I’ve been married six months at this point…

I’m still struggling to get better, just like I was the day we said our vows.

It’s a fight, I take a lot of hits and my husband is the one who keeps me from getting knocked on my ass (and from getting stuck on believing that things are falling apart when they really aren’t.) The last year has been all about taking small steps towards recovery. It feels like my PTSD controls my life and it has taken a lot of dedication to the idea that I can get better to convince me there is worth in trying. There are so many things I hold in my heart that are more important than my own well being. My husband is worth living for, he’s worth getting better for and the idea that I could fail him causes me more anxiety than dose the idea of failing myself and wasting my own life. I know this isn’t healthy and I’m working on it.

I’m full of failures and it makes me feel worthless. I’ve been suicidal in the past and after staring at the edge I’ve realized that’s not me, it’s not how I’ll go. I’m not going to end it. I guess I’m a few steps above that most days:Too often I still wish my entire history could be deleted and no one would remember me. That’s how little worth generally I see in myself.

Louie, my husband, he is the only person I would feel bad for. I know my brothers and my grandparents genuinely love me, but I don’t think their lives would be affected like his would if I was just gone. We’re a team. I got really lucky with him. Everyday he makes me feel like I am worthwhile, loved, and incredibly wanted. He helps me see all the ‘failures’ as experience. He is my partner and builds me up instead of tearing me down. Louie is the reason I am who I am. He grounds me in reality and enriches my life in truly countless ways that make me stop and think all the time.

I’m struggling to get better and he loves me so much he still made a promise to be with me every step of the way knowing full well what I’m like when I’m at my worst. I’ll never be able to articulate what the hell he sees in me, why he gives me so much strength when I can offer him so little in return. I love him dearly. I worry for him constantly. I make terrible puns because I know he loves them. That’s really about it as far as I can see, but he’s perfectly happy like he’s the lucky one.

Neither of us believes in unconditional/true love, but I’m pretty sure that what we have between us is what most people are referring to when they talk about that one in a million compatibility and chemistry that it feels like we have. We’ve been together for six years now, married for six months. There were so many times I wasn’t sure if I wanted a future, but a future with Louie seems full of possibility (as well as off key singing, terrible puns, and me licking the tip of his nose until he makes that disgusted scrunchy face.)

When I fuck up the execution and get discouraged he’s always showing me I can still follow my dreams.

Before giving advice to someone you care about…ask yourself if you’ve really listened to them.

Then ask yourself if you’re been listening to the right things.

Sometimes people are asking for help about a different subject than it sounds like. Ask questions. Important questions, not thoughtless ones. They don’t have to answer you and you should let them know that, but being able to work through it with this kind of guidance is an important life skill. If they do answer your questions and have this conversation…don’t judge them. Don’t give opinions yet. It’s not about you, not at this moment. Wait. Listen.

When you stop talking it’s amazing, even without experience in the subject, what you can hear. What you can learn.

When they need your help focus on being more of a support guideline than a teaching one. You’re there to ask questions that get to the heart of the issue that’s bothering them so they can feel better and live healthy and slowly make the changes they need to make. You know them, you know what’s important to them right? You know what makes them passionate and happy and you want them to get there right? Sometimes (more often for some of us than others) there’s so much upset going on all at once that it becomes a writhing mass of confusion and ache that is really damn difficult to understand. Try to imagine perceiving so much negative feedback from life that it’s hard to focus on just four or five or six problems anymore.

When someone’s so desperate for survival, so desperate to find the light again you’ve got to support them in getting there their way. There are cracks in them so personal that no one will ever be able to 100% relate to.

You want to help them? You need to support them instead of trying to shape them. Help them listen to themselves when they’ve lost their inner voice to the over powering nature of what they’re going through. To me this is what true love looks like. Someone who accepts me as I am and just holds my hand when I’m timid about moving forward. There is a time and a place for your experience and opinions to come into the picture, just don’t let the importance of what you think will help overpower their own faltering steps. It’s already hard enough to walk forward without having to navigate how everyone thinks it should be done.

Sometimes living is speaking even when you don’t know if anyone is listening.

  • I felt like I had to say that first. If you read no further, remember the words and let them echo around in your heart. I will try to do the same.

Something happened the other day that jarred me out of an addled daze. Something that punched me in the gut with such force that I was left breathless, senseless…at a loss for how to respond with any intelligence or decorum.

I was talking to someone I love, someone who is family. Someone I have known for my entire life and until that moment trusted without question. Right then, that someone uttered a scant handful of words that let me know without out question that he did not know me. That he had an entirely different idea of who I was. And that the chasm between what he perceives and who I am was a vast and terrible thing.

And I was horrified because in that moment I realized with painfully sharp clarity that he would never see me. That he could never see me. There’s a fundamental difference in him that means he can’t acknowledge something fundamentally different in me. And if he can’t even acknowledge it, how can he ever even begin to really understand me.

I can’t even be the person I want to be around him. How sad is that? How doomed is that relationship? And I find myself distancing from him because it’s the only way we can have a good relationship. But as Captain Jack Sparrow once said there’s only two things that matter, what a man can do and what a man can’t do.

In this case he couldn’t accept that I had PTSD. It’s not just PTSD, it’s the whole concept of emotional trauma or mental illness that baffles him. It makes me sick to think of how he rationalizes my illness. He didn’t want to hear about the treatment I’m undergoing or looking into and basically said the science was all bullshit and I can just get over it on my own.

I just felt so deflated. Because let me tell you what I know in my heart right now, what has me tearing up in the corner while he watches a movie nearby with the others and none of them the wiser about my tumultuous feelings; I know that I can not get over it on my own. I simply don’t have a choice. That’s what PTSD does, it makes you relive the past sometimes.

It makes you feel that weakness, or that fear, or that intense feeling of alertness when you were in survival mode and doing everything in your power to keep from being prey. It makes you feel like you’re in a horror movie, even when your logical sense tells you everything is okay now and that you just have to wait it out. I will get over this ‘relapse’ in time, but it is a real injury, one that flares up from time to time and when that happens I need to do whatever the hell I have to in order to heal.

Some people will always need help. That doesn’t mean they’re not worth helping. I heard that on Game of Thrones and I just about started crying. I need help sometimes. Sometimes I panic. Sometimes the thick ass walls I’ve built just don’t exist because my body is in the past and the sorrow and cruelty and ugliness of everything makes tears just run down my face. That’s the worst of all for me because I was raised to not show unpleasant emotion. Losing control is the worst part for me. It’s the most embarrassing and the part where people have been the cruelest.  But I’m not always like that and even if I was I don’t think it would make me less of a person. I don’t think that it should mean that what I have to say is any less important or human or normal. Him not even being able to acknowledge that I have PTSD made me feel like I wasn’t even worth helping.

I won’t sensationalize my childhood. I have PTSD for a reason, I’ve had it since I was 11 and I didn’t get out of the shitty situation I was in until I was 19. Here is the most important bit of information you should know about me. I’ve achieved balance already. I’ve made peace with my past and who I am and I strive to live a life that pleases me. I have PTSD, but I’m not just some damaged girl. I triggered last year and have been in a relapse since, but nothing has changed other than the fact that I’m currently experiencing the symptoms of the trauma I’ve suffered.

I’m not ashamed of anything about me. It’s harder to say that when my eyes are swollen from crying and my face is apple red because I had an out of control meltdown after watching the news or reading reddit too often, but I don’t think that I’m seriously fucked up or anything. I’m technically ‘non-functioning’ and my therapist thinks I should get a service dog to help with the panic attacks and flashbacks, but with the exception of the PTSD hiccups, I’m a pretty normal for the “eccentric writer” category. 🙂

I’m not crazy. I just remember what it was like to be hit across the face for having the gall to be girl and angry. I remember what it was like to be dragged to the basement and told no one would hear me scream and that the metal belt would be used. I remember what it was like to lay there wanting to die. And I remember what it was like to have so many nightmares that one lost track of time and the horrible dreams became just as real as what I actually experienced. I remember what it was like to question whether or not my mother’s friends might rape me because the medication I was forced on knocked me unconscious for hours and hours a day.

I was no older than 15 when any of that happened. I don’t think about these things anymore. There are new things to think about, but in the middle of a relapse…I don’t have a choice in remembering. I don’t have a choice in what my body relives. It doesn’t play back like a movie. Your instincts just tell you that you’re in danger, you have to protect yourself, and certain things just aren’t safe.

It’s a new normal, one in which you can’t trust your instincts and in which you must always be on guard to keep from getting swept away. And I’m only human, I can’t always be on guard. I fuck up. I get emotional. I get scared and frustrated and upset.

It’s just a part of being me. And I am at peace with who I am. If someone else isn’t…that’s too bad.

For them.

Blogging with an Old Timer

My grandparents pretty much raised me. My Gramps was born in the 30s and isn’t really known for being too computer savvy. Before he retired he flew plains for the Navy and traveled the world. For as long as I can remember he and Grams have had some of the best stories. I remember many of them from when I was a child.

Recently I’d been thinking about family archives and how there’s so much information we just lose when people die. My youngest brother is only eight years old and I wondered how many of Grandpa’s stories  he would miss out on.

Around the same time, Gramps got into this blogging thing. I don’t really understand all the particulars, but its some blogging business deal that he’s been super excited about and chatting my ear off. I don’t really think he’s going to make millions, but this is the first time I’ve seen him excited and chatting about things with people in a long time. He’s happy.

So if blogging is what makes him happy, sure, I’ll help him blog. He’s hopeless bad at internet stuff though. A windows message will pop up and he thinks his computer has been hacked. He’ll run into the room and shout, “Come quick, my computer’s been hijacked!” It’s not that he isn’t intelligent enough to navigate the digital world, he used to fly air planes and even today he could probably MacGyver together some electrical tools into a bad ass zombie slaying weapon for someone to use. His memory just isn’t what it used to be and his hands aren’t as steady.

I thought this would be a good chance to hit two birds with one stone. He didn’t really know what he wanted to write about and a lot of his stories center on when he was growing up in the orphanage in the 30s or when he was in the Navy. He likes telling those stories and he talks about airplanes and different funny things they did. I set him up on Google Docs so that I can look over all his posts. His education was spotty (because of the whole growing up in a 30s era orphanage thing) so I basically edit them into bullet point style thoughts about his subject. They’re not too long, which is good for both of us. I could find the time to do this a couple time a week for my Gramps, you know? Plus, the stories are pretty cool and I’m learning something new about him all the time.

He’s been doing this blogging thing, studying, watching videos, buying ads and lots of extra stuff he wasn’t ready for. He hadn’t even written any blogs that weren’t about how his “blog had disappeared and he couldn’t find it.” After the post uploaded, it took him to the current post’s page, instead of his home page, and he never knew how to get back. We’re talking months and months and he’d maybe posted five very poorly articulated blogs about how he couldn’t/didn’t know how to blog. He was buying ads for this blog. We’re trying to talk him out of that. I think he’s promised to wait and not get anymore.

He’s grateful for the help, because he wants to attempt this business thing. And I’m happy that I am helping take care of him in my own way, while preserving his life somewhere for our family, friends, and the world to see and appreciate. I want my younger brothers and my nieces and nephews  to be able to read these recollections when they’re old enough. I’ve had almost 26 years with him and there’s still so much I still want to learn.

My Granny is also writing a blog. She’s can write on her own and has a ton of great stories, just like Gramps. I’m really excited that both of my grandparents are doing this and I wish them all the success.

The Sister Type

Chapter One: Host Club Dog

Toru spent most of her free time thinking about Haruhi. There was so much she owed the younger girl, so much she couldn’t repay. The rest of her classmates were chattering animatedly until the next teacher showed up, but Toru sat in the back, strategically remaining out of view. Her clothes were shapeless and unfashionable, seemingly chosen as a perfect mixture of tans, grays, and pink that would blend her into the walls of the school rather than silly notions like if they matched. When one’s eyes did focus on her, there wasn’t much to look at. The front pocket on her hoodie bulged, giving her a misshapen, heavier, androgynous appearance. Toru always wore her hood low so that her face was cast in its shadow. She looked genderless and boring.

There was a squeal from two rows in front of her. Her hazel eyes were drawn toward the yellow clad figure of Chiagi. The brown haired girl was blushing profusely, probably at something Tamaki had done. A chorus of happy sighs whispered through the room as the girls in the elegant yellow uniform gossiped about Prince Tamaki and Kyoya. Toru glanced at the boys, careful to angle herself in such a way that she wouldn’t be seen.

Tamaki was his usual shimmering self. He spouted off prose and poetry, creating a romantic atmosphere. One could practically envision the classroom filled with the provocative scent of roses, the moody light of candles. Each glance gave his willing victims the erotic image of ownership, as if he were theirs and theirs alone for that moment in time. She’d never been privy to that gaze directly, but she’d watched him use it and had learned to avoid it. “We’ve completely redecorated the club room, my lovely,” his amethyst eyes were simmering with feeling. “Its still nothing compared to your beauty, my Goddess.”

Kyoya seemed more pleased than usual. Toru’s lip quirked involuntarily. A pleased Kyoya was at his most predatory. She watched his sharp eyes flicker over the girls around him and outward toward the rest of the room. Toru made sure her face was firmly behind a text book for the next class when the dark boy’s gaze swept over her area of the room. After, she could see the pleased crook of his lips when the sighs of romantic adulation had reached their peak and all the girls in the class watched Tamaki with rapt attention. He was a shark that scented blood in the water. That’s when Kyoya spoke, “Remember Hime-samas, the auction will take place next week, just a day before final bookings for the month,” he gave them that rare, polite smile and another round of sighs started.

Toru shook her head and retreated behind the wall of her book. An auction didn’t sound very helpful to her current problem. She needed to figure out how to get Haruhi to loosen up a little. It was a difficult task, the younger girl spent her time studying or doing mundane household chores. She didn’t see old school friends, she never went on dates and if there had been a single spontaneous moment since Toru had moved in at the end of the last school year, she couldn’t remember it. Haruhi seemed perfectly unmotivated to do anything about it and it was that stubbornness that made Toru’s job difficult. She wanted to do something fun tonight, but if Haruhi got her way, they’d probably just end up staying at school late and studying…again.


Library Room #1 had been requested for use by the Library club. Library Room #2 was currently being rented out by the Drama club for a Ghost Busters parody. Haruhi and Toru had been mistaken for extras and allowed entrance, but after the third “paranormal” interruption, Haruhi had begun to look really depressed and Toru suggested they try again. Library Room #3 apparently used that time block for tutoring, but unfortunately you had to sign up ahead of time, and there was a two week wait.

By the time the girls reached Library Room #4, they had trekked around the vast campus toting all their books and study supplies. In Toru’s case, that was an extra thirty pounds of books shoved into the pouch of her hoodie. Between her baggy clothes and the junk she carried in her front pocket, she looked fifty pounds heavier. She felt her eyes drooping and knew focusing on school work was going to be a difficult task even with Haruhi there to nag her into submission.

As they pushed the large doors open, the noise of chattering buzzed at them like the drone of a fly swarm. It sounded like they’d entered a cafeteria, but students stood laughing and socializing around the book shelves. Some sat, drinking tea and catching up with their friends. The girls just looked at each other dumbfounded. With an exhausted sigh, they pushed the doors closed again, retreating from yet another failure.

Haruhi started walking and Toru instinctively followed. The younger girl’s mood was contemplative and somber. Toru could tell Haruhi was thinking about her deceased mother and her dream of following her footsteps as a lawyer. She tried to lighten the mood, “You know, given the spirit of fanaticism the girls seem to have here, there were probably at least a hundred copies of Twilight in there.” The taller girl frowned as she spoke, “It’s quite possible I would have exploded from the proximity.”

Haruhi didn’t take the bait, “You know, I’m beginning to think rich kids only go to school to have a good time.” Her voice was soft and somber.

Without missing a beat, Toru smiled, “Maybe you’re onto something.” Pointing forward at the grand staircase before them she skipped ahead, “They’re probably all too lazy to climb all these stairs. We could scout out the top floor.” Toru patted Haruhi’s shoulder when the smaller girl drew even with her. Haruhi’s gaze was still far away as they began their journey upwards.

Once they’d finished their ascent, movement along the wall caught Toru’s eye. A lovely mirror with an intricately beveled edge covered a five foot long section of the wall and reflected Haruhi’s appearance. The tall girl grinned at the resulting mish-mashed effect and stepped forward into the view. Silver filigree decorated the edge of the mirror and ornate marble vase’s decorated low wooden displays. The floral arrangements were probably several hundred dollars each, considering the number of exotic fauna present. The finery clashed with the two plain figures in the reflection.

They were both wearing hideous glasses that covered the features of their faces. Alone with Haruhi, Toru stood at her full height, towering over her friend at almost six feet tall. Haruhi looked like someone who just didn’t give a damn about appearances. Her hair was a mess, her posture stooped, her shirt untucked, and her sweater bunched awkwardly from wear. Haruhi looked completely androgynous. In a crowd of students, Toru could hide along the edges, Haruhi would stick out like a sore thumb and move obliviously through the throng of students. In this deserted hallway of exquisite murals, expertly chiseled sculptures, and lovely marble inlays, the girls seemed just as out of place.

Toru noticed the door before they reached it. The hall reached a T junction, but there was only an alcove to the left before a dead end. A sign above the door declared it to be Music Room #3. “An abandoned music room?” Toru’s voice was hopeful.

Haruhi’s expression was resigned. “I guess this is the only place we’ll be able to study.” When she opened the door, they found the Host club.

“Welcome to the Host club,” a gentle, but intoxicating breeze of swirling rose petals caressed them.

“Host club?” the girls spoke in unison. Toru sounded confused, as if the term were not found in her dictionary. Haruhi sounded appalled, as if the term were found in the wrong sort of dictionary. Toru’s gaze was locked on Haruhi as if awaiting an answer.

________________________________________________

“Only those with excellent social standing and those from filthy rich families are lucky enough to spend their time here at the elite private school, Ouran Academy. The Ouran Host club is where the schools handsomest boys, with too much time on their hands, entertain young ladies, who also have way too much time on their hands. Just think of it as Ouran Academy’s elegant playground for the super rich and beautiful,” Tamaki’s voice was unmistakable. Nothing so pompous sounding could have come off as elegant or agreeable from anyone else.

Haruhi seemed shocked to the core. Toru watched her sag against the doors behind them, as if trying to melt through the pretty pink wood. She’d never seen her friend look so disheveled, even when Rankapoppa was at his worst.

“Oh wow, they’re boys,” the twins spoke in unison. Toru’s hooded eyes flashed over to them at the insult. They didn’t look mean or mischievous at the moment, perhaps a bit bored. They were light skinned, had impeccable posture and stood side by side as the perfect reflection to one another. Their red hair was parted based on the position, left and right.

“Hikaru, Kaoru, that visitor is in the same class as you, right?” Kyoya stood next to them, posture rigid, his arms crossed over his chest in their usual barrier position and from the distance, his glasses blocked out whatever information his eyes might have given away. Toru couldn’t tell if he recognized her or not, but given Kyoya’s reputation for knowing everything, she didn’t doubt it.

“Yes, he is, but he isn’t very sociable, so we don’t know him too well,” once again, their speech was perfectly together. Even more amazing, their motions, the way they turned their heads to look at Kyoya and shrug, they were also perfectly in sync. Toru couldn’t help, but feel a little insulted for poor Haruhi at this point. She did look androgynous, but her eyes, really, her petite frame, gave it away, right?

Kyoya smirked and pushed his glasses back into place, “Its impolite to say it like that.” Toru grinned, he did know. The twins shrugged at each other, one the mirror of the others confusion. Kyoya’s muted gaze locked in on the girls.

“Welcome to the Ouran Host club, Fujioka Toru, and Honor Student,” his normally even voice had placed subtle emphasis on Toru’s assumed last name. She froze in place. Did he know? She’d gone through a great deal of effort to keep her family name concealed, for her own protection and Haruhi’s. His gaze was steady, taking in all the little details. She remained confident in the fact that her current outfit concealed any of her usual tells, most importantly, the expression on her face.

“What? Then, this exceptionally rare honor student we’ve heard about, Fujioka Haruhi, is you?!” Tamaki was leaning forward in amazement. He sat on a beautifully carved chair with plush, red cushions looking every bit the part of a royal prince. “I didn’t know Fujioka from our class and Fujioka the honor student were related.”

Haruhi was trying to escape and fumbled with the door handle to no avail. She turned, looking at the blonde with a scandalized expression and interrupted that train of thought, “What? How do you know my name?” Toru was uncomfortable with Haruhi’s panicked fidgeting and moved further into the room.

It was Kyoya who provided an answer, “It’s just that our school tradition makes it difficult for commoners to get in. I’ve been told that unless you possess a rather audacious nerve, you cannot be an honor student here.”

The rather insulted, exasperated, expression on Haruhi’s face was made somewhat humorous by the awkward acceptance of his statement. “Why…thank you…”

“Don’t worry, Haruhi. I’m a fan of audacious,” Toru turned back to her friend and gave her a thumbs up. She was careful and avoided the expensive looking vase on the pedestal. Out of caution she stepped further away from it. As she moved, Tamaki seemed to glide by her and appear beside Haruhi.

“Yes! He’s saying you’re a hero, Fujioka-kun,” Tamaki put a casual hand on Haruhi’s shoulder. “Even though you might be at the head of the class, you’re the poorest person in the whole school. You’re a hero to other poor people!”

Haruhi side stepped away from the boy’s contact and walked away looking for another exit, “I wouldn’t go that far.” Tamaki didn’t seem to notice her rebuff and followed.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Long live the poor!” He poured on the sparkle. Haruhi was making her way over to Toru when Tamaki became impassioned once again, “Welcome to our world of beauty, poor man!”

He was gorgeous and it had hilarious little effect on Haruhi. The smaller girl turned and headed calmly towards the door. “Goodbye. Toru, lets go.”

A tiny blonde and blue blur whisked by Toru and grabbed Haruhi by the arm, dragging her even with her tall friend. It was a short, fair haired boy that looked like he belonged in the green of an elementary uniform rather than the blue of a high schooler’s. “Ne Haru-chan!” Even his voice was cute, “Haru-chan, you’re a hero? Amazing!” His bubbly praise was infectious and you could practically see little pink flowers dancing about his aura.

Haruhi looked disheveled to say the least. She had just been hauled across the room by someone half her size. “I’m not a hero, I’m an honor student,” she said it almost like a mantra. And then she snapped. “AND WHO ARE YOU CALLING HARU-CHAN?!” her angry snarl had an immediate effect on the boy. He squealed uncomfortably and tears rushed out of his eyes.

The little blonde sobbed as he ran towards the tallest figure in the room. He was darker skinned and more athletic looking than the other boys, he was also the only person who’d been silent from the beginning of this strange encounter. He was bent over wiggling a stuffed pink bunny back and forth in front of the little blonde who’d sought him out for comfort, it was almost comical.

Toru wasn’t amused though, because she was too irritated. She flashed Haruhi a clearly annoyed look. Normally the petite girl didn’t react so…cruelly, at least not to children. She vaguely registered Tamaki speaking again as she moved over to the little blonde and knelt behind him. Toru was just the right height for him to see her face without anyone else doing the same. She adopted his speech pattern and spoke in a soothing, quiet voice, “Ne, don’t mind Haruhi,” she apologized for her friend’s rudeness. “We all get a little cranky when we miss nappy-time, yeah?” She bit her lip and dug around in the pocket of her hoodie before offering the little one a chocolate bunny sucker wrapped in pink cellophane, “Here, cutie pies shouldn’t cry.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled at him.

He wiped his tears and beamed at her. His little frame practically bounced on her in an enthusiastic hug, which she returned, before he took the offered lolly. What an adorable child, she thought.

Tamaki’s voice snapped her out of her musings. “Having our first openly gay member is interesting! Tell me what type of boy you would like.”

Toru watched, in shock, as Tamaki gestured towards the tallest boy. “The wild type.” His eyes were almost as dark as his hair and there was a subtly displeased tilt in his mouth. There wasn’t anything particularly “wild” about his appearance. “The boy lolita type,” the little blonde looked up and beamed happily as he munched on his bunny sucker. The cute, pink bunny was cradled in his other arm. “The little devil type,” the twins turned in unison, leaning against each other’s back. Their name seemed more appropriate, the smirk on their face dripped mischievousness. “The cool type,” Kyoya didn’t gesture at or acknowledge Tamaki’s introduction, but Toru could think of no better Ice Prince than Kyoya.

Toru suddenly wondered just what type of place this really was. She moved away from the boys and found herself heading back towards the door.

“Its not like that! We were just looking for a quiet place to study!” Haruhi’s voice was strained.

Tamaki’s tone was practically sultry as he ignored her statement. “Or maybe you’d like to try me? How about it?” Toru looked over her shoulder in time to see Tamaki run his fingers up Haruhi’s jawline.

That’s when the petite brunette really lost it, she cried out a bit and lurched backwards, slamming into Toru and launching them both into the podium. Toru was too busy keeping her face from being smashed to worry about the ornate looking vase they knocked off, but Haruhi made a grab for it. The impact was hard and the tinkling sound of expensive china shattering seemed to echo through the room.

At this point, Toru was slumped over the pedestal with Haruhi draped over her back. When the twins seemed to press in as well, Toru began to feel a little claustrophobic as Haruhi’s panic set in and she began to fidget.

“Ahh! The Renaissance vase for the auction!” One of the red head’s started. “Now you’ve done it. We were going to start the bidding at eight million yen for that!” The other finished.

“Eight million yen!” Haruhi was mortified. Toru twisted enough to lift Haruhi up and set her on the ground, she was clearly running numbers worriedly. The petite brunette looked up at the twins and spoke, “Um, can I pay you back?”

Toru righted herself and sat calmly on the pedestal as the twins spoke again, “Could you?” Two pairs of amber eyes gave them a once over, “You can’t even afford the uniform. What’s with those awful clothes, anyway?”

Haruhi was practically trembling. Toru’s attention flashed to Kyoya who’d moved close to her side and knelt before the shattered remains of the Renaissance vase. He carefully picked up a shard and examined it in the light, “What will it be, Tamaki?”

“Have you ever heard of this saying? When in Rome, do as the Romans do!” The prince was sitting in his throne, legs crossed. His chin rested elegantly on the knuckles of his right hand as his left gestured with dramatic flair. It was his words and air that were affected by a sudden change in attitude. “If you have no money, then pay with your body. Starting today, the both of you are Host club dogs.”

Shock must have reset Haruhi’s brain. She stood stock still with the goofiest expression on her face. Toru watched as the boy’s gathered around them. Tamaki waved his hands in front of Haruhi’s unresponsive face. The twin’s leaned in close. Kyoya looked like his normal observant, yet uninterested self. The tall one had a confused quirk to his right eyebrow, but the rest of his face was blank. The little blond stood in front of Toru and nudged Haruhi with his fingers, even narrating his action in a cute voice, “Poke, poke.”

The tall girl watched her friend fall sideways and land hard on the ground. She nudged Haruhi with the toe of her shoe, “Oy, I’m not carrying your scrawny ass home…”

  • This is an Ouran High School Host Club fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. The rest can be found here
  • I’d really love to hear your comments or suggestions, so leave a comment! 😀

The Many Perils of Love at First Sight

Recently I got the idea for a supernatural story that explores the social constructs of “love” and “love at first sight” and that’s not a pretty thing. I’ve also been working on this cursed clan idea for a couple of years and then when I wrote this fanfiction and decided to play around and develop it outside of its usual parameters.

Wonderful things happened with the magic. I was able to develop a the magical theory and style I wanted to go with. I also expanded on the idea of the curse and what I wanted it to stand for. I never wrote this clan seriously before because the nature the curse is so controversial and I didn’t have a way to create a truly strong female character when they’re so overtly subjugated. And then in November the Title came to me, The Many Perils of Love at First Sight.

The curse itself is something of a debate. Their archives and family history were lost and the family scattered during the Salem Witch Trials. All we know about the curse is what the main character knows…and she’s gotten her ideas from on love and the curse from the some pretty unreliable sources. From the media, from her family, from some not so good influences, and from painful experiences.

The Curse is the social construct and in the beginning its viewed bitterly, through the eyes of someone who raised by a very narrow set of standards. I want to tell a story about the perils and adventures of love at first sight, while providing good examples of loving relationships.

The main character is Sarai. She has a dark and sort of youthful attitude. She’s a 26 year old woman who comes from a clan of people who don’t view a woman as an adult until their curse has been activated. She is, of course, an adult, and an incredibly analytic and self reflective one at that, but she is used to being treated and viewed as someone who hasn’t yet reached their peak.

I sort of like how she waffles between jaded and hopeful as a byproduct of the curse. I also thought it mirrored something we can empathize over the mixed messages of relationships and romantic love. We’re force fed all this fairy tale stuff and views on love from a young age and it shapes us. Some of us have this existential crises over it. This is the story of a girl who lives in a world that shouts “YOUR LOVE WILL LOOK LIKE THIS!” and she just rolls her eyes, points at divorce statistics and knows, with her entire soul, that she is going to  be forced into an unhappy, sick cycle unless she proactively takes things into her own hands and avoids it.

But enough of that, here’s an excerpt from Chapter 5. In this scene two individuals are being forced to fight in the darkness while the other’s watch on. Its supposed to test ones psychic awareness. Sarai is uniquely suited to this exercise  because she doesn’t see with her eyes in the first place. Unfortunately, she’s not really a fighter: (Oh yeah, Daisuke is a creepy fuck. Just thought I’d throw that warning out there…)

“Well, well, that is no trinket, little girl. A relic like that has enough power to eat you alive,” he caressed his words strangely with his tongue, as if the leer in his eyes has taken a new form and he sought to touch her with his voice. Excitement sparkled and fizzled through his energy, a coinciding rumble of warning lit down the woman’s spine. Her calm, polite facade didn’t waver in her silence.

It seemed a few seconds of her empty smile was enough to prod him onward  “The gems alone are worth a fortune, but I bet its the knowledge inside that’s priceless.” The longing and greed in his voice couldn’t be restrained.

Sarai could feel a thrum of threat and indignation from her connection with Takara. “Something tells me that you wouldn’t make that cut. She’s rather picky about what touches her.” The woman walked slowly into the darkness, not really wanting to let him draw out the conversation, but also not wanting to provoke the impatience she could see setting into Genkai’s eyes.

“How about a wager,” he walked into the darkness as well, but at a different angle so there would be about thirty feet of space between them. “You lose, I get that very interesting book and your bag of tricks. I lose, and you get my own toys…”

Takara’s angry buzz crackled within Sarai’s mind. She was not a toy. The woman’s answer was easy and still polite. “Sorry, but I doubt you have anything of comparable value.” It was a baited response, one she hoped would provoke him into giving his secrets so that she could plan better.

“Haha, clever. If you wanted a test drive, all you had to do was ask sweetheart…” With that, Daisuke whipped open his trench coat and reached into one of the inner pockets.

Sarai used that single moment of inattention to mask her energy and completely disappear. When he looked back up, she could sense him searching around with his useless eyes. She very quietly grabbed the pocket knife from her backpack and tucked it into her sock. The bag and the rest of it’s contents were tossed about twenty feet away, colliding with a pillar and making a bit of a clatter.

“You didn’t answer little girl…” his voice echoed off the walls, but Daisuke’s attention was focused in the direction she’d thrown her bag. There was a coiled length of rope in his hands that gave off dangerous vibrations, pulling at the ambient energy of the room and devouring it.

In her partial fugue state Sarai felt echos of intense emotion coming from it. It was similar to the tang a spirit would leave in the atmosphere. Something that tasted of fear and torture and unholy things. She couldn’t suppress the instinctive shudder that rolled through her and raised goosebumps on her skin.

“Well then, I suppose I can take the book from your cold dead body,” he chuckled, and then his tone turned soft and dark, for her alone, “But not before I have some fun.” He started walking slowly towards the pillar, uncoiling the rope.

  • The character’s you read about were original, but the story it sits in is a Yu Yu Hakusho fanfiction. If you want to read more, I’m currently accepting reviewers/beta readers so send me a message. I’d love to hear from you. You don’t really need to be familiar with the series to enjoy the show. Hope you found it to be entertaining. :3

On Writing Responsibly…

I’d like to start off by saying that I know I should write what I want and I do.

That being said, I still want to be a responsible writer. If I’m dealing with delicate issues, I want to make sure that I represent them well. I want all kinds of people to be able to relate to my stories, to empathize with them and be entertained by them. I don’t want people to walk away offended or feeling like I’ve contributed to some wide spread social issues. I don’t want to be a part of the problem…and there are so many problems.

I love Love stories, and I don’t mean romance novels. I just mean great stories with love at their core. I really like action, adventure, and fantasy, I tend to build my stories around that kind of thing, but at the heart of every story is love and working together. It doesn’t even have to be romantic love. Not everyone is into other people’s bits.

One of the things that bothered me growing up was the types of love stories being told. If I write a love story, I want it to be a Love+ story.

I just wish I had a “Bullshit” detector to point out the bullshit in whatever I come up with, lol.

Need something sweet?

Honey approves of all things sweet and that includes The Sister Type.

  • Need a quick fiction snack? Try out The Sister Type.

Type: Fanfiction

Tittle: The Sister Type

The Hook: The memory brought an embarrassed blush up across his nose. In a way it all made sense, Honey was so fond of cute things, but Takashi had never felt more shocked than when his eyes had caught sight of her wearing that rather provocative shirt. He’d been expecting to see an overweight teenage boy and instead he got…Toru. Kyoya’s protégée is Haruhi’s “sister,” eventual Mori/OC.

  • Currently working on illustrations and short comics to follow the story, so check out my DeviantArt page.
  • Content currently under revision and constantly improving. 🙂

Chapter One:

Episode One: Host Club Dog

Toru spent most of her free time thinking about Haruhi. There was so much she owed the younger girl, so much she couldn’t repay. The rest of her classmates were chattering animatedly until the next teacher showed up, but Toru sat in the back, strategically remaining out of view. Her clothes were shapeless and unfashionable, seemingly chosen as a perfect mixture of tans, grays, and pink that would blend her into the walls of the school rather than silly notions like if they matched. When one’s eyes did focus on her, there wasn’t much to look at. The front pocket on her hoodie bulged, giving her a misshapen, heavier, androgynous appearance. Toru always wore her hood low so that her face was cast in its shadow. She looked genderless and boring.

There was a squeal from two rows in front of her. Her hazel eyes were drawn toward the yellow clad figure of Chiagi. The brown haired girl was blushing profusely, probably at something Tamaki had done. A chorus of happy sighs whispered through the room as the girls in the elegant yellow uniform gossiped about Prince Tamaki and Kyoya. Toru glanced at the boys, careful to angle herself in such a way that she wouldn’t be seen.

Tamaki was his usual shimmering self. He spouted off prose and poetry, creating a romantic atmosphere. One could practically envision the classroom filled with the provocative scent of roses, the moody light of candles. Each glance gave his willing victims the erotic image of ownership, as if he were theirs and theirs alone for that moment in time. She’d never been privy to that gaze directly, but she’d watched him use it and had learned to avoid it. “We’ve completely redecorated the club room, my lovely,” his amethyst eyes were simmering with feeling. “Its still nothing compared to your beauty, my Goddess.”

Kyoya seemed more pleased than usual. Toru’s lip quirked involuntarily. A pleased Kyoya was at his most predatory. She watched his sharp eyes flicker over the girls around him and outward toward the rest of the room. Toru made sure her face was firmly behind a text book for the next class when the dark boy’s gaze swept over her area of the room. After, she could see the pleased crook of his lips when the sighs of romantic adulation had reached their peak and all the girls in the class watched Tamaki with rapt attention. He was a shark that scented blood in the water. That’s when Kyoya spoke, “Remember Hime-samas, the auction will take place next week, just a day before final bookings for the month,” he gave them that rare, polite smile and another round of sighs started.

Toru shook her head and retreated behind the wall of her book. An auction didn’t sound very helpful to her current problem. She needed to figure out how to get Haruhi to loosen up a little. It was a difficult task, the younger girl spent her time studying or doing mundane household chores. She didn’t see old school friends, she never went on dates and if there had been a single spontaneous moment since Toru had moved in at the end of the last school year, she couldn’t remember it. Haruhi seemed perfectly unmotivated to do anything about it and it was that stubbornness that made Toru’s job difficult. She wanted to do something fun tonight, but if Haruhi got her way, they’d probably just end up staying at school late and studying…again.

Continue reading chapter one on:

Special Sneak Peak-

  • Revised Chapter 2 Opening:

Pink was a key feature of Ouran’s color scheme and the 3rd Music room was no exception. Even the filigree of crown molding on the ceiling was a dark pink that stood out in contrast to the lighter shade that peaked through. Opulent chandeliers hung on display through out the room, dripping in expensive pink crystals.

Everything was skillfully arranged so that the color didn’t overpower the eyes and instead gave the environment a soft and feminine quality. The rich wood of the furniture stood out in contrast, ground the silk clad customers in a dreamy atmosphere that had been cultivated just for them. Each table was small, cozy and intimate, dressed with a fine silk table cloth an elegant vase arranged with dozens of perfect roses and trailing ivy for drama. Everyone and everything looked polished and refined.

The customers chatted happily. The calming scent of tea mingled with the intoxicating aroma of the roses to create an air of romanticism that was underlined by the Host’s interactions with their guests.

“Tamaki-kun, what’s your favorite music?” the soft words drifted above the sighs of The Prince’s group.

Toru stood at the door with Haruhi and looked over the room before them with  a grouchy countenance. They watched Tamaki give his reply, “That one tune that remind me of you, of course,” The vague answer was met with a blush and a sigh of contentment from his excitable guest.

“What a smarmosaurus,” she sneered, clearly not moved by his cheap sentiment when her arms were laden with overfull, paper bags from the grocery store. What was supposed to have been a quick trip to pick up some things the idiot blond swore he couldn’t live without had turned into a ridiculous scavenger hunt that left both girls feeling exasperated with The Hosts in general.

“I baked you some cake today. Will you have it?” One of the customers asked hopefully.

Tamaki’s hands were suddenly on the cute girl’s face, tilting her chin up to gaze properly into the full force of his amethyst eyes, “If you will feed it to me,” he tempted.

And the day isn’t even over yet, Toru silently pouted.

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Honey really wants to know what you think about The Sister Type, so don’t make him cry with your silence!