swimming pool. The full moon smiles down on me as it chases Saturn and Jupiter. Faint trails of clouds suspend themselves against the clear hazy milky skies. I hear the rushes of vehicles riding down the highway that’s 300 feet away from my home but the streams and perpetual frequencies of chirping crickets are closer proximity and priority. 

And now, tonight's news: the Brazilian woman from the radio station is out vacationing on a yacht with her new boyfriend who's all smiles and they're having the time of their lives. A goth-girl acquaintance is raving about her new b.f. and how she's screaming up and down the block telling everyone how much of a great guy he is. The ginger with the burning red hair, big brown eyes, and freckles just put up pics- of her boyfriend whose arms are wrapped around her with this hot-shit look on his face. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here feeling worthless while all of this is going on as the world keeps rotating without my input. Charli XCX & Sky Ferreira’s “Cross You Out” and Grime’s “Violence” run burning hot and full of euphoric energy from my iPhone right to my head. In A Dramatic Gesture’s “Basic Aerobic” plays right after, a track that took me back to when I had more promise between us. 

 But any time I think of how left-field The Mountain Goats sounded, it’ll remind me of her. I have forever quit them. Now those sounds are tainted by bad experiences, cruelties, and large pills hard to swallow. What a disgrace that it’s summer and there’s no one to share any moments with. No one to stay up with at night to talk about favorite music artists, the state of consciousness and well-being, or prying my mind wide open and say what I’m thinking or feeling - without repercussions or feeling demonized and vilified.

Who knows where she is or what she’s up to. Is she sleeping her precious daylight away? Did she find another guy to share her next drug journey with, or what sexual acts is he putting herself through now that she’s ready to go? All I know is she’s having a winning Summer. I'm not.

#personal #Long Island #dating #Charli XCX #Sky Ferreira #Grimes #The Weeknd #mental health

[omegaplus]

# 4,098

Pandemic Blues (Summer).

At the tail end of Spring, I posted Merzbow’s Pulse Demon here on my sister site. I noticed that someone from the New York City / Long Island area liked it and I decided to see who she was.

Hesitation marks. Satanist. Anorexia. Borderline Personality Disorder. Medications. Has an OnlyFans account. Topless Shibari pics- of herself. Too-much-information posts about cream-pies and wanting to fuck some random guy she met who ended up abandoning her to get high with his friends. Wow. For most people, there’s so many red flags waved to say “no” the first time and move on. Amazingly, the t.m.i. - not the self-abuse, Satanism, or BPD - had me say “no”, too, until I found her other page which showed a more leveled side to her. Posts relating to her anxiety and depression issues. The color pink. Cute Japanese cartoon animals, Animal Crossing, and owns animals herself. Her paleness laying on the backyard grass with her long dark flowing hair down her neck and skinny wrists across her purple tee holding her pet rabbit. I re-considered because I empathized and related with some of what she suffered through. It’s May, and if I don’t take it now then I may not have it later. So hand me the dice and let’s fucking roll.

Ruth* posted about doing your 100% in a relationship and I checked it off. A few moments later, she caught me posting something of mine I took from the neighborhood veteran’s park. She messaged me to ask if that’s where I got it from. We finally reached out to each other. Lo and behold…she’s from the very same town I am! In fact, we’ve crossed paths before in that same park on one warm Wednesday before sundown, but we didn’t realize it was each other until after the fact. She’s into darkwave, some noise, the post-punk / d.i.y. aesthetic, noise rock, and introduced me to The Mountain Goats. Overtime she’s disclosed her use of LSD, acid, and getting blackout drunk as coping mechanisms of years-long bullying and social isolation. One story she told me was when she approached Jamie Stewart (Xiu Xiu) after his Brooklyn Bazaar performance and ended up telling him her life story. Fortunately, no heroin. She’s stayed away from it as half of her friends she’s ever known have perished from it. But most importantly as mental health sufferers we also matched on our worlds of hurt, our worries of opening up and having doors shut in our faces, text anxiety, and remembering that last time we felt excited about something.

At times I was on edge because I’d assume the worst if I didn’t get her texts that night or seen her posting and ignoring me. Not so. We kept in close contact. Intense texting during off-days and breaks, in parking lots and even me laying in the emergency room two days before we met. She’d finally disclosed her Satanist practices which her ma’ hated (no animals sacrificed) and her nudes which she feared would lose my approval. No judgment. She didn’t send me any, just a bathroom selfie of her 5’7” Polish-Jewish self with black curly hair, pouty lips, and large-rimmed glasses. The concepts of re-assurance and honesty made me chance it and open up to her that I’d never did with anyone else that quickly…despite her somewhat shy shortcomings. I was feeling euphoric once again. I now had someone I’d fight for. She was unique and could give me most of what I was looking for in a female.

I saw her post occasional suicidal thoughts and had to intervene on sight, taking no chances. But Ruth assured me everything was OK and were just that - thoughts. On a happier note, she lamented on how she missed riding her bicycle because of how nice her butt looks. She got points for that one. The moment she felt sad about not being at the beach, I went for it and asked to take her. “Sure!” she said. Boxcars! To hear her say that made me feel so fucking good. It meant everything to me. With minimal worry, we were on our way in meeting each other soon.

I absorbed the June moment sitting in my backyard against the fence under the trees, the stars, the moon, and the dark blue night skies. Personal tranquility, promise, and hope segued into something good while the nation was burning from all the civil unrest and pandemic restlessness. Violence, protests, and scorching fires were born from George Floyd’s murder by the police. People none more fed up than ever in lockdown lost their jobs and their livelihoods by witnessing the collapse of their favorite pastimes, venues, and restaurants. All the while an enablist president with a lust for dictatorship, hate, and murdering democracy dead was steering this country towards a fascist state to the point of no return.

* * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday’s here. I wake up, I shower, and have a light breakfast. Fresh clothes are ready to be worn. Buzz, brush, and razor. Take the phone out of its case and polish it up. Wash the car and vacuum it because who knows what type of person she is. 3PM came and I got her text. Ruth and her ma’ were in the neighborhood tending to an injured animal. She gave me her address and told me to be there at 4PM. I’m on my way.

It’s a breezy but silvery day. The weather is in a drab mood, but not enough to tarnish my excitement. Ten minutes, three miles, and some narrow wooded roads east later, I arrive at her house - and it’s about to fall apart. The slightest flick of the match would burn it all down. There’s tin statues of mini-animals and mossy bird fountains all over the place to pony up the storybook charm. No sight of her 20 cats, her bunny, or bird. It’s been five minutes waiting for her to come out. Lord knows what she’s doing but it felt special that’s she putting the finishing touches on herself for me. The front door opens and here comes Ruth. I was very happy how she turned out. Green and white-striped tee, a denim overall mini-skirt and torn black hosiery with rainbow specks and black boots. This is the same girl who’s been posting lewds and Japanese schoolgirl uniform shots? You would never ever know it by looking at her. It’s Irma Langenstein with social media accounts and that 2010′s online edge but she’s still got that weirdness. We trade hellos and smiles, got in the car, and rode west on the service road to the south shore through the salt-and-peppered day.

I was so nervous with her that I couldn’t even form a complete sentence. I felt like I owed her an apology for stepping over some personal boundaries in getting privy about feelings and her hedonistic side. The soft-spoken nerd assured me that everything was OK. The more we spoke, the more things smoothed out and relaxed themselves. We slowly drove as she explained to me about her BPD and gradually went into her interests before we arrived at Gardiner Manor Park.

We cut through the wooden trails to reach the shoreline and walked on the sands, walking by the sea ribbons, discarded shells, and old aquatic artifacts. It was where she told me she attended the same university as I and had friends at the radio station. Who does she know? J-Ro. Everyone knows J-Ro. They’ve worked together at the organic supermarket. What did she get him for last year’s Secret Santa? Sacred Bones’ Killed By Deathrock. Wow, she knows what’s up. We backtracked through the woods where she opted for the long way out and worked out because I wanted my money’s worth. She saw me constantly being pinched by the mosquitoes, and kind enough of her to actually care and hose me down with her organic citrus repellent.

We had time after showing each other our SE’s to drive to Argyle Park still under the cool cloudy skies. We circled twice around the large duck pond dodging both the goose smears on the asphalt and people fishing off the elevated walkways, aiming to fill the air with nothing-talk to make up for the awkward silences between us. My mind’s racing, my breathing heavy, and my pace almost couldn’t keep up with this quick little walker. I’m exhausted, she’s exhausted, and so was whatever daylight Wednesday had left. It’s 7PM. Time to drive the mouse home.

One amusing point of our day was while driving back east on Main st. we heard screetching behind us. I look up and there’s a group of people on the sidewalk looking over to see what just happened. In my rear-view I saw an SUV that blew a light penetrated into a parked car. Ruth and I slowed down and looked at each other mortified to our chests. Had we been 5-10 seconds slower, we might’ve been casualties. We still drove north towards her house, up Railroad Ave. and past what used to be the old Vinyl Paradise which was now George’s Vintage Clothing & Records.

I’m with a woman whose Williamsburg-mind would fit more in the city than on the island. Ruth had many friends to rely on in case of shelter and recently celebrated with a close friend who found an apartment in Queens, while she just returned from a winter job in Denver and came home with no car, no job, and no money in the bank. I wasn’t fazed at all. Along the way she’s disclosed to me that she’s had ten straight years of relationships lasting from five months to two years with at most four-month gaps of being single in-between. She’s been undefeated in the break-up department because she gets sick of them. All of them. No reason needed.

We pull up in front of her house. We have our final smiles and say our goodbyes to each other. I see her walk in through the front door and I slowly drive away. I arrive home and came down sad that our day ended. It shouldn’t have. With my luck, a day like this should’ve never happened, but somehow it did. And now I’m wrapping my head around it. I take off my black shirt. The aura of her citrus repellent overlapping mine of basil, black pepper, and cedar on fresh woven cotton lingered on for what would forever burn in my mind of our day together. I had a great time with someone who was on my level and wasn’t like anyone else from the island. That was capped off when I just got a happy positive text from Ruth: she had a great time, and it was nice meeting me.

* * * * * * * * * *

I gave it a few days to see how Ruth was doing. I texted her and asked her if she could go to George’s Vintage- one day with me.

“Sure! I’d love to go!” she exclaimed. So far so good. Then I asked her when she was available. No return text. My attempt to see her again fell on deaf ears. That’s odd. I didn’t want to push it, so I waited a couple of days and asked her again. She did somewhat reply, saying that she couldn’t talk because she had friends over and wasn’t able to make plans. There were times during my lunch break at work where I would shoot her a random text or music video like she had with me before. No response. Something wasn’t right. I had a feeling that things were deteriorating between us.

I saw that she just re-blogged something - about playing on people’s feelings, enticing them for sex and weed before abandoning them and never seeing them again. #that’s totally me! lol, she tagged. Are you kidding me? Is she really serious? Displaying her intentions for all to see about taking people for a ride and leaving them at the curb is all a silly game to her? Absolutely disgusting. I felt it, because this could be something she was setting up for me. The tension was tightening up and pulling away from the center. The metal thick-gauge wire was fraying and was about to snap apart. I said nothing about it to her and rolled the dice again on future plans, hoping she would snap out of it. I texted her if Thursday or Friday was good. She replied and said that she couldn’t. She had other plans to celebrate a couple of birthdays in with her family. I wasn’t going to hustle it, and with respect I told her to have fun and have a good time.

That week, New York State announced that all restaurants would re-open providing safety measures were implemented. I had no work that Thursday. I was craving for Japanese food after three months of total closures across the board. I went to Commack to sit down and chow down as much as I could for a couple of hours. I tried out half of everything they offered on the menu. All the red tuna and salmon sushi rolls, sashimi, miso soup, dumplings, fried rice, noodles with peanut sauce, and lychees I could possibly eat to the point of almost passing out. I tapped out and asked for the bill, paid my way out and left the restaurant almost unable to walk to my car. I got home and took a two-hour nap to relieve the food coma I was suffering from. It’s 6PM. The gym was still under lock-down and I felt like I didn’t accomplish enough for the day. Off to the neighborhood park I go.

My visit started like any other. Arrive with my SE in hand with my headphones and start walking around. Dark sounds of grimy, electric dancehall were in my ears as I minded my own business and wandered around the crooked wooden pathways. A group of people caught my peripherals during my travels. I look to my left to see a group of three people and…Ruth? She recognized me and waved hello in my direction. Such a…surprise to…see her? My mind knew something was wrong and couldn’t help to ask why she wasn’t with her family. That was my first instinct.

“Hey, Ruth…weren’t you supposed to be with your family?” I asked. “Yeah, but we’re taking a different shortcut through the park to meet our other friends!” she smiled. I took a pounding one-two punch. I was baffled when two and three equaled zero and nothing added up right. I saved face and said goodbye to her and the two others she was with.

“It was nice meeting you!” said one of her friends as I walked away from them; a verbal smack in the face disguised as a sweet, pleasant manner. I left the park feeling disposed and thrown out. What a dirty low-down tactic for someone to blatantly lie to me and smile in my face like I was nothing. Never had I felt so dejected and disgusted with anyone. She turned into a totally different person, othello-ing me in only a week’s time. There was nothing I could do except to sit.

She purposely stayed off for a few days until after the 4th of July weekend because she knew I wanted to make plans with her. Now here’s a new update on her leveled blog: blow-job posts and golden showers are her new fetish. Great to know. I asked myself why we’re still following each other. I had to get out of there and cut my losses before I discovered other things about her I didn’t ask for. At this point I don’t even know who she was anymore, so I unfollowed her. Ruth, being self-conscious of people leaving her, saw it. She finished the job and unfollowed me in return with the quickness. Snake eyes. Money’s over. Good-bye and good riddance to each other.

How did I fuck this one up? It could’ve been our shaky nervous start, the age difference, my openness, or pushing the accommodations too hard. But she didn’t tell me. Why would she? It’s more fun to keep people dazed in circles guessing. The games and deceit, careless abandon, moments that would never be, losses accruing, and what was once OK now non-acceptable made the hurt-avalanche come down hard. My anxiety, depression, and loneliness returned with it. If there was one moment in life that I was right the first time, it’s this one. Kevin Parker said it best: “the less I know, the better”. Had I stuck to my guns before, then none of this would’ve happened. But no. Common sense flew right out the window because Summer was at stake. It came down to risk versus reward and I lost.

Days after the fact and my mind was keeping itself busy over-calculating and over-thinking what hurt the most. I still couldn’t get her out of my head. Envisioning her getting shaken and rocked by some other luckier undeserving guy. What in Christ’s name she’s posting on her money accounts kept me up at night because I went out of business and who knows above what I’ve done to have it all collapse. The intense flares in my mind lit vividly and radiantly thinking of what I could’ve had with her and lost.

Before we met, I read the risks as much as I could and did my 100% to support her. I got all the difficult questions out of the way about her kinks, drug use, and t.m.i. because I wasn’t going to revisit another life-changing personal collapse like what happened before: the Brooklyn goth girl who gave me my latest heartbreak that forever changed me for the worse. Since then, I pay an even heavier price for strikes and losses these days which, adjusted to inflation, I’m still struggling to pay off. This time, I took everything I saw at face value instead of ignoring the ugly truths shielded by the beautiful lies. I already knew at first sight, so why pretend to be naive and ignore the cards on the table? Because I asked, my situation with Ruth didn’t hit hard as before. Yet, I underestimated how severe her instability was and that’s why I’d never thought it’d backfire that quickly. Did she intend on turning against me all along? Did she know what she was doing? Am I right to feel hurt and upset as I should? How fucked up was it that what we both suffered through were the very same things she ultimately used against me? Does she really hate me that much? Can I blame her? It may be her mental duress that already made her feel sick of me like the other men she’s been with, but what’s the difference? Sufferers do what they do with no apologies like non-sufferers do, just like Satanists need little or even no reason at all to go for the kill as much as non-Satanists who are as naturally heartless when they tell others to fuck off; compacting the sting of being suddenly tossed aside so quickly like an option while I’ve made them a priority.

My anxiety / depression drove its fangs deeper into my skin and almost right to the bone. The venom induces black spots, obscura, cataracts, and tinnitus. Illusions, juxtapositions, and reversed images. Everything made me lose focus on myself and the beauty in things I’m after. It’s scrambled the ideas that gave me value in myself and separate myself from the others. I couldn’t see and experience things others were enjoying because my mind was on overdrive, scrambling to find answers or imagining all the relentless regret, false constructs, failures, catch-22’s, contradictions, double standards, and fear of being left behind. My memory was failing on me because my mind was burnt out on fighting these intense obstacles that clouded my vision.

Anxiety / depression and BPD are such demons; always behind the controls to make one raging hot or on total shutdown. No matter how hard I shake them off, they never let go. Look around in this dystopian America I live in; the three-ring circus politics, the constant barrage of lies and defeatist news producing ubiquitous toxicity. The self-demoralization and -devaluation from friends, family, and co-workers. Social media, dating-site pitfalls, repetition re-enforcement, the quarantine and isolation have all lowered human emotional morale. I’ve come to realize that my lifetime threshold of tolerance for drama, rudeness, and being taken advantage of has way exceeded its limits. I’m sick and tired of being disappointed, mistreated, and broken. But as I learned dealing with mental illness, it’s out of my hands. There’s no end to it in sight. Not where I’m from.

I’ve seen a huge push for mental health awareness along with a growing urgency for it to be more inclusive and less ostracized in society’s eyes. Unlike my dad who used to attack everything that moved, I confided to my surviving family who listened with welcoming ears. Friends whom I can count on one hand stopped and took the time to listen to me unconditionally. Followers of mine opened themselves up to me about their emotional struggles and that support went both ways. Everyone else who saw me down on my luck picked me up with no judgment because I chose the right ones. (Save for my general manager who seemed concerned about my well-being but was really interested in how far I gotten with her.) Some of them warned me to issue common sense next time and to stop at red flags instead of speeding past them - doing so to see the good in people would certainly cost me later.

Knowing me, I would’ve kept going because she was more than I had: nothing. There are nights I still think of her and sympathize with her hellish struggles. We should’ve been supporting and sympathizing. Instead, we despise each other. We have our own reasons. I can’t ignore the fact that she acted spitefully. I’ve been hurt way too many times but she didn’t see it, and those effects still linger to this day. Sadly, in Long Island’s disposable world of dating and meeting people, it’s all or nothing. No in-between, no gray area, no negotiations. Once it’s over, it’s over. And after all that happened, I don’t regret meeting her. Not one bit.

* * * * * * * * * *

Every evening after my workout session, I sit by the lakeside for peace of mind and meditation. Come 6-7PM I’ll watch families, couples, and groups of friends stroll along the decks and sandy shorelines under the setting sun behind the trees. The bright yellow sunbeam streams are blocked by the trees surrounding the water all around as the horizon turns different dim shades of gray, orange, turquoise, and dark blue morphing by the goodbye sun; peeling back all shades of light to reveal the moon hanging overhead. A car full of young teens pull into the parking lot behind the lake with The Weeknd’s “Blinding Lights” blaring, the new Summer hit sensation. The daily treks through my neighborhood to the trails with an iPhone full of post-punk and d.i.y. grasping the aesthetic are over. I can never return. What a waste that I can’t enjoy myself in the very town that I live in, that is, unless I want to re-open new wounds and enjoy feeling sick to my stomach running into friends-turned-strangers who threw me away.

It's 2AM Monday morning. I’m in my own spacious backward sitting on the fresh cut grass away from the swimming pool. The full moon smiles down on me as it chases Saturn and Jupiter. Faint trails of clouds suspend themselves against the clear hazy milky skies. I hear the rushes of vehicles riding down the highway that’s 300 feet away from my home but the streams and perpetual frequencies of chirping crickets are closer proximity and priority. Charli XCX & Sky Ferreira’s “Cross You Out” and Grime’s “Violence” run burning hot and full of euphoric energy from my iPhone right to my head. In A Dramatic Gesture’s “Basic Aerobic” plays right after, a track that took me back to when I had more promise between us. But any time I think of how left-field The Mountain Goats sounded, it’ll remind me of her. I have forever quit them. Now those sounds are tainted by bad experiences, cruelties, and large pills hard to swallow. What a disgrace that it’s summer and there’s no one to share any moments with. No one to stay up with at night to talk about favorite music artists, the state of consciousness and well-being, or prying my mind wide open and say what I’m thinking or feeling - without repercussions or feeling demonized and vilified.

Who knows where she is or what she’s up to. Is she sleeping her precious daylight away? Did she find another guy to share her next drug journey with, or what sexual acts is he putting herself through? All I know is she’s having a winning Summer. I won’t.

Chasms: “Tears In The Morning Sun”

Zunz: “Four Women And Darkness”

Snarls: “What’s It Take”

Girl In Red: “Rushed Lovers”

DJ 3D: “How Many Ways” (Refreshers RMX)

Tops: “Seven Minutes”

Widowspeak: “Breadwinner”

Ripple: “Victorious”

Jade Imagine: “Big Old House”

Space Above: “Stolen Days”

Tempers: “Capital Pains”

Grimes & i_O: “Violence”

Weeknd, The: “Blinding Lights”

Charli XCX & Sky Ferreira: “Cross You Out”

RVG: “I Used To Love You”

Wye Oak: “Fortune”

Eddie Russ: “Zaius”

Progeny: “Wet Dreams”

Low Key Crush: “Shelter”

Cigarettes After Sex: “Young And Dumb”

Pink Gloves: “Wilderness”

Serfs, The: “Persona Non Grata”

Emma Ruth Rundle: “The Light Song”

Chvrches: “Forever”

Hit Parade, The: “Harvey”

Parrot Dream: “The Best”

Mr. Elevator: “Down”

Empathy Test: “Monsters”

In A Dramatic Gesture: “Basic Aerobic”

Masta Ace & Marco Polo ft. Smif N’ Wesson: “Breukelen Brooklyn”

Jade Imagine: “Remote Control”

Parlor Walls: “Lunchbox”

Look Blue Go Purple: “Grace”

Mountain Goats, The: various songs

#pop #folk #indie #synthpop #hip-hop #rap #psych #post-punk #d.i.y. #jazz #fusion #electronic #shoegaze #omega #Long Island #personal #mixtapes #music #reviews #playlists

[jiminrings]

bestie idk how to say this but your vibes radiate that u wear black face masks

BESTIE PLS,,,,,,, this is a compliment in one of the highest forms and it’s actually funny because i literally just ordered a pack of black KF94s awhile ago i’M NOT EVEN KIDDING

#what’s ur mask bias #mine’s black because my hair’s black but my glasses are a pale nude??? so it looks kinda cute #i jus ordered the anyday brand of black KF94s it’s a whole box of a hundred 😭😭 #those regular face masks too but with like dinosaurs or hearts on them.... the kid designs.... yea they’re so cute #strawberry-print face masks too BUT a surgical mask underneath pls #answered #people i love

[adorethedistance]

Artist!Harry Styles x reader blurb

A/n: Basically I have some thoughts every now and then and I need to write, but I know they won’t fit in any of the stories I’m writing. This isn’t proofread in full but whatever. Here’s a 1k word ANGSTY blurb about getting into an argument with Artist!Harry and feeling your heart break into a billion pieces. 

Words: 982

“You are so selfish, you know that?” The words feel like poison on my tongue, but I’m too angry to keep them from spewing out. “I’m selfish? Where were you Friday night that made you late to dinner?”

“Don’t even go there, that is not the same!”

“You were late for our anniversary date because you were spending the day with Jesse! How is that not the same?” Harry stares at me with an accusatory glare. His breathing has shortened into irritated huffs, and he subconsciously cards a ringed-hand through his curls to redirect the ringlet that fell in his face.

“Jesse is like a brother to me. He’s my mentor, NOT MY FUCKING EX!”

“I don’t get why you’re upset! Camile and I are still on good terms. She was helping me as a friend!”

“The assignment was a nude portrait, Harry. ‘Friends’ don’t just undress for one another like Jack and Rose on the fucking titanic!”

“Are you jealous of her? Is that what the problem is? It’s not my fault that you’re insecure about your body, Y/n. She isn’t, and that’s why I chose her. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not ‘simple as that’. The problem isn’t me and my body, it’s that you didn’t even think about talking to me first,” I say as my vocal cords betray me. Hot salt tears pile up on my lower lashes. I just wish I could shut up and Harry would hold me, and everything would be okay again.

But that’s not how life goes.

Pain doesn’t cut corners.

“I didn’t feel like I had to! I thought you trusted me but clearly you don’t.”

“I trusted you to talk to me,” I reduced my voice to a whisper, in fear of the sound giving out completely. The invisible viper of anguish constricts my chest, and I can feel my heart physically aching.

Is this what it feels like? To feel your heart pathetically rip into two?

“Fuck,” Harry sighs. His anger hasn’t dissolved into upset like mine. His face is as hard as his heart at the moment.

I wish it wasn’t.

“What do we do?” He says, exasperated. This time after he runs his hand through his hair, it lingers to scratch the stretch of skin between his nose and the inner corner of his left eye. It’s inauthentic for other people, but I know it’s just Harry. Because I know Harry.

I know the way he takes his coffee. Black with ice and a half packet of sugar. I know the way he acts when he’s sick. Needy for attention but opts to suffer in silence. I know his comfort  movies. Love Actually and Titanic. I know his favorite things about me. My laugh and my thighs, both of which I’m not fond of, but he always smiles and says that just means he’ll have to love them for me.

I know all of these things about Harry because I love him. I love him. I loved him

I can’t bring myself to speak. All I can do is shrug and continue to let my tears fall.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks in a hushed tone. His eyes are troubled and pleading; chipping away at the last scraps of composure I had left.

“I don’t know.”

Harry’s response to my indecision is to leave. Whenever I was unsure of something, Harry would respond by choosing what he thought was best for the both of us. For me.

The chilled air of his body brushing past mine, overwhelms me like a tidal wave. Harry moves to shrug on his coat, slip on his boots, and disappear without a trace, isolating me in my own apartment.

He doesn’t slam the door. He doesn’t gently click the lock into place either. The action is expressionless. Inhuman, almost.

The sharp sound of the closing door is the final nail in the coffin that makes me fall apart. I feel like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. My house is now a vacuum of my despair.

I gasp as I collapse to the ground. My knees take most of the impact and will begin to bruise over immediately. I can’t bring myself to care. Sobs of hurt and pain, anger and guilt, regret and fear, overtake my body. I’m heaving into the floor that once supported my feet and Harry’s. God, why can’t I breathe? Why can’t I live without him? How can I live without him?

I realize laying on the floor doesn’t solve my problems, but right now it just feels good. It feels good to have the surface area of the floor cradle me. A last resort for some semblance of support.

From my position on the floor, my eyes drift upwards and mockingly land on a piece of Harry’s art. A christmas gift in which he abstracted my favorite picture of the two of us. The place on the painting that’s meant to be our faces still displays our smiles but in a completely illusional way.

He bought those paints the day we met. On the first day of still life, he kept stealing glances in my direction and at the end of class, he had worked up the nerve to come talk to me. He made up a lame excuse about needing a ‘“female opinion” for buying certain paint colors.

Harry didn’t need new paints, he just wanted a reason to be around me.

Now he doesn’t want to be in the same room, same house, as me. Harry has always cradled my heart in his hands like it was made from the daintiest glass. It would have hurt less if he had simply thrown it onto the ground and left. Instead, he let it slip between his pale fingertips and watched it shatter with a neutral expression. 

***

Part two here.

#Harry #Harry Styles #Harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles fanfic #Harry styles fic #Harry styles imagine #Harry styles blurb #Harry styles angst #Harry styles x reader #reader insert #artist harry #writing

[smolfelton]

Good Boy

WARNING: VERY NSFW, dom!Draco, sub!Harry, BDSM, blowjobs, deepthroating, breathplay, erotic asphyxiation, spitting (yum, right?), slapping, porn without plot, very much consensual, kinky™

-

“Such a good boy.”

Harry felt his face heat up at the praise and felt a shiver go down his spine, both embarrassed and happy at being called such a thing. He gulped and kept his eyes on his master’s polished black leather shoes, doing his best to ignore the way his bare knees bit into the hard wooden floor. The ropes that bound his arms behind his back were tight, but not uncomfortable, and the sensations they made when they rubbed against his skin made him oh so very hard.

“You’re going to be my good little pet tonight, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded, biting his bottom lip.

“You will speak when spoken to,” Draco said, his voice stern.

Harry looked up slowly and finally met his master’s piercing grey eyes, shivering again beneath his gaze. He let out a shaky breath, both nervous and excited.

“Yes, sir,” Harry gasped as Draco grabbed him by his jaw with a leather gloved hand, which made his cock twitch. “I-I’ll be good for you.”

“I know you will, darling,” Draco smirked, his eyes shining with wicked glee. “You always are. Because you’re my perfect boy, aren’t you?”

Harry quickly nodded. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Draco slid one gloved finger into Harry’s mouth, and he immediately began to suck on it, loving the way the fine leather tasted and felt against his tongue. After a moment, Draco slid a second one in and Harry accepted it eagerly, sucking with earnest and swirling his tongue around the digits like he had been trained to do many times before. Harry thought that he could do this all night, just sucking until his jaw cramped up too much for him to go on. He would if he could.

Harry looked up at his master though half-lidded eyes, loving the way that Draco looked at him with pride mixed with pleasure. He was dressed entirely in black, from his gloves to his form-fitting suit and shoes, making his pale skin stand out in a stark contrast. It made Harry want to squirm, knowing that while his master was fully clothed, he was completely nude, helplessly tied up on his knees without an ounce of control. And yet, despite being completely at Draco’s mercy, there was no other way he’d have it. After all, he trusted Draco more than anyone, and he knew that he would be safe while under his control.

Draco chose that moment to shove his fingers a bit further into Harry’s throat, making him choke and gag around the digits as tears pricked his vision. Draco chuckled and withdrew his fingers, earning a pathetic whine of loss from Harry.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Draco said with a grin. “I’ll give you something else to keep that pretty mouth busy.”

Draco grabbed at his belt buckle and undid it so slowly that Harry was sure he was doing it on purpose, just to tease him. Then suddenly, he pulled the belt from their loops in a flash, making the end of the belt slightly lick against Harry’s brown chest. Harry yelped at the feeling, despite it only hurting a little, and felt his cock twitch so hard that he thought he would come right then and there.

Draco tutted above him and tossed the belt to the side.

“Forgive me, pet,” his master said and ran a hand through Harry’s hair only to grip it firmly and pull it back, making Harry whine pitifully. “Open wide.”

Harry did as commanded, opening his mouth as Draco leaned down. His master then spat directly into his mouth and Harry closed his eyes as the saliva hit his tongue. He kept his mouth open obediently, his cock heavy and leaking precome on the floor as Draco spit again and again, some of it hitting Harry’s cheeks in the process. He didn’t stop until Harry’s mouth was halfway filled with spit, and when he did he used a gloved thumb to swipe the missed spittle from Harry’s cheeks and into his mouth where it belonged.

“Swallow,” Draco ordered.

Harry did as he was told and swallowed it all in one big gulp, licking his lips as he opened his eyes. He looked up hopefully at his master.

“Good boy,” Draco praised, making Harry’s heart flutter.

He slapped Harry on the cheek a few times, light enough to not really be considered a real slap, but hard enough to make the leather sting his skin and make him flinch. Draco pulled his hair a bit harder and delivered one last slap, this time with a bit more force, making Harry gasp loudly and causing his glasses to nearly fall off. Draco kept the harsh grip on Harry’s hair with one hand, and gently fixed his glasses with the other in a contradicting way.

Harry looked up at his master, tears brimming his green eyes and another whine just at the back of his throat, ready to be let out. Draco smirked down at him in what any other person would think was a menacing way, and he looked like a perfect, cruel villain. Harry however, knew that wasn’t the case. All he had to do was utter the safe word and Draco would stop immediately. He would scoop Harry into his arms and pepper him with kisses and take such good care of him that Harry would most likely completely forget all the bad feelings and want to start the process all over again.

It had happened a handful of times before. Sometimes Harry just wouldn’t be into it or he would be feeling too sensitive on a particular night. He would say the safe word “hippogriff” and that’s all it would take for Draco to put an end to it all. However, he was such a good dom, and he was so very good to Harry, that the safe word was hardly ever used at all. His master knew just the right amount of pain and pleasure that Harry wanted, that Harry needed, and he always made sure that Harry knew that he was a good boy.

Draco unzipped his dress trousers with one hand and pulled out his cock, making Harry whine and try to lunge forward. Draco chuckled and yanked Harry’s head back by his hair before he could dare touch it, and tutted.

“Did I say you could have it?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry let out a pathetic strangled noise as Draco struck him across the face, this time harder than before. Harry gasped and for a moment he thought he was going to finally come undone. Instead of answering like he was supposed to, Harry opened his mouth wide, showing his tongue and looking up at his master with pleading eyes. Draco however, didn’t punish him again.

His master grabbed his own cock with a leather gloved hand, and jerked it a few times in the direction of Harry’s face. Harry’s eyes were on it like a thirsty man looking at a glass of water, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his mouth around his master’s length and just suck.

During the beginning of their relationship, Harry nearly fainted the first time he saw Draco’s cock. He didn’t assume Draco was small by any means, but when he first saw his prick after getting out of the shower once, all thoughts of having a normal sexual relationship flew out the window. Draco was just so very big. He was a good eight inches when soft, and he was so thick that Harry couldn’t even fit his hand around it while wanking him off. Harry refused to bottom for a long time, and when he finally did they had to stop because he thought Draco was going split him open and break him.

Now, however, after years of training, Harry was a complete cock slut for Draco. Most of his time was spent on his knees with an open mouth, and other times he would have his face down and arse up, always eager for his master to use him as he pleased. Harry had become a true size queen, thanks to Draco.

“Do you want it, darling?” Draco asked, jerking his length a few more times, his cock inches from Harry’s nose. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“P-Please,” Harry practically wined, very loudly. “I want it. I need it so, so bad. Please, sir. I-I’ll be good. I’ll be so so so good for you. Please.”

Harry was so busy begging that he didn’t even notice when Draco had moved his leg forward, and he was now sitting on the expensive leather shoe. Without thinking, he began to hump it desperately, needing some kind of friction. Draco suddenly struck him again on the same cheek that was now bright red, and Harry yelped loudly at the assault.

“Did I say you could pleasure yourself, pet?” Draco asked, his voice hard and his eyes cold. Harry stopped humping immediately, but was thankful when his master didn’t pull his leg back.

“N-No,” Harry whimpered. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“Do you think you still deserve this now?” Draco asked, loosening his hold on Harry’s hair only to re-tighten it again and pull it back farther at an unusual angle. “Do you think your pleasure is more important than mine? Hmm?”

“No, s-sir,” Harry groaned out, his voice odd-sounding as his throat was now straining. “I-I don’t deserve i-i-it. ‘m s-sorry. Please.”

“Please what, pet?” Draco asked, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He pulled Harry’s head back even farther until he met resistance, and relished in the way Harry gasped loudly as his normal breathing was interrupted.

“P-Please…” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper, “forgive… me.”

Draco finally released his hair and Harry’s head whipped forward so quickly he became dizzy. He gasped and leaned forward, whimpering when his master gently tilted his face up by his chin, the back of his neck slightly sore from the abuse. When he looked up and noticed the expression of pride on Draco’s face- pride for Harry, of all people- the pain was completely forgotten.

“I forgive you, darling,” Draco cooed. “You’re my good boy, after all.”

Draco once again gripped his cock with one hand, and the other moved to wrap behind Harry’s head, gently holding him in place. He jerked his prick a few times, and Harry opened his mouth wide again, but didn’t dare try to make a move as to avoid another punishment. Draco snickered at his eagerness.

“If you like it so much, why don’t you give it a kiss first?” Draco asked.

Harry moved forwards slowly and placed an open-mouthed kiss upon the head of the large, reddish cock. He was too far undone to bother with his usual chaste kisses and kitten licks. For what seemed like an eternity, he snogged Draco’s cock and focused on the head, using his tongue to swipe at any and all precome escaping the slit, but didn’t dare start sucking. His master hadn’t given him permission yet, and the more he was punished, the longer it would take him to get what he really wanted.

“Alright, dear,” Draco finally said. “That’s enough.”

Harry pulled off his master’s cock and looked up at him with big, hopeful green eyes. Thankfully, Draco decided to take pity on him.

“Open up.”

Once again, Harry opened his mouth wide, humming with gratitude as Draco slid his cock inside. His eyes rolled and he closed them tight, focusing on his breathing as the large length invaded his passage. He made sure to keep his lips wrapped around his teeth, knowing that if he accidentally bit Draco, he would be in for another punishment worse than the others. Draco continued to slide his thick cock in, until he finally met resistance at the back of the throat and made Harry gag. Then he released his hold on Harry’s head.

“Now,” Draco said suddenly, and Harry opened his watery eyes to look up at his master, “put that pretty mouth to work, pet.”

Harry didn’t hesitate and immediately began to suck, hollowing his cheeks as he started to bob his head back and forth, gagging on Draco’s big cock fervently, yet he was only able to swallow down a little more than half of it. He breathed through his nose as he assaulted his own throat, feeling his cock stir as Draco shifted his foot beneath him, the shoestrings pressing roughly against his prick, teasing him. The ropes felt tighter than ever, and he wanted nothing more than to break his bonds and use his hands to wrap around whatever he couldn’t swallow, but he knew that wouldn’t be happening.

“Deeper, darling,” Draco said from above. “I know you can take more.”

Harry didn’t think he could, but he tried nonetheless. He screwed his eyes shut and bobbed his head back and forward a bit more roughly, managing to take a few more centimeters into his throat, but soon he realised that he wasn’t able to breathe this way. Tears were now beginning to well in his eyes and stream down his face as he took in more of Draco’s cock, his loud gags filling the room.

He popped off of Draco’s cock for a second, took a deep breath, then went right back to it, inhaling the cock like his life depended on it. He was so busy sucking the length, that he didn’t even notice when he once again started humping Draco’s foot. This time, however, he wasn’t punished again.

It continued like this for a few minutes until finally, Draco had had enough. He wrapped both hands around Harry’s head and suddenly pulled him down. Harry’s eyes widened in shock as more of Draco’s cock went in than it ever had before, and it went so far deep that Harry wasn’t even able to properly gag around it, or even make any real noise for that matter.

Draco roughly facefucked Harry for a while before gripping him by his hair and pulling him off completely. Harry gasped loudly and managed to only take a couple of breaths before Draco shoved him right back down and started fucking into his throat again. By now, tears were freely spilling down Harry’s cheeks, and his spit and snot began to smear on his face as he struggled to breathe. Despite the sudden change, Harry continued to hump Draco’s foot like a proper dog.

“That’s it,” Draco praised him, his own breathing coming out in gasps. “That’s my good boy. Take it all, darling. I know you can.”

Draco pulled him off again, giving him a few seconds to breathe, and quite possibly giving him the chance to say the safe word, but there was no way in hell that Harry was going to say it. After Harry managed to take one last gulp of air, Draco pulled him back down onto his cock roughly, but instead of fucking Harry’s throat again, he just grabbed him by the head and slid it in as deep as he possibly could. Even as Harry gagged and snot poured from his nose, Draco continued to push into his throat until it was clearly painfully distended.

Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even keep his eyes open as he was forced onto his master’s large cock, and after what seemed like an eternity he finally felt his nose brush against Draco’s pubic hair, signaling that he had finally bottomed out. Instead of releasing him, this time, Draco then began to fuck all of him into Harry’s throat, not bothering to be careful anymore or even mindful of Harry’s breathing as he chased his own pleasure.

Harry could see stars flashing behind his eyelids, and was no longer able to breathe now that Draco was completely filling him. He couldn’t even breathe through his nose anymore, which was now bubbling with snot and fluids as spit escaped his mouth involuntarily. All he could do was let it happen as his master fucked his throat, and he felt his own cock surprisingly react to the assault.

His hips continued to move his hips vigorously, rubbing his leaking, aching cock against Draco’s leather shoe as he began to feel himself losing consciousness. It took him one, two, three pumps before he finally came so hard that his vision turned completely white beneath his eyelids. Harry’s face was a dark red as he came, beginning to turn a purple colour as his lungs desperately needed air. Yet he didn’t receive any. Draco continued to fuck his throat until Harry was on the verge of passing out, and he thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps this might be how he dies; being facefucked to death.

Finally, Draco stilled his movements, cock buried deep inside as he came down Harry’s throat. Harry could feel the hot come sliding down, could feel his body accepting it like it belonged inside of him, whether he liked it or not. Draco’s pubic hair tickled his nose as he came down from his high, and right as Harry began to lose consciousness, Draco pulled out of his throat.

Harry gasped loudly as soon as he was released. His eyes were still closed, filled to the brim with tears, and he was so busy gasping for breath that he didn’t even realise that the ropes had disappeared and he was now free. Draco gently picked him up with strong arms, carrying Harry bridal style to the bed before laying him down. Draco cooed softly to Harry, whispering sweet nothings and praise into his ear as his breathing returned back to normal. He could hear a faint scourgify being whispered above him, cleaning the snot, spittle, and come from his sweaty body. After a few minutes, Harry finally managed to open his eyes again, only to see a concerned looking Draco sitting beside him.

Draco kissed him softly upon the lips, then proceeded to pepper them all across his face and neck. Harry happily accepted them, feeling comforted as Draco gently covered him with the soft blankets. Pale fingers ran through his hair, soothing his poor, sore scalp apologetically.

“You did such a good job,” Draco praised him, and Harry couldn’t help but smile, feeling butterflies in his stomach. “You’re my good boy, Harry. My perfect boy. Was it too much? Did I hurt you badly?”

Harry looked up at him with a smile and shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak and winched when no noise would come out of his painful throat.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Draco aplogised. “I’ll whip you up a potion for that in the morning. I should have been more gentle. Please forgive me.”

Harry shook his head quickly and covered Draco’s mouth with a hand. Draco looked at him, slightly surprised as Harry mouthed the word ‘perfect’ to him. Draco let out a breath of relief and moved down to press a kiss to his forehead. With one hand he took off Harry’s glasses, and with the other he gently rubbed his knuckles along one soft brown cheek.

“My good boy,” Draco whispered. “What would I do without you?”

Harry shrugged and rolled over in bed, smirking when he heard Draco shuffle and undress quickly before crawling in bed behind him. He wrapped his arms around Harry and their naked bodies pressed against each other comfortably, like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. Harry smiled to himself when Draco began to kiss his neck softly and rub a hand over his chest in a soothing manner, lulling him to sleep.

Harry slept comfortably that night, truly feeling like a good boy.

-

Welp, here’s 3000+ words of late night filth for ya. I haven’t written in over a year, so… please don’t kill me. I don’t really like how it turned out, but it’s not too bad for my first NSFW piece. Hope y’all liked it :’)

#drarry #draco x harry #harry x draco #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #hpdm #dmhp #drabble #lemon #look up top for the warnings #smolfelton

[zageekyunicorn]

Ghastly, Haunter, Gengar X Reader Pt. 5

I hid my face with the palms of my hands and cried; I don't know how long I remained in the position and I don't care. All I wanted was for Haunter to return to me. "(Y/N)...?" A familiar voice echoed through the air. I jolted to my feet and looked around in a frantic manner. "Haunter?" I called and my heart raced when a figure approached me. I ran to the figure until I could make out who it was and mt heart stopped. "Max? What are you doing here?" I asked as a wave of disappointment hit me like a ton of bricks.

Max didn't say a word as Umbreon appeared behind him, both of them looking at me with a maniacal smile plastered on their faces. "Don't you know that forests are dangerous (Y/n)?" Max's words sent shivers down my spine, not the good kind might I add.  "W...what do you want?" I mentally cursed myself for stuttering, but I tried to maintain my tough girl vibe none-the-less.

Umbreon must've noticed and felt my fear because he chuckled darkly as his trainer caught me by the throat and slammed me against a tree. Tears welled up in my eyes as my throat ached from the pressure.

"Hate to be cliche sweetheart, but not going on a date with me was your biggest mistake; soon to be your last. I've been wanting new pokemon to sell for a while now." I choked as his fingers clenched tighter around my neck.

"S...ugh...sell?" I managed to cough up as I got slammed to the ground causing my vision to blur and pain to pulsate all through my body.

"I don't need to explain anything to you! I was going to have fun with you first, but then I remembered that Umbreon is in heat and has been wanting to mate for some time; you will do nicely." Max moved slightly to the side and gave me full view of a nude Umbreon making his way towards me.

My mind went into panic mode when I felt a cold hand slide into my jeans and grab my behind. I struggled, thrashed, and screamed as much as I could but Umbreon was strong. I felt my breasts being squeezed painfully making me let out a slight scream. I was about to give up when Umbreon's grasp loosened only to have another hand grab my throat and apply pressure.

"I want to have fun too." Max cooed as he bit my ear and slipped his hand under my shirt to grab my breast.

"No! Get off!" I was able to kick Max where the sun don't shine and the split second his grip loosened I was off. I bolted in a random direction and prayed to Arceus that I can get out of here or for someone to help me.

"Umbreon, Shadow Sneak!" I heard an echo right before I was engulfed by a black shadow and the next thing I know my whole body collapsed from pain. My head was spinning so fast, getting up was impossible on my end. Max appeared and took a fistful of my hair right before pulling violently, letting me give out another scream of pain.

"You just signed your death wish!" Max pulled out a knife and placed the sharp edge on my neck; the cold steel contrasted with my warm skin as I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable to happen. I'd rather die than be violated by these two.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered as I thought of Haunter and Espeon. I hope they will be okay without me.

I felt Max twitch slightly and I shut my eyes tighter thinking that I was a goner. Suddenly, I felt lighter...what? I opened my eyes and saw pools of crimson red.

"H...Haunter?" I whispered, my throat too damaged to speak. The human pokemon seemed a bit off from the last time I've seen him but my heart knew this was my Haunter.

Haunter was carrying me while walking towards the edge of the forest; I was going to say something but stopped when I saw the tears flowing out of his eyes and his grip tighten around me.

He dropped to his knees as he cradled me in his arms. I did nothing as I watched his trembling form out of shock.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." He kept repeating as I moved to hug him back. I rocked him back and forth while soothing him softly.

The purple haired male suddenly stopped and looked into my eyes, the amount of emotion i felt pouring from them almost suffocated me.

"I almost lost you! I...I couldn't live with myself if something...anything...happened to you..." I placed a warm hand on his cheek and wiped away the tears.

"I'm still here; I am alive and in your arms...that's what's important." I hugged the pale man as I rubbed his back soothingly,

"I want to apologize for everything that I said. I was an idiot...the biggest idiot alive. I don't deserve you after the way i treated you after the battle. I hurt you...I'm sorry...words cannot say how sorry I am."

"Haunter, I don't care about that anymore!" I gently grabbed the human pokemon's face and made us touch foreheads.

"I care about you way too much to let you go. As selfish as that sounds, I really do need you beside me...without you...I...I felt broken and incomplete...I can't live without you."

The male smiled sweetly at me before he kissed me passionately; the love was so prominent by the way he grabbed my head to deepen the kiss and how his tongue was exploring every inch of my cavern.

"I love you! Arceus knows how much I love you!" I cried the second those words came out of his mouth.

"I love you so much too, Haunter..."

"About that, I am a Gengar now."

Gengar and I have been making our way through the city and were close to my apartment when he gave me those shocking words.

"Wait...what...?"

"When...when I heard you scream...then I saw what those..." Haunter...I mean Gengar's hands clenched into fists as he remembered what Umbreon and Max were going to do to me as I shivered, trying to forget everything.

"I saw what Umbreon and Max were doing...touching you...ki...kissing you...something inside me snapped and the next thing I know I am a Gengar."

"...but I thought Haunters evolve through trade...how did you...?"

"Maybe the same way I became a human...or the same way I evolved into a Haunter...The need to be with you was just so strong that I had to evolve to become stronger...I guess Arceus is keeping an eye on us."

A tear slid down my cheek as I ran to Gengar and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you! Thank you so so so so so much!" I sniffled as I buried my face in his chest.

"You're thanking me? After everything I've put you through and you're thanking me?" Gengar pulled me away slightly to be able to look into my eyes; I swear his eyes will be the death of me one day, I don't mind though because that would be a great way to go...looking into the eyes of the person I cannot live without.

"I'm thanking you for being with me, supporting me, saving me, loving me...there's so much I should thank you for..." I was interrupted by a beautiful and sweet peck on the lips right before two words in a form of a question made my heart stop mid beat.

"Marry me?"

The words were so fast and faint that the wind carried them away as soon as they came out. I heard them and I understood them, I was just caught off guard.

"Wha...?"

"(Y/N) (LAST NAME), will you marry me? A once lonely pokemon who somehow became a man and fell madly in love with you?" My heart was racing; I felt like I was going to explode from excitement.

I yelled yes so loud that my voice echoed for a solid 5 minutes as I kissed those pale lips that I've grown to love and long for.

The second we reached our home, I burst through the door and ran to find Espeon so I could tell her the amazing news.

"Espeoooooooon? Espeon? Guess what?" I ran around the house looking for the pink pokemon when I stopped in front of the bathroom.

"Es...pe...on?"

Gengar noticed how my demeanor changed from excited to full out shocked and worried in a split second that he hurried beside me and when he saw what I was seeing, he was shocked too.

"Oh my Arceus!" He breathed.

There, in nothing but a badly wrapped towel, stood a woman with long pink hair, deep blue eyes and a pale complexion; she was looking at us with a worried expression as I was paralyzed in my spot.

Gengar snapped out of it quickly and wrapped an arm around my waist to snap me out of my daze.

"Looks like this whole human pokemon thing is spreading. Espeon might need a little adjusting to a new lifestyle." Gengar smirked and I just noticed that he was staring at an almost naked woman.

I snapped and pushed Gengar away telling him that he was a perv and that he shouldn't be looking at naked women. Espeon was just so out of it that I had to help her in some clothes and explain to her every minor detail that humans do, from brushing teeth to greeting people...I have to admit though, it made my life so much more interesting and fun.

"You spaced out again," Gengar chucked as he closed the book he was reading and put it on the bedside table.

"Hm?" I looked at the shirtless man in glasses laying in bed beside me.

"You..." He kissed me on the forehead.

"Spaced..." A kiss on the cheek.

Out..." A kiss on the nose.

"Again..." A kiss on the lips...finally.

"Sorry..." I blushed as I was thinking a lot these past few days.

"What is it this time?" Gengar asked as he pulled me on his lap and played stroked my hair.

"I was just wondering what happened to Max and Umbreon? They just disappeared."

Gengar's muscles tensed and he let out a heavy sigh before kissing my temple.

"If you really must know, I sent them to a place where they won't harm anyone ever again."

"Where is that?" My curiosity sparked as I was thinking of the most secluded places I know.

Gengar smiled at me and hugged me tight before returning to stroking my hair.

"I sent them to a friend of mine...Giratina."

My eyes widened and I looked at Gengar with a shocked expression.

"They're not dead are they...?"

"No...as much as I would've preferred to end their lives, I know you wouldn't forgive me if I did. So, I did the next best thing; I sent them to Giratina as eternal servants."

"Oh...I guess that's better than death."

Gengar chuckled one more time as he kissed my neck and ear.

"You look very sexy and beautiful in that night gown, (Y/N)." Gengar mumbled through the endless amounts of kisses.

"...and you look very sexy with glasses on." I continued as I wrapped my arms around his neck and straddled the purple haired male.

"I love you..."

"I love you too..."

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #chubby reader #x reader #xreader #chubby #romance #anime #fanfiction #story #stories #human pokemon #pokehuman #pokehuman x reader

[choiceswhodunnit]

A Night To Remember...

A cold breeze blows through the middle of a small neighborhood in New York, hours away from the main city. The moon is hidden behind several clouds that threaten rain, the sound of thunder just a small crackle in the air. The orange, crunchy leaves rustle across the brick walkway as a long limo pulls up to the gates of a home. The driver stops and rolls his window down before he leans out and types in a code he received earlier that evening. The receiver chimes a happy tune and welcomes the sleek, black car onto the property. He drives to the front of the home and before he stops the car and kills the engine. He gets out and hurries to the back of the limo where he opens the door for his passenger. 

Matt Rodriquez steps out, wearing a maroon suit with a black tie and a pair of shiny black dress shoes to match. He adjusts the gold cufflinks on his dress shirt and looks around the manor before him.

“Sir,” The driver says as he tips his hat to Mr. Rodriguez. He hands him his suitcase that’s stored in the trunk.

“Thank you, Bryan. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Matt waves him off as he begins to walk up the steps to the manor.

Ivy grows on the side of the dirty grey stone on the side of the house. The red brick around the mansion is in desperate need of a power wash and couple of the bricks are loose from their homes, threatening any clumsy person to trip. Moss grows in between the lines of brick and weeds are everywhere across the gardens in the front. All the lights seem to be off inside, with the exception of the ground floor. But even then, they’re so dim it’s nearly impossible to tell there’s any light at all.

Another clap of thunder shutters through the air and the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stand up. He clears his throat as he reaches the main doors. A pair of steel doors towers over him and he reaches up to grab the knocker, in the shape of a bat. He bangs three times and he hears the echoes of each bang inside the house. He stands back and waits for the doors to be opened. When they do, a maid answers the door, a pale expression on her face.

“Hello,” Matt begins, he reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves the invitation he received weeks ago.

Hello my dear friend, the letter begins. I’m Kamilah Sayeed and you may be wondering why I’m reaching out to you. You may be an old friend of mine, or I admire your line of work, or I may have possibly heard about you through networking or because of your heroic efforts. Whatever the case, I wanted to extend an invitation to you to join me in my manor in October. We’ll wine and dine and at the end of the night, you may all stay in a room within the home. I’m well aware you may be traveling from out of town, with all of my guests staying over, you won’t have to worry about catching a flight late at night or trying to book a hotel room. You may also want to get to know each other well into the night, and maybe even into the morning. I hope you can join me in October for this little get together. Please bring yourself and anything you may need for the night and next morning. Bring this invitation and show it at the door, and remember that all over plus ones will be turned away. Enclosed is the rest of the details you’ll need to know for that night.

Farewell for now, Kamilah Sayeed

“I’m here for the… dinner party.”

The maid glances at the invite and ushers him inside. The main foyer features a long staircase leading upstairs with a giant chandelier and a balcony that overlooks the foyer and front door. It’s dim, with little candles smoking through the air, the yellow hue from the flames gives the manor a homey feeling. All of which is unsettling and comforting at once.

The maid takes Matt’s suitcase and leads him to the formal living room. A bartender stands in the corner of the room with a bar standing before him. Glasses of deep red wine and dark and stormies are lined up on the bar’s counter. An arrangement of cheeses, fruits, and different artisan pastries filled with different meats, cheeses, and herbs are in the middle of the room on the ancient coffee table that is surrounded by more modern couches and chairs, ready for people to sit and mingle around it.

In desperate need of something strong, Matt ignores the first course of the meal and heads straight for the bar. He picks up his own dark and stormy and gives a silent nod to the bartender who refuses to make eye contact with the famous actor. Matt wonders into the middle of the room, the sound of the vinyl in the corner gives off an old timey feeling. The candles in the room flicker as rain begins to pat against the side of the windows, the curtains drawn so no one can see in or out. He waits by himself for a few long minutes, he begins to believe he’s the only one invited to this strange dinner party right before there is another knock on the door.

He hears a woman’s voice flow in from outside and through the crack in the formal living room doors, he can see a flash of lightning come from outside and disappear as the front door is closed once more. The clicking of heels makes him stand up straight and a young woman with bright red hair enters the room. She wears a floral halter-top dress with a faux turtleneck and nude pumps to match. The dress hits right above her knee as she walks into the room.

“Hi, I’m Kate O’Malley,” she says, her face lights up as she realizes she isn’t the first one to arrive. “Wait, are you… Matt Rodriguez? Oh my gosh, I’m a huge fan! I can’t believe my favorite actor is attending the same dinner party as me!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Matt says as they shake hands. “O’Malley… that name sounds familiar. Do you happen to be…”

“The one who left Tanner Sterling at the altar only for her fiance to be found dead a few hours later? That I am,” she gives him a nervous chuckle as she quickly gets herself a dark and stormy before she returns and stands in front of him once more.

“Sorry, I just always wanted to meet the woman who left one the richest families sons in the world at the altar,” he admits.

“Oh don’t worry about it,” she tells him after taking a swing of her drink. “The Sterling name has served me well.” She throws him a quick, seductive wink and before Matt can respond, there’s another knock on the door.

The two of them look over and hear some hushed voices in the hallway before a woman walks in wearing a more traditional, Victorian—yet modern—black dress with lace detailing. She adjusts her glasses on top of her face and spots the two of the guests in the middle of the room. She makes her way over and sticks her hand out and shakes Kate’s hand and then Matt’s.

“Lily Spencer, it’s a pleasure to meet yo—wait Matt Rodriguez? The actor? I didn’t think you would be here,” Lily says as she makes eye contact with the young actor.

“Who were you expecting to be here?” Kate asks as she frowns, two hands rest on her half full glass.

“Oh well I’m actually friends with Kamilah,” Lily tells them. “I kind of had an idea of who would be here tonight, I really wasn’t expecting a well known actor to be at this dinner party. Or a young and pretty white girl.”

“Wait you know the host?” Matt asks as Kate blushes and tucks a strain of hair behind her ear.

“Oh… yeah,” Lily quickly walks over to the bar as she spots it over Kate’s shoulder. She whispers something to the bartender and he reaches under the bar and hands her a mysterious drink, a darker red than the wine that’s already been placed out. She returns a moment later to continue the conversation. “My best friend actually works directly with Adrian Raines. And Adrian and Kamilah are kind of besties so I see her a lot.”

“You mentioned something about who you expected to be here,” Kate says. “Who were you expecting exactly?”

“Just… other business people,” Lily says as she takes a sip of her drink. “I, for some reason, thought this was more of a work party.”

Before anyone can say anything else, there’s another hard knock on the door. Two men are heard as the maid opens the door and they rush inside from the rain. They walk into the formal living room the first man has long hair that’s been slicked back for the event. He wears a grey suit with the first couple of buttons open on his white business shirt underneath. He sports a pair of rustic looking brown boots that have clearly been worn several times over, or were purchased to look like they were. The second one walks in right behind him wearing a royal blue suit with black shiny shoes, a white button down, and black bow tie to match. They head to the bar quickly before they join the other three.

“Diego Soto,” the second man says and shakes Lily’s hand and then Kate’s, and finally Matt’s.

“Jake McKenzie,” the first one says right after and follows Diego’s lead by shaking everyone’s hands. The three other guests introduce themselves as well before they dive into the small talk.

“So, do you guys know each other?” Kate asks as she raises her elbow slightly so her drink is near her face.

“We do,” Diego replies as Jake and him give each other a look. “We met on… a vacation.”

“Wait are you guys apart of the group that went missing in La Huerta?” Lily bursts out, she had been trying to figure out why their faces looked familiar.

“Actually, we are,” Jake lets out a nervous chuckle and takes a quick sip of his drink. “Do you guys know each other?”

“No we all just met,” Kate responds. “And we don’t know the host either.”

“Well, Lily does,” Matt tells the group and all eyes fall to Lily.

“Okay yeah I do,” Lily huffs. “My best friend works with Kamilah’s best friend, so I see her a lot. We’ve hung out a few times, gotten dinner—”

“Sounds like you and the host are besties,” Jake jokes right as there is another knock on the door.

The sound of the rain rushes in as the maid quickly opens the door and barely looks at the invitation in the new arrival hand. She quickly shows her the living room and the new girl files in. She’s wearing a black punk rock dress with combat boots to match. She blushes slightly but doesn’t let her confidence fall as she walks in and walks over to where the group stands.

“Hi, I’m Kaitlyn Liao!” Her voice is quite peppy and she rubs her hands along her dress to get rid of any rain before she shakes everyone’s hands and gathers their names.

“Did you want a drink, Kaitlyn?” Jake asks her and points over to the bar.

“Um, just a water is fine,” she tells Jake with a smile. He excuses himself and makes his way over.

“So, any idea why we’re all here?” Kaitlyn asks nervously. She had always wanted to be in a spooky horror like movie but she’s beginning to think maybe something not this realistic.

“No clue,” Diego says and Kate gives Kaitlyn a tight smile.

“I thought it was going to be a business meeting,” Lily confesses. “But, I guess not.”

“You wear that to a business meeting?” Jake asks as he hands Kaitlyn her water and she thanks him.

“The invite did say it was a dinner party,” Lily points out. “So yes I would wear this to a dinner… business party.”

“How many people do we think are going to be here?” Diego asks. “We can’t be the only ones who are here, this seems a little… small for a dinner party. I mean, we are partially in a mansion.”

Before anyone can add anything there’s another knock on the door and a hush falls over them. They listen for any hushed voices, maybe someone they know has been invited. The maid let’s the poor guest in and out of the rain and another guest is heard running up the steps before the door can close. Matt’s eyes light up as the first guest enters the room.

“Teja!” He says as he rushes over to greet her. She wears a skin tight silver dress with black heels, her hair is let down without a stuffy baseball cap covering it. Her eyes light up when she spots him and they greet each other in a hug, happy to see a familiar face.

“Do you have any idea as to what is going on?” Teja whispers to him as they rejoin the group, the second guest already introducing himself to the rest of the group.

“I really have no clue,” Matt tells her. “We’re all trying to figure it out.”

He excuses himself to get another drink and one for Teja. Meanwhile, Teja turns to the guests who walked in behind her. He wears a classic black tux with a bow tie and shiny shoes. She sticks her hand out and introduces herself, “Teja Desai.”

“Maxwell Beaumont!” he says with a cheerful smile and lots of energy. He seems to be the only one that isn’t really concerned with what’s happening.

Teja introduces herself to the rest of the group and Matt returns shortly with his drink in hand and gives one drink to Teja.

“So Teja,” Kaitlyn says. “Any ideas as to what is going on?”

Teja shrugs. “My guess is as good as any.”

“Well I know this isn’t a business meeting anymore,” Lily speaks up. “I could have sworn it was going to be something of that nature.”

“Maybe there’s something we’re missing,” Kate suggests.

“Like what, red?” Jake asks, sipping his drink.

“I don’t know. Maybe we all have something in common?”

The group looks around at each other. College students, movie stars, and royalty the like but nothing that really defines the group as a whole.

“Kamilah will have to explain at dinner, right?” Maxwell says after a few seconds of silence. “Or maybe we’ll get more ideas as more guests come in!”

“If there are any more guests,” Kaitlyn reminds him.

In that moment, there’s another knock on the door. The guests go silent as they wait for the next mystery to arrive and enter the room. A moment after the main opens the door, a young woman wearing a green dress walks in with her hair tied up, and a long scar down her face. Diego and Jake exchange glances before Diego waves her over. Her confidence changes as she spots her friends and makes her way over. She hugs Jake and Diego before she turns to the rest of the strangers.

“I’m Estela Montoya, nice to meet you all,” she says and shakes everyone’s hands.

“I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Diego says as she grabs a quick glass of wine before she returns to the party.

“You guys never told me you were coming,” she points out and then takes a sip of her drink. “So I’m guessing this isn’t a La Huerta reunion?”

“Doesn’t look like it, Katniss,” Jake jokes with her.

“So you were in the island of La Huerta, too?” Lily asks, throwing herself into the conversation.

Diego opens his mouth to speak but another knock is heard and suddenly everyone forgets what he or she are talking about. Two voices are heard followed by the sounds of suitcase wheels rolling on the floor. The two guests enter, the first a man wearing a navy suit and classic brown shoes. The second a woman, her hair done up, wearing a muted red dress with sleeves and black flats. They clearly know each other, their body language suggesting they’ve been friends for a little while. They approach the group and the man speaks first.

“Damien Nazario.”

“Sloane Washington,” the woman pipes up, her voice high pitched and nervous.

Everyone else welcomes them and introduces themselves. Damien points to the bar and asks Sloane if she wants anything and she nods. He hurries back with two drinks in his hands and gives one to Sloane as the conversations begin to start up again.

“We were all just talking about why we’re all here,” Teja informs them. “We can’t quite figure out what we all have in common.”

“No one else a PI?” Damien throws out, no one says anything and just respond with head shakes.

“There’s not really a reason why or how we’re all connected,” Estela mentions and another knock comes from the foyer.

“Like clockwork,” Lily sighs and everyone turns to wait for the next guest.

A man wearing a bright red suit with a black tie and matching black dress shoes enters. He smiles with confidence as he comes into the formal living room, a large smile on his face and each step is with purpose. He sticks his hand out to Sloane and she shakes it nervously.

“Kenji Katasaros! Nice to meet you!”

The others greet him and he bounces over to the bar to grab himself a drink as the others whisper among themselves.

“We all do kind of have a big name somehow,” Sloane points out and everyone looks at her. “Well, I’m a scientist—or was a scientist—for Eros, a well known company. Matt is obviously a well known movie star. Jake, Diego, and Estela were all on La Huerta, which was a huge event that happened recently. Damien used to be a PI that worked with a lot of buisnessy types of people. Teja is a famous director that worked on one of the biggest movies of the year. Kaitlyn, it sounds like your band is really well known. And Kate you left a man at the altar and he wound up dead a day later and you were involved with the murders of the Sterlings. Lily, you know Ms. Sayeed personally. Kenji… your mom is a well known attorney isn’t she? And Maxwell, you’re well known from House Beaumont. I think this could just be some networking thing.”

“Well it’s some weird networking get together,” Kaitlyn replies. “I mean I know it’s great to meet new people and to get your name out there, but I’m not sure Kamilah Sayeed is my kind of demographic for my band.”

“We don’t know what kind of music Kamilah likes,” Maxwell chimes in. “She could be a huge punk fan.”

Kaitlyn shrugs as everyone begins to accept that maybe it is just a weird network get together.

“Well we only need one more guest,” Estela says after a few long and silent moments.

“Until what?” Kenji asks, one of his hands in his pockets.

“We have the infamous unlucky thirteen.”

Before anyone can respond to Estela’s somewhat joke, the doorbell rings. The loud sound echoes through the mansion, the uneasy feeling crawling up everyone’s spines. The door opens and a loud voice is heard before the man enters the living room. He wears a light tan suit with a sleazy smirk on his face. He puts his arms out to his side as he looks at the guests in front of him.

“Hello my dear friends,” his eyes seem to glow a faint red as he greets the group. “My name is Lester Castellanos! I’m sure you are all happy that I’m here! Ah Lily! A pleasure to see you!”

Everyone looks over at Lily who turns red and refuses to move from her spot to greet him. Kenji nudges her as everyone returns their eyes to Lester.

“You know this creep?” he whispers to Lily.

“She’s a business partner of Kamilah’s,” she informs Kenji. “Not exactly the nicest person around.”

“Where is our host?” Lester almost shouts, more to the servants than to the group of uneasy guests.

“I’m right behind you, Lester,” all eyes fall behind Lester and they finally see her. “Hello my dear guests, I’m Kamilah Sayeed, and welcome to Osiris Manor!”

Welcome to Osiris Manor everyone! Guests, a cast list will go up ASAP where you can contact each other and begin to form alliances! The first murder will go live October 3rd at 5pm Arizona Time! Please let me know if you have any questions! 

#choices whodunnit #choices whodunnit season 2 #long post #introduction #playchoices

[afraidof-thedark]

I have nightmares where I’m trapped in a shower. The drain is plugged, and the the water won’t stop pouring down on me. Water rises to my ankles, to my waist, and then over my head. The shower curtain turns to glass, and my screams turn to gargles. A dark figure presses its face against the glass on the other side, and it watches me. I plead, but it won’t let me out. I swallow water and flail helplessly in my glass coffin.

I wake up gagging.

I know where the nightmare came from – I never have to dig deep. The incident is never far from my subconscious. Finding it is easy.

Getting over it is not.

It was the summer of my 12th birthday when the Hudsons moved in across the street. Three people, one of them a really old woman. She was tiny, frail, skeletal almost. Thin white hair, faded, blue flowery dress – her head hung from her neck and it wobbled as the man pushed her up a makeshift wheelchair ramp into the house. At the time I couldn’t figure out if she was alive or dead.

A few minutes later she appeared in an upstairs window, sitting in her wheelchair. She was directly facing my bedroom, and I cautiously peered out from behind my curtains. Her head was upright now, and she stared at me. Just stared, without moving her head an inch.

I closed my drapes.

For days she sat at the window. She watched the cars putter down our suburban road and gazed at the neighborhood kids scurrying through their yards. I never saw anyone else in the room; never saw her move from that wheelchair. At night I’d nervously peek through the crack in my drapes. Her silhouette was still in that window, lights off, staring out into the darkness at my bedroom. I couldn’t tell, but I knew she was watching me.

The stories about her cropped up pretty quick amongst my friends in the neighborhood. That she was a witch. That she was just a doll. That she was actually dead. But I knew she wasn’t dead. Sure, I never saw her move from that window, not once. And I never saw her head turn. But I felt her eyes move as they studied me. I could feel her watching me. All alone in my bedroom, in the middle of the night with my drapes firmly shut, I’d wake up and shudder. Her eyes were on me, I just knew it.

I began sleeping on the floor. The lower I was, the better. Maybe she couldn’t see me if I was on the floor.

I told my parents that the old woman across the street was creeping me out. I pleaded with them to talk to the Hudsons and ask them to move her to a room without a window. They laughed and told me to let her live out her twilight years in peace. She was just watching the street, they said, and that probably made her feel happy and feel younger.

“Are you just going to stick me in a windowless room when I’m an old lady?” my mom laughed. “Remind me to move in with your sister when I’m in a wheelchair!”

A week later there was some commotion at the Hudsons. I watched from my bedroom window as the man ran out of the house and opened up the double-doors of his van. He jogged inside, and he reappeared minutes later pushing the old woman in her wheelchair down the ramp. She looked frailer than before. She couldn’t have weighed more than 70 pounds. Her head was flung to the side, resting on her right shoulder. Her body jostled in the wheelchair.

But her eyes never left me. Watched me the whole time.

The man picked her up and placed her in the car. He folded the wheelchair and stuffed it in the trunk. He quickly hopped into the driver’s seat, the younger woman pounced into the passenger seat, and the man put his foot to the pedal.

The old woman’s limp head still faced me. It bobbed up and down as the van reversed down the driveway. I studied her face. It was expressionless, emotionless. Her tongue slightly hung from the right-side of her mouth. But her eyes were on mine, and they stayed on me.

The van accelerated down the street, and it was gone.

My parents heard the news that afternoon from other neighbors: the old woman’s condition was getting worse, and the Hudsons had taken her to some sort of a home. She wouldn’t be coming back. I went straight to my bedroom, and I looked across the street. I smiled. Her window was finally empty.

The Hudsons didn’t come back the next day. No van. That night I looked out towards the old woman’s window. There was no one there, no wheelchair. But the bedroom light was on. I remember telling my dad I thought it was strange, and he just shrugged and said, “Must be on some sort of timer or something.”

I woke up in the middle of the night and nervously peered out my bedroom window. That bedroom light was still on. It suddenly flicked off, and I ducked below my window frame. I slowly rose and looked out, expecting to see the silhouette of that tiny, skeletal being. I watched for ten minutes, pinching and straining my eyes. The lights quickly flickered on and then off again.

I slept on the floor again, clutching my pillow close.

I had a late baseball practice the next evening. When I got home, my house was empty. My parents were at my little sister’s softball game. I headed to the shower to rinse off.

About three minutes into my shower, I felt cold. The hot steam was escaping the bathroom somehow, which didn’t make sense because I had shut the door. I wiped the shampoo from my eyes, turned my head, and I heard a strange noise that would haunt me in nightmares for years: the metal rings of the shower curtain being dragged across the shower rod. Someone was slowly opening the curtain.

The shampoo stung my eyes, and through the stinging I saw a dark figure behind the curtain. Long, pale, bony fingers gripped the curtain as it slowly opened. I instinctively backed up in the shower, and the curtain opened completely.

There stood the old woman. I must have only looked at her for one, maybe two seconds, but at that moment time stood still. All these years later I can still draw you a vivid picture of the horrifying image in front of me. Disheveled white hair, crazy in her eyes, bones jutting out from under her stretched skin, stark naked. Blotchy skin, warts all over her body, skinny breasts hanging to her waist. Hair where I didn’t know people could grow hair.

She smiled grotesquely, and I felt the shower tile against my back and the hot water pound my face. In her other hand, the old woman held a letter opener.

“August,” she mumbled. “August, August, August.”

I leaped past her, knocking her tiny body to the floor. I ran downstairs, naked and sopping wet. In my panic I somehow remembered I was nude, and I yanked a pair of shorts out of the hamper in the laundry room, sending the hamper crashing to the floor. I high-tailed it on foot down the street, eventually winding up at my friend’s house.

When the police arrived they found the old woman, crumpled to a heap in the bathroom. The shower was still running. The policemen were all really nice to me, admiring me for my bravery. I told them what she said to me – “August” – and asked if they knew what she could have meant.

“It will be August in a few days,” one of them shrugged. “And you can never fully understand old and crazy, son.”

The Hudsons only came to our street once more to retrieve their stuff. The “For Sale” sign was up in days. My mom told me they couldn’t face the neighbors for what happened. Apparently they had taken the old woman – the man’s mother – to a special home downstate. Somehow, someway, the woman managed to escape the home and caught a bus back to our town. It never quite made sense to me – she was so old, so frail, so helpless. She could barely move those weeks she lived in that house. How had she managed to travel hundreds of miles on her own?

Anyway, you can imagine what this did to me. I didn’t shower for 21 years. I took baths, which I suppose aren’t that different – it’s still a tub, and it involves hot, soapy water. But a shower, with it’s closed curtain, water peppering the tub floor and steam climbing the walls – you get lost inside your own head in the shower. Thoughts consume you, and it feels so utterly safe. For a few minutes, you are alone from the world. It’s your own private, misty kingdom.

But that’s what makes the shower dangerous – you’re enclosed, vulnerable, naked.

You’re exposed.

I talked to people about it – my parents, a shrink – but mainly I tried to push the incident deep down into places where I couldn’t find it. I didn’t talk about it with anyone since I was a kid – life carried on. Besides the baths, I was pretty normal.

A few months ago, something inside me clicked. I felt the urge to re-examine the incident, it was almost like a voice in my head was telling me to do it. My head wanted closure.

I spent hours online one night, trying to track down any information on the Hudsons and the old woman. I finally found what I was looking for – an obituary for the old woman. She had died four years ago. Somehow that walking skeleton hadn’t checked out for another 15 years. The obituary photo was a black-and-white picture from when she was a young woman – it was a photo of her and her deceased husband on their wedding day.

His name was August.

And he looked exactly like me.

I closed the browser and stared at my computer desktop for ten minutes. It finally made more sense, why she called me August. Why she was obsessed with watching me. Maybe she used to write letters to her husband, and that’s why she was clutching the letter opener that night.

For a small moment, I felt a little better. Things always feel better when they make more sense.

“Honey, is everything okay?” It was my wife.

“I think so,” I said.

I took the first shower I had taken in years that night. I didn’t even jump when the curtain rungs dragged across the shower rod and my wife entered. But as she embraced me under the hot water, one question wouldn’t leave my head:

How come the young woman in that wedding photo looks exactly like my wife?

Original Author: Red_Grin from Reddit

#creepy #creepypasta #creepy story #story #short story #scary story

[exoruinmykokoro-blog]

IMAGINE (Halloween Edition)

                                                   Being a Sawyer 

-Who is that?

-Oh… she is Y/N Sawyer… - Cameron said while a preppy girl with a purple dress, white shoes and a pair of black gloves was walking in the hall of the school like if it was a runway in the middle of Paris. –She is one of the most recognized students in the upper east side.

-Upper east side? - Nate, a young boy of 17 years, pale skin, black eyes and brown hair asked in surprised while his eyes followed her path as she keep on walking in a powerful but cute hypnotizing way. First right then left, then repeat one in front of the other.

-Yeah dude… she is pretty cool and dope. But everyone is scared of her. – Cameron said as Nate saw how she saw him and smile at him in a cute but intimidating way –We all…

-Dude…- Nate try to warn him about the girl that started to walk by them, but suddenly, he felt like something choked in his throat.

-Hi Cameron, saying again how I kill people in my free time? – She had a sweet tone of voice but something about what the words that came out of those pretty lips in a nude tone of lipstick made Nate have multiple shivers. –Hi new one, I´m Y/N Sawyer… and if looks could kill yours would be mine… - She laughed loudly at him making Cameron punch one of her shoulder in a friendly gesture. –Seriously, you look horrendous with that dress kid. – Nate smiled shyly at her, while she put her glasses on top of his head after messing with his hair a little bit.

-I still need to warn the new ones about the Sawyers, or no? – Cameron asked her while she stared at his eyes making him get blushed – Okay, okay you win… Nate I’m sorry but now you are her problem. –Cameron patted Nate shoulder while standing up from the floor in which they were sitting and walking in the opposite direction.

-I´m Nate…- He said, as she knelt in front of him putting a leather jacket into the floor in which her kneels landed. She gave him her hand and he grabbed it firmly, feeling the coldness and soft texture of her skin companied by the really sweet and almost intoxicating smell of her perfume. –Nice to meet you… Y/N.

-Same to you Mr.… -She smiled at him showing her bright tooths. She stood up and look at the old vintage watch that she had on her hand that looked like it survived a war. –It´s time to class… I think you are in my class right? - She said as she extended her arm in which she had an S with a red cross in over it in the middle of her arm. Something extreme and odd in the look of a preppy girl as Cameron introduced her.

He grabbed her hand while she helped him to stand up surprising him by the actual amount of strength that she had on that pretty skinny and bony body. –Wow you are strong- he said while she smiled in a way that give him the creepy shivers one more time. –Thanks… that tattoo is dope…- He said while she grabbed his arm as if they were and old couple.

-Thank you Mr. Nate, it´s a family thing… - She said while smiling at him and walking by his side into the classroom.

-Oh Ms. Sawyer… and… I supposed you are Nate Roman…- Nate smiled back at the teacher while she let go his arm slowly leaving a cold sensation on it.

-Safe and sound I introduce to you and to the class our new student. I bring him safe from the jungles of the hallways and the savagery of the hormones of teenage girls. – Everyone in the classroom including Nate and the teacher bursted into a laugh as she started to make a salute to them.

-Well Mr. Nate Roman, as Spring break is over, you can tell us a little bit of what you did on your vacations and a little bit more of yourself. –And as the teacher said he stood there explaining a little bit more of who he was and what he was doing in New York, in the Upper East Side all surrounded by a life that he was running away from since always. There were also those eyes that keep seeing him with so much interest that in more than one moment he stuttered on his relate making her smile wide open and getting him all blushed out.

-Tha… thank you- Everybody clapped at him and smiled at the same time. Hypocrisy or not, everybody was charmed by the cute little new shy guy who was the son of a military of high range and an ex super model. That was fucking awesome.

-So, somebody else want to come here and tell us their…

-I want to- Before the teacher even had time to end up his question, there was her, stood up with all the elegancy and cuteness that characterized her in all the spaces in which she made an appearance. She walked by, smiling and sitting on the chair in which Nate was sit a couple of minutes ago. –In my spring break…

Everything was dark, the place smelled like mold and mud. It was so intense that his nostrils felt like there where in flames. He was kicking and moving one side to the other making the barbed wire attach more to his wrists and ankles. The pain was extreme but also was the fear and terror that were creping on him from the darkest bottom of his soul.

-Hi Mr… Marvin I guess? –a female voice fulfilled the space making a huge eco among it. He didn’t know where he was but that sound that expanded and give him chills and made him pee a little bit on his dirty bloody pants, told him more than those words. He was on a close space that was abandoned. All by himself, tied down, probably surrounded and only God knows what the hell was going on. – You don´t know who I am but… damn sir… sadly for you I really know who the fuck you are.

She had a young voice and that give him a little of confidence back on him. Yes, the wire was really deep into his skin, and every move make him feel more pain of what can be explained on write or said words, but he knew it wasn’t impossible to break free of it. He has seen that before because he had done the same to a couple of chicks. –Do you know where you are? – he wanted to talk but he had a dirty cloth on his mouth that tasted like rotten blood and pure shit. –Oh… my manners…-He felt a sharp object made a trace on his face and then he felt the cloth felt down on his lap.

-WHERE THE FUCK I AM? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? COWARD… WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? –he was screaming his guts out at the moment, fulfilled by the pain and rage of seeing himself in the position of all the victims that he had in the same situation a time no distant to that. He knew he was a monster, a creepy legend that cops called a killer and moms a nightmare, but he just embraced that, smiled and kept on his road trip seducing little girls and making all the worst nightmares of parents come to life. Some of them, he would bring back at their home towns in such conditions that their parents lost their fucking minds. One of the girls who survived committed suicide, as fast as she could walk a few steps into the window of the hospital, jumping out of it making no sound as she did when he raped her, burned her, stabbed her, torture her and cut her fucking tongue out.

“such a delicious creature was not meant to speak even a little word my dear” he said holding her tongue and cutting it with a pair of brand new garden scissors. She made such a sound and a mess that he hit her hear in three opportunities against the floor letting her fall into unconsciousness, cauterizing the bleeding blank and guttery new spot that was a reminder of the existence of a lost tongue. He cocked it, eat it, rape her and then, he just went to a bar for a well granted beer.

-Who I am or what I am doing here is none of your fucking business. What is actually one of my business is the fact that you came into my fucking hometown, and you killed a little girl who was just 4 years old… am I right Marvin? –The girl had a black dress that was shining in some spots thanks to a flashlight that she had on one of her hands, but besides that he couldn’t see anything else on the place. Everything was black. It was a really fancy and fine dress that he identified as a Versace.

He, was a lover of high fashion and as good as he was raping and killing, he was identifying nice clothes. –Do you like my dress? –She told him making a route with the flashlight that if it wasn’t for the conditions in which he was, he would totally have had a boner. That was a female fatale. She was really young, but was perfectly dresses as if she was going to a prom night that day. –I like to dress good Marvin, especially when we have fun.

-Do you think this is fucking funny? –He asked side smiling at her who smiled back at him. –who the fuck you think you are, cunt, to have me here? UNTIE ME…- he screamed at her making her start to laugh as a mad person and making him felt the chills down his back again.

The sound of a chainsaw that wasn’t starting but which was about to start as fast as its owner could put it on, make him actually pee and start to sweat as the girl walked towards him putting the flashlight against his eyes. – You will actually know the devil tonight Marvin; You know why? Because he fucking hates copy cats… especially the fucked up ones. – the sound of the motor fulfilled the whole place making him start to scream for help and mercy. A couple of feet’s away a dark shadow started to walk towards them holding tightly and up the chainsaw that was on. All his body start to twitch and tremble as he created and imaginary place on his mind called “how Marvin is going to die tonight”

-Cut one of his hands…- the girl said smiling at Marvin. It was so fast that when he started to scream his hand was on the floor seconds ago. All the blood started to drop into the floor making the legs and shoes of the girl getting covered on it looking like she was on a lake of blood seconds ago. She started to laugh again as she heard all his screams and saw all the movements he did. –We are going to have so much fun Marvin… so much fun. - She said locking back at the figure that was back at her looking to the guy who was bleeding to death. –Cauterize him please… we still have a lot of work to do.

-DROP YOUR WEAPON. –the chief was there, he was screaming to his lungs while Y/N looked back at him and locked back at the dark tall shadow that was at a side of her. –HANDS UP AND DROP YOUR WEAPONS OF FOR GOD SAKES I WILL KILL YOU.

-OH THANK GOD YOU ARE HERE… PLEASE HELP ME… HELP…- a gun sounded and it was the sound of a gun that shot a bullet into the guy forehead. The chief shoot into the air while she put down the lantern on her hand. Marvin never knew because his boner, dirty mind, pain and fear had him in another planet but the whole time she had a gun on her hand at his simple view. The chief started to shoot into the darkness while the sound of the chainsaw started to fulfilled the place again bringing to the chief memories of a dark past that was better to be forgotten.

-CHIEF. –Y/N screamed as all the lights in the abandoned slaughterhouse turned on making the chief drop his weapon on disbelief and fear. Down there it was a huge creature of more than two meters of high and heavy as a truck with a chainsaw up his head locking back at him wearing a black tuxedo and a white mask. Where the girly voice came, a girl started to walk down covered in blood and on a black dress locking exactly as a young Heather Sawyer that he hadn’t see on a long time.

-Y…you…- he sighted while he grabbed tightly the bar that was in front of him and which was the only thing that keep him away from falling. –You…- he repeat himself again feeling all the colors and blood on him drop to his foots and came back to his head making him feel dizzy.

-Yes, it’s me Chief… you should come here to talk or do you want me to go up? –Even when that wasn’t a threaten he toked as that, felling all his body tremble. There it was the chief in town trembling by a fifteen-year-old skinny bitch with a huge monster that was still carrying the chainsaw as if it was the same weight of a chicken. –Come on uncle… put it down. He is not the enemy… he is a friend. –the figure looked up making the chief have a lot of flashbacks of who the Sawyers were and who he reminded him of.

He brought out all his nightmares, fears and therapy sessions that he didn’t even ended because when you have such a fucked up career with a such of a fucked up family, therapy will be your wife. He was taller of what leather face was, he was better dressed and which such manners that amazed him as frighten him in horror and fear. He saw the figure putting down his chainsaw as he reached out for the girl hand as if he was a little kid knowing for the first time his mother’s friends that had an actual leather face thanks to Botox.

The both of them started to walk towards the chief who stop his walking two steps before he was on the first floor of the abandoned place. She started to smiling at him while she cleaned her hands with her dress taking a white cloth out of the front pocket of the tuxedo of the tall creature and cleaning his hands as well. Her hands, still covered in blood and his, still covered in grease of the chainsaw that was left behind them. They stood there with their hands at both sides of their bodies as the chief felled on his butt making a new eco appear in the place seeing their faces in disbelief and shock. –Chief are you… okay? – she asked walking a steps towards him who put a hand on front of him nodding at her. –I think that meeting my uncle has given you the creeps isn’t it?  - he locked back at her with his eyes and mouth open as he wanted to shout something that was chocking his body but no sound was heard behind a huge sight coming out of the big guy.

– Are you tired? –She locked back at him looking at him as a mother see her kids. –You can sit, you don’t need permission for that you silly…- she smiled at him who obey her laughing on a guttural sound similar to the sound of a lion purring. –Where were we chief?

-What in the hell is going on Y/N? - He speak to her with familiarity since he was her godfather selected by her mom. Sometimes she visited him on his office and other times on his house in which his wife made delicious food for her that made her gain weight in a couple of days that don’t even bothered her. –Why in the god’s name did you killed that guy? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH YOU SHITHEAD. – The big guy stared at him for a moment locking back at the floor as he took out of one of his pants pocket a little red cordon starting to play with it and making the chief feel hypnotized by his childish game. –Who is he?

-The grandmother of my mother had more secrets of what she wanted to actually spoke… that dirty old bitch- she started to laugh as the chief look back at her noticing the “crazy fucked up psycho sawyer” eyes –My mother couldn’t keep the true hidden from me more time since well… she started this cruised… with your help.

The chief sighted reminding what happened after Heather Sawyer came back at town. Not only her grandmother let her the burden of take care of Leather face and a huge mansion but she let her a heritance so big that made her rich as fast as a blink. She restored with the chief the good name of town tanks to her money, charity and protecting the place by locking for better personal. And that was when everything started. The “cleansing the world of the maggots who shouldn´t be breathing our same air” as she said on one opportunity drunk on the house of the chief.

Kids could be outside even in the middle of the night playing and laughing and not even the devil will dare to reach for them. That town started to get a lot of prizes and be one of the hottest spots for vacations since all the bad people, even the ones who did little damage disappeared on mysterious ways. Appearing back again on mysterious ways on a ditch, well not at all “appearing” since one arm or a torso is not a whole human apparition.

She go to new York when she was 24. She wanted to buy some places to made her money more secure as she wanted to keep being young. Her cousin, suffered an ACV that made him fall into a coma kind of state. He could move but that was all. He was and is a prisoner of his body, as if god found out that it was the better punishment he could put him into for all the barbaric shit he did.

But the Sawyers weren’t done. Heather had a beautiful baby with an in vitro fertilization that made her a single, but kick ass mother. She didn’t want love or anyone on her life since she knew it wasn’t a normal one. Behind of the chief and some people who worked at her charity places, she didn’t have so much of friends until she settled on New York. Oh that glorious style of life, hairdressers, fancy dresses and cool parties. She like it, she pretended to like it. But she still had that desire for blood and justice, but she didn’t want to leave New York.

As fast as Y/N grow up she taught her everything, even the best secret on the family. Yes, it was a creepy and fucked up hilly billie family based on mass murdered, cannibalism, rape, robbery, assault and only god know what more. But actually mom found out what more. Incest.

She had a brother. It was the result of a moment of hormones on Leather face and her mother weakness and fear. It happened so fast as the nine months passed by making her feel more attached to the weird ass baby. But only grandmother knew the true and as she knew leather face, she didn’t wanted more fucktards around. With one mass murder was enough.

As fast as the baby came, the baby goes. Foster houses and disgusting experiences made him… weird. Not in the sawyer way but in the normal way. He was retarded maybe because he was the result of a brother raping a sister, maybe because he was leather face baby or just because he had a rough life. And as fast as Heather found out the secret she reached for him, secluded on a psychiatric place, covered on his own shit, raped, scared and lost on his dark childish mind.

-It is….?

-Yeah he is my uncle… his name is Bob or that was the name my mom put him…- Y/N was sitting on the side of the chief sighting and looking back at her legs covered on blood. –I knew that around this place was a fucked up situation happening. My mom told me that one of the daughters of a person who work at her center was killed in a horrible way… I just…

-You are a kid… -the chief putted his hand on her leg while she put her hand on top of his, feeling her tears start to stream down on her face. Bob was staring at her taking out his mask and lending it to her. He was a normal guy, with big green eyes that weren’t able to keep looking at the chief face because he was afraid and not understanding clearly the situation. She took the mask on her hands feeling the chief arm hugging her. –You are too young to do this things Y/N… you are too beautiful…

-But I´m a Sawyer… you helped my mother because you felt like you had a debt on our family… I just want our last name to be remembered with honor…- she break the hug standing on the stair and knelling on front of the chief cleaning the tears on her eyes leaving a trace of Marvin blood on her face –I don’t want to be remembered as Y/N Sawyer who family just knew how to fucking cook humans… -she started to laugh as she kissed the chief forehead. –That fucker car is on the route to the lake… there will you found everything you need.

-And he? - he pointed with his head to the corpse who was still in the same place and position in which he was an hour ago. She looked at Bob who looked back at the chief nodding at him. –And what about Bob?

Bob saw the chief and smiled at him. He liked when people speak his name and don’t called him “a big ass dude” or as the people he killed called him “fucking monster”. She took again Bob hand while locking at the chief and sighting. –He is living in our mansion, with nurses, toys, TV, food and guards… a lot of them. Sometimes he took my mom private plane to go to New York… he really gets attention… don’t you? – Bob laughed again as a lion purring making the chief feel sorry for he. –He is a good guy Brownie…- the chief smiled at her remembering the nickname she gave him when she was just five. –I am a good girl and the Sawyers… we are good people…

-Ms. Sawyer? - Y/N looked in shock at the place where she was. For a moment she got lost on her adventures back home on her spring break. So lost that she forgot what she was even doing. –What did you do on your spring break?

-Oh you know… just chilling and killing- everybody laughed remembering the phrase at Scary movie said by the killer when he was really stoned. But Nate notice that behind the reference and laughs, was something dark. Something close to a creepy true inside the killing joke.

   

#IMAGINE #halloween #Texas chainsaw massacre #horror #terror #original story #october #spooky #spooktober

[not-moose-squad]

Rebound Girl, Pt. 2

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2405

Warnings: still a bit Anti Danneel but other than that, none really I guess.

Summary: You haven’t talked to Jensen since that night. When he suddenly texts you you can’t resist and meet him for dinner. 

A/N: Part 2 to my entry for @casbabydontgoineedyou‘s 1k follower writing  challenge (I couldn’t tag you this morning somehow and I hope it is even okay that I still tag you in this and sorry for the chaos with my accounts 😇)

A/N2: I’m sorry, I like to be a tease 

Catch up here 

Reader’s POV

It’d been two weeks since you last talked to Jensen. There had been several times where you wanted to text him but then again you never knew what to say. What was there even left to say?

When Jensen told you about his feelings your world shattered and was the best place at the same time. You had wanted to hear him say this for so many years but never under these circumstances. He should have said these things because he meant them and not because he had just lost Danneel. You couldn’t believe that he had fallen in love with you now all of a sudden.

But there was also the part of you that would have loved to kiss him right then and there. You wondered what it would feel like to have his soft, plump lips pressed to yours, his tongue playing gently with yours, then becoming more demanding until everything would become more heated and his hands wandered your body, pulling you onto his lap. You sighed. Could your life be any more fucked up?

Your heart started to race as you heard Jensen’s notification sound. A while ago you gave him a special sound for when he texted or called you. And normally it made you smile when you heard these sounds but this time you wanted to throw up. Nervously you grabbed your phone and looked at the message from Jensen.

Jensen: Please let us talk. I can’t stand this silence anymore and… I need you.

Answering immediately, your heartbeat quickened.

YN: When and where? I’m not in Vancouver anymore

His response was just as immediate as yours.

Jensen: You’re terrible liar – even via text.

You rolled your eyes. Jensen really knew you too well when he could already detect your lies from the other side of the town. He was right. You didn’t leave Vancouver after you ran away from Jensen’s place. The first night you called Jared and could talk him into letting you stay at his place without telling Jensen about it. The next morning, after you had made sure that Cliff had picked Jensen up as well, you walked the short distance over to his place and got your stuff, then getting a room in the nearest hotel.  

Your phone lit up with Jensen’s name again. It probably took him too long until you answered or he thought he wouldn’t get an answer at all.

Jensen: Black & Blue Steak House at seven?

YN: Okay. xo

Taking a look at your watch you frowned. It was already 6.15. Shit maybe you should have checked your watch before you agreed on meeting him at seven. You wanted him to see you at your best and not your at-least-I-tried-look.

Leaving your bed immediately you practically sprinted in the bathroom. While you were under the shower you thought about what you could wear. You assumed that he booked at table at The Roof because you knew that he knew how much you loved eating up there. So you needed something chic but also something that would keep you warm.

And then you had an idea. Jensen had given you a Dolce & Gabbana dress for your last birthday. You always carried it with you when you traveled, hoping to finally get a chance to wear it and now its time had come. Back then you didn’t want to accept it as a gift because it was so expensive but Jensen insisted on you keeping it and now you were glad you did. It was in a pale pink and simple but somehow that was what made it so special. That dress didn’t need anything but itself; it was an eye catcher.

You quickly put on some makeup and mascara. You were unsure on whether you should put your hair in soft waves or in a ponytail. Quickly checking your watch you realized that you had some time left and so you decided to go for the waves.

You didn’t quite know how you managed to get ready in half an hour but you did. And you were proud of yourself. You looked smoking hot and nothing like the crying mess you had been for the past two weeks. Taking one last deep breath you slipped on your nude colored high heels and walked out of your hotel room.

Jensen’s POV

The last two weeks had been one of the hardest of my life. Not talking to YN was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced. For as long as I could think she had always been there and now she was gone. Because we were in love with each other. The circumstances couldn’t be any weirder. Normally we should have been happy, should be spending every free second we had with each other, kissing, cuddling, and enjoying each other’s company even more than ever.

I was afraid of texting or calling her, after she ignored all my calls on the evening she bailed on me and later on turned her phone off, and maybe a part of me even thought that it was her who had to take the first step as she was the one who walked out on me. But I couldn’t be mad at her. After all it was somehow my fault. If I had just kept my mouth shut…

But what I only realized one day after shit went down was that she said that she had wanted to hear these words coming from me for years. The night before I just kind of accepted that she said it but I didn’t grasp the meaning behind these words. It must have been torturous for her to see me with Danneel, be with me while I talked about my plan of proposing to her. That poor girl, my poor best friend, must have gone through hell just because I had been blind and didn’t see her for how amazing she was as a woman, a partner, not just as a friend.

I decided to grow a pair and texted her. As far as I was concerned – and as far as Jared kept me updated on YN – she was still in Vancouver, which was a good sign. I shoved my phone out of my pockets and texted her.

Her answer was immediate; I hadn’t even had the time to lock my phone again. Seeing the three dots on my screen made my heart race and it almost felt like it would jump out of my chest any second. I didn’t expect her to answer – that soon or at all, actually. But it lighted a spark of hope inside of me. Maybe she was as eager to talk to me, as I was to talk to her.

I thought that it was cute that she tried to convince me that she wasn’t in Vancouver anymore. Even if I hadn’t known that she was still here I probably would have detected that lie anyway. If she had been home in Dallas she would have put it into words differently.

My phone lit up and her own notification sound I had given her a while back rang through the room. Okay. xo was all it said but these two words, especially that xo, meant a lot to me. First of all, I would see her again and second, maybe tonight would be the start of something new. Something great.

I made a reservation at the Black & Blue Steakhouse, or more specifically at The Roof. It was on the third floor of the Black & Blue and YN loved to eat there. Not only was the food fantastic but you also had the most amazing view to the city’s patio scene. YN loved to just sit there, enjoy a glass of wine and watch. If everything worked out and the weather stayed like this I hoped that we got a chance to watch the sunset together there.

It was 6.57 and I was nervously pacing up and down in front of the restaurant. Suddenly a part of me feared that she wouldn’t show up, had second thoughts about meeting me, talking to me. But then, just when I wanted to check my phone whether she texted me, I heard stilettos on the pavement. I turned in the direction of where the sound came from and I swore that for a moment my heart stopped beating. There she was.

And she looked gorgeous, breathtaking even. Wow. I couldn’t think straight. YN’s was wearing the pale rose-colored dress I had given her for her last birthday and now I was even happier that she had kept it. I knew that she would sport it perfectly fine when I saw the dress while I was out shopping with Danneel but now actually seeing her wearing it… Wow. Even though it was such a simple dress it was still an eye catcher. The only accessory it needed was YN’s perfect body.

With a shy smile she stopped in front of me and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi”, she said breathlessly. She was as nervous as I was.

“Hi”, I said back and hugged her, somehow a bit awkwardly. “You look”, I took a deep breath and took her appearance in once again, “amazing! That dress looks like it was made for you.”

YN blushed and giggled. “You look not so bad yourself, Ackles.”

I smiled. It was not like I put much effort in my outfit unlike she did. I was only wearing black jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket as I didn’t have much time to get ready because I only spent about fifteen minutes at my flat because Jared and I had left the set later than originally planned.

“Shall we?” I asked and held the door open for her.

Inside, we were greeted by a very nice hostess who sent us to the elevator, after I told her the name the reservation was on. She seemed to recognize me but was professional enough not to say anything. Then we were alone in the elevator and I caught YN smiling at me.

“What?” I asked and smiled down at her. Even with her heels she was still a bit smaller than me.

“Thanks for thinking of The Roof”, she answered, carefully snuggling up to me. The awkwardness from before was gone.

I only smiled, enjoying her body pressed to mine and relishing the way she smelled. She smelled like summer nights back in our hometown, like roses and fresh air and 36 years of good memories.

For my liking, we arrived way too early on the third floor. I could have stayed like this forever. It felt so… right. And this wasn’t even a date, even though I hoped that the dates would soon follow. YN let go of me and stepped outside before I did. Another hostess then guided us to our table. It was a rather large table, just at the edge in a corner so that we had the best view over the city.

“It’s so beautiful up here, don’t you think?” YN asked and looked around. Normally I would have followed suit but this time I only looked at her.

“Yes”, I answered, “the view is pretty amazing up here!” The wind was softly playing with her hair as she turned to look at me. When she realized that I didn’t talk about the view but about her, she blushed.

“You sure know how to charm a girl, Ackles.”

“I’m not charming you. I’m being honest.”

YN nodded and smiled, then our conversation was interrupted by the waiter who handed us the menus and asked if we already wanted something to drink. As always I ordered a bottle of water and an Old Fashioned 12 for me but unlike all the other times YN and I had been here, she didn’t order an Aperol Spritz but an Old Fashioned as well.

She noticed my confused look and only shrugged. “I thought tough topics require tough drinks.”

I laughed. The way she said that was so adorable. I couldn’t understand how I didn’t notice all these little things about her earlier. If I had I could have prevented this fiasco that Danneel was.

It didn’t take us long to decide on what we wanted to eat. And so YN got her usual and I ordered the Jerk Chicken Skewers when the waiter came back with our drinks. When he was gone I looked at her.

“’Tough topic’?” I quoted her.

She shrugged. “Yes, for me it is tough. I still can’t believe it… I mean, you wanted to propose to her and now you sit there and say ‘Oh hey, wait. Maybe that was a mistake and I might actually be in love with you’?”

I sat there, not knowing what to say. Basically that was how things had turned out. But what could I do about it? It wasn’t like I decided to just turn our worlds upside down by falling in love with her. It happened and I didn’t understand why that made me the bad guy. I could understand that she had doubts and that maybe I should have waited a little while longer to confess my feelings but I didn’t understand why she was so unwilling to give me a chance.

“The way I see it, buttercup, we both have feelings for each other, right?” She nodded, “So why don’t we give it a shot? Please, YN.”

“Have you been this persistent with Danneel as well?” She looked at me challengingly.

I rolled my eyes and puffed. “Can you please stop making everything about Danneel, YN? I am done with her and I am here because I want to be in a relationship with you, because I see a future with you by my side.”

Again the waiter interrupted us, this time by bringing our food. YN seemed thankful and immediately started eating. She was trying to escape this situation again and because she couldn’t just run away, she ate. Constantly keeping her mouth full just so she couldn’t answer. If it had been another woman I would have probably been mad. But I knew YN and I knew that I wouldn’t get an answer from her if I started pushing her. So instead we sat there and ate in silence.  

read part 3 here

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#jensen ackles x reader #Jensen ackles #supernatural rpf #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #Rebound Girl #spn fanfic #spn reader insert #spn rpf #jared padalecki x reader #katies 1k writing challenge

[katsbookcornerreads]

EXCERPT: WAKING THE DRAGON: I felt his presence rather than heard him when he finally entered. Slowly, I turned. A familiar silhouette moved in the shadows, silver eyes glinting. He circled the dining room table, angling closer to me. My gaze moved with him. Self-defense rule number one: never let the attacker have your back. And yes. He was going to attack. No doubt. He moved past a wall sconce, the flame revealing his magnificent nude body. I swallowed hard. Kol didn’t play games. He’d made me a promise, and he was wasting no time fulfilling it. The air crackled, an electrical charge sizzling in the air. I’d sensed this before. The night Lorian lost it at dinner. A symptom of the dragon rising to the surface. “You know my alarm code.” I was shocked at the steady tenor of my voice. Not at all how I felt as the predator prowled ever closer. “Of course.” As expected, his voice rumbled like thunder, more beast than man. I knew what I looked like to him—standing tall with the night sky at my back, barefoot, wine glass in hand, wearing nothing but a sheer piece of fabric clinging to every curve. A click of the remote and the glass wall tinted black. No one could see in. I swallowed hard. Desire and a little trepidation flared at his intent. Of course I wanted him. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, deny that anymore. Not even to myself. My blood rushed at the mere thought of his hands on my body. Still, I was never one to give in so easily. I never thought of myself as one of those women who played hard-to-get, but some inner demon wanted to provoke him. My defenses had mellowed with the wine, loosening my tongue. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea, Kol. This could muddle things in our investigation. I’m not so sure I want—” His attack was fierce and fast. Knocking my wine glass clear away, I was pinned hard before it crashed to the floor. Cool glass at my back, his hand fisted in my hair, arching my neck just enough to meet his gaze. His other hand gripped my hip in a vise, his chest pressed to mine. A sconce above us flickered a pale flame, revealing his intensely serious expression. “You severed ties with your father because he sought to lord over you. You left th https://www.instagram.com/valentine5062/p/BpP3mtJFt71/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1t0aylgmabmh2

[davidastbury]

Dec 2017 part 2

L'éducation Sentimentale

Leonardo’s Madonna touched him with icy fingers and he moved away. Once he visited Italy and stood perfectly still in front of Primavera, by Botticelli, as she tossed flowers and smiled at him, romping and randy. Others called to him - Renoir’s sizzling nudes, golden girls in the river, water up to their hips, splashing and laughing.

But he remained loyal to his Tess. She haunted him - and although he was never without a copy of the book, he could not bring himself to open it.

Tess - the love of his life.

Lorna and the Russians........1965

Lorna knew and loved all the classic Russian novels. Who introduced her to them, and why she so much enjoyed the teeming mass of brilliant, eccentric characters was a mystery – but then, who can explain anything? She loved them with a childlike enthusiasm, not at all like someone who studied to pass exams, and least of all like a scholar. She pronounced the names ‘Lermontov, Goncharov, Gogol, Turgenev’ as if they were poems, and liked nothing better than to relate extracts from her beloved Dostoyevsky. For most of us Dostoyevsky is like wading through treacle, but Lorna could navigate the acres of dense prose and relate, with hilarity, the saintly foolishness of the characters – the cringing wrong choices – the suicidal embarrassments!

Her boyfriend told me that they were having a party for her 21st birthday and I was invited. On the afternoon of the party I called at their flat and gave her my gift – an illustrated boxed set of Pushkin’s ‘Eugene Onegin’. She tore off the wrapping paper and with a shout, threw herself at me. The top of her head was in my face – the hot head full of wonderful Russians – and her dark hair tickled my nose.

On the Train

Mother and daughter. Daughter about five or six. People look across because the mother, who is thin and pale, has an unusual and persistent cough. Her cough is like a voice – it seems to ‘speak’ from inside her chest. Just the hum of the rails and the woman’s cough and we all shuffle our feet and wish the journey would end. I feel embarrassed for her and wish there could be some sort of diversion. Her head is turned away, towards the window but I don’t think she is aware of the view.

The daughter keeps glancing up at her mother and then back at us, as if challenging us.

Winter Sunshine

I catch my bleak reflection in the Hugo Boss shop window; my long black coat, gloves and scarf - shivering in the thin British sunshine. I look as if all my winters have come together to stress their supreme dominance, but I will have none of it – and turn away towards a young couple near me. She’s in ripped jeans and jumper; he’s in jeans and t-shirt – one thick tattooed arm around her waist. My multiple layers and fear of catching a chill must look odd to them – and they walk away, heads together, enjoying the pleasures of love in a cold climate.

On the Train …. 1964

Sitting facing me. She was reading – a fat paperback. My guess was around a thousand pages, and it been read before - although she was only a quarter of the way through (looking at it from the wrong side, of course) the book had that sagging limpness you find in thick paperbacks when read more than once. It was fiction too, but I couldn’t get the title because she held it down on her lap – legs crossed – concealing the cover and spine.

She was interesting. Old enough to be my mother, although there was little about her to prompt a nineteen–year-old male to think of his mother. Her diet starved thinness (I don’t think she was ill) made me think of Egon Schiele’s drawings – gaunt and aggressive. Dark hooded eyes, concave cheeks, sharp jaw, wide mouth - her coat, a houndstooth tweed looked fabulously expensive, the sort that Jaeger used to do – it was unfastened, and I could see her black jumper and skirt.

So the train rattled along and we sat with our knees almost touching. Occasionally she looked up and glanced at the other people in the carriage – just a glance, but you could see that her eyes were incapable of moderation – she looked at us with indifference, as you might expect – but you knew that her eyes had only one other mode, and that was a lethal possessiveness. There would be nothing in between – you would mean absolutely nothing to her, or you meant everything.

She was a bit of a sensation – the air was frazzling around her – she was exotic – at least for the male passengers on a provincial railway train in the north of England. Perhaps the male passengers had ideas of their own – no doubt ideas they wouldn’t have wished to share with anyone.

Me … I just wanted to know the title of her book.

City Snow

When you walk quickly people often stop you and ask the way – you look like someone who is busy, purposeful, knowing what you are doing. I was stopped yesterday on Mosley Street by a Pakistani girl; she had walked down from Piccadilly, probably from the railway station. She asked me if I knew how to get to ‘Albert Hall’ and I told her that there wasn’t an Albert Hall in Manchester, but there is an Albert Square – ‘Yes, yes, yes’ - she said - ‘Sorry, that’s what I meant, Albert Square.’ I gave her directions, which were fairly straightforward, but she looked doubtful and couldn’t identify where to turn right. I said that I was going that way and I would show her.

We set off together. She told me that the guidance on her mobile was useless – it kept telling her to go down Market Street. I said that Market Street was not a good idea. She said that it might be okay for cars and I replied that it was pedestrianised – she laughed. As we walked into St Peter’s Square it started to snow.

Pakistani girls are marvellously polite – I’ve noticed it before – reminding me of how the English used to be. They give up their seats on trains if they see you struggling; they step back in doorways to let you go first. Or maybe it’s just me; maybe they are just nice to white-haired men of a certain age. This girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen – she was bright and wide-eyed about all the Christmas lights as we came into Albert Square. She turned to me – to say thank you - snow landing on her baggy beanie hat, and she looked so sweet, so endearingly cute in her puffa jacket and skinny-leg jeans – jeans efficiently ripped and frayed and showing her brown knees.

As told to me….

‘I’ll tell you this – I was always brilliant at job interviews. I was at my best at interviews. If I got to the interview stage, the job was as good as mine. It was just a knack – whatever it was, I had buckets of it.

Once I went for an interview with a firm who set up exhibitions. They were based in swish offices in Chelsea, and it doesn’t get better than that. They also had a warehouse or whatever in Hertfordshire, although I wasn’t told what that was about. They had advertised for someone to expand their client base and help take on new areas of activity. Their basic work was subcontracting from the big London galleries but they wanted to go into trade exhibitions and the like. I went for an interview and - with absolutely no experience in that line of work - got the job.

I arrived on the Monday morning start date and was shown to my desk. Everyone was so nice and decent to me – they couldn’t do enough to make me feel at home. They showed me where to get coffee and snacks from, showed me how the holiday list was drawn up, showed me how to use the trade directories, how to work the internal messaging service, how to work the heater, how to claim expenses, which taxi firm they used, they showed me the conference room and the rooms for entertaining clients, they showed me where the toilets were.

The boss came to have a chat with me and he was so nice and friendly, he showed me his office and introduced me to senior staff, all of whom shook me warmly by the hand. The boss said that he liked to think there was more to working for the firm than just…well, working. They enjoyed being together outside business hours – they socialised – they had meals together and drank together – they made up a cricket team and played in the villages league in Hertfordshire.

Everything was perfect. I’d cracked the dream job. Great working environment, good salary, great workmates and – to put the final crowning glory on top of everything – I was introduced to Charlotte, who would ‘help me get settled in’. Beautiful Charlotte.

Most of the morning was spent learning about how exhibitions worked and it was fascinating. At twelve I was told it was lunchtime. I walked out onto the street and then into Fulham Road - and never went back.’

Stella ...... (for Mo Amv)

Our birthdays were in the same week, so there was a little celebration in the classroom for both of us together. We were seven years old.

Stella was different from the other (bossy) girls - she was quiet, withdrawn, shying away from any sort of attention - as if the only thing she hoped from life was to be left alone. If I search through files I’m sure I have a photograph of her – a class photo – and she’s at the front with her waxy hair and ugly National Health glasses – squinting in the sunshine. She lived in a very poor part of town, just a few streets from where I lived, but the houses had no bathrooms, no lavatories (there was a row of sheds in the yard which were emptied by council workers). She seemed to have no friends, and she had no dad.

It was summer and Stella had been away from school for a few days. I found out that she was ill after having dental treatment at the ‘school clinic’. This was a building of great terror to all of us. It was right next to the parish church and sometimes, in summer when the windows were open, you could hear the screams of children inside – having their teeth drilled without any form of anaesthetic.

And then I saw her in the street. I invited her to come to my house and she nodded. All the way she walked behind me and I had to keep turning to see if she was still there. As we got to the house I went to her and held her hand.

My mother, no doubt surprised, was very gracious to Stella - she made small talk but was okay at not getting any response and she brought some drinks and cakes into the front room for us. We watched TV, not speaking and not needing to.

Manchester Nights

They used to meet in a city centre bar – both going straight from their offices – this was during the week but never on a Friday evening – she had to explain to him. He would order a whisky sour and a vodka and they would sit in a banquette away from the door but facing the street. Just a young couple happy together; perhaps in love - nothing very unusual in all this – nothing at all.

Manchester was an austere city in the 1960s; not at all like the place it is today. You didn’t go to Manchester to have fun; it was a place of business; of dark warehouses and triumphal banks. No one lived in the centre, no trees, no greenery at all, no break from the heavy orthodoxy of commercialism.

But it was nice in the bar where nothing distracted them from each other – except her eyes kept flickering across to the street – to the building facing them in the street. She was mesmerised by the huge sign in the yellow street light:-

J. & E.W. Kegan (Imports) Ltd.

She read it as JEW.

‘Who is Sylvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?....’

(Two Gentlemen of Verona)

Well, I could tell him! Sylvia Hulme was twelve and she always had a swarm of younger children around her. I was the same age and was part of a gang and we spent the long summer holidays playing in fields and woods near the lake. Somehow, one sunny day, our two groupings met up, and sat on the ground and talked. One of Sylvia’s friends organised the younger ones and although I couldn’t see them, I could hear them laughing and shouting – and then they started to sing nursery songs. Sylvia was very much the boss but she was also gentle and understanding; she spoke to everyone and used their names – she had a forceful personality.

I don’t know how it happened – was there a pretext, had words been exchanged, had I given an audacious signal or had we mesmerised each other? Whatever it was, Sylvia and I got up and walked together into the half light of the trees - the mushroomy smell – the moss and dampness – the sky no longer above and earth no longer below - if you get my meaning.

The next time I heard of Sylvia was through a friend who told me that she was having private lessons in book-keeping from the superbly named Mr Byron. Mr Byron was an early-retired teacher – a tormented Romantic figure, fulfilling the promise of his name – from whose house came an endless parade of seventeen-year-old girls, all paying their four shillings an hour to get good ‘O’ level results.

I was eager to make contact with Sylvia so I waited across the road, facing the iron gates of maison Byron. She was very beautiful and was amused to see me waiting. Yes, she was having lessons in basic accountancy and no, she didn’t like it. She had other plans – she was joining the Navy, although her parents didn’t know that – yet.

And that was it. I never saw her again, or heard about her. I went home, thinking about what she had said – she was going to sea – going to sea, sea, sea. And then THAT afternoon came back – full force. With the wet grass and the smells and Sylvia taking hold of me like someone who knew what she was doing.

And beyond our own breathy noises, how we could hear the children singing a clapping song:-

‘A sailor went to sea, sea, sea

To see what he could see, see, see

But all that he could see, see, see

Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea !!!’

Angela and Bob in Highgate…..(1966)

Nice couple, early/mid thirties, living in a lovely house in Cholmondeley Crescent, Highgate. He a scientist; researching into genetics; she teaching pharmacology at UCL; three young sons. They went out a lot – all sorts of invitations and hardly ever declined. Bob used to go parties with his students, and would come home late and Angela was fond of the London art scene and dragged her husband to first-nights. Bob made no secret of being ‘close’ to some of his female students. Angela insisted that she must never meet them. That was the way they lived.

Bob was an unlikely ladies man. He was dull looking and despite following the trends of the day – and holding on tightly to the idea that he was still young – he somehow always looked a bit old fashioned. I think he would have looked old fashioned at any point in history. It’s hard to actually put a finger on what was wrong, but he looked the type who belonged in a Pringle jumper and wore yellow driving gloves.

Angela, small, blonde and nervous, was quite different, she knew how to dress. All her clothes had a boutique look – expensive boutiques at that, and she had just the right throw-away attitude to complete the image. She carried an air of trashiness that made her very attractive.

Angela was more complicated than Bob. She loved the company of young, long-haired, bearded, troubled young men. She didn’t find many such in the faculty of pharmacy at the university, but she did find them in art schools. The ones she liked best were those in various stages of despair – who had no confidence in themselves – who had paint or plaster dust in their hair - who were poor and weren’t eating properly – who had emotional difficulties – who drank too much – who needed a good hot bath and a clean shirt - who smoked drugs – who didn’t believe they had anything to offer a girlfriend. Angela would throw herself into action. She, the genius at making things happen – and having the money to throw at it – she who had an encyclopaedic knowledge of restoring the undernourished body – she who had dabbled in psychiatry (Ronnie Laing was a friend of hers!) knew how to soothe the damaged psyche – she who lived with four males, knew how the masculine mind worked – she with her perfect head-girl accent and Rodeo Drive clothing and jangle of ethnic jewellery, could make mountains move – she took intense pleasure in sorting these young men out, putting them on their feet, so to speak.

I sometimes felt it was the sanitised perfection of her home life that drove Angela towards its opposite. The ideal husband, with his simple promiscuity, the creative children with their wooden toys, the lovely house with the stained glass upper windows, the bright kitchen, the balanced diets they all followed, the sheer cleanliness, the sheer success of their lives.

What became of them? Twenty years later Bob was no longer mentioned in medical directories, so we can presume that he had died. Much later, Angela, then in her eighties, and having lived for years in squats, became one of the campaigners in the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ incident – following which she took the demonstrations to St. Pauls and City Hall in London.

New Year’s Eve

It probably hasn’t occupied the minds of the others so why should I bother? No one has ever mentioned it to me – it is over and done with. Not many of us left now; our ranks thinned by this and that. But in my thoughts I can put it all together; I can recreate the time and the place. I can tease out the smiles and the occasional stabs of kindness. I can recreate the sharp shadows and the way we shouted above the noise. And the easy rides of our laughter and the unease at what would happen to us.

And the cold night outside when we huddled like survivors and looked up at the clock. How you opened your coat and it was like a warm room. How we all moved forward into our unexpected successes, tragedies – and betrayals.