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celia-defiore

Confines of Gravity || Hayden & Celia

celia-defiore

It wasn’t like Celia spent every waking moment depressed, in fact most of that time was taken up by her anxiety and worrying if she was too big or too thin. It was a constant battle in her head and any amount of therapy telling her that there wasn’t anything wrong with her didn’t seem to help. The amount of medications that were supposed to help deal with the constant show her mind put on for her sometimes silenced everything around her and she could go on about her day without being worried about what to wear and how it would make her look. Sometimes she worried that she was becoming agoraphobic, but at the same time it was normal to not want to leave the house somedays, right?

When Celia didn’t want to leave the safety and comfort of her loft that’s what she told herself to keep from feeling like she was slowly falling off the deep end, and from time to time she talked to her therapist about those things, but more often than not she didn’t. It was strange spilling her problems to people she didn’t know, and even stranger yet, she’d been in Alexandria nearly three months and hadn’t even found a new therapist yet. She figured that was kind of crucial but also couldn’t bring herself to stop giving the occasionally phone call to her old therapist back home, despite the words of encouragement she gave Celia to find a new therapist.

When the stranger in front of her started to speak again, Celia reached for her chocolate milk, taking a long drawn out sip from the cup as she listened. Part of what he was saying, though she didn’t want to admit it, was right. It was different for everyone, and despite the churning in her stomach that suggested otherwise, logically she could understand that she wouldn’t always feel this low. In fact, it might even be tomorrow when she started to feel better. But it wasn’t a guarantee, and emotions didn’t run on logic based reason. Celia wasn’t the type to throw plates around or throw anything really, she didn’t get violent when she was anxious, she just liked to yell a lot. At whoever happened to be standing around her when the feeling hit.

She turned in her seat so that she was facing where he was standing by her table and pulled her leg underneath her so that sitting like so wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable. “Well it would be all nice and dandy if saying that I felt like shit helped,” she spat. “It’s not a matter of courage, the easy part is saying that I want to order a burger. And I want to eat it. The hard part is when I have to go to the restroom after to take a leak or something and I look in the mirror and I think about that burger I ate. I think about how it’s sitting in my stomach and how bloated I look, and how disgusting I look. The hard part is going to be fighting those thoughts and fighting the compulsion I’m going to have.” To purge. Celia didn’t add the last part because, though it seemed to hang in the balance, daintily sitting on the tension that was so thick it could be sliced with a knife. Her voice was quieter when she spoke up this time though she hadn’t moved an inch, “Wouldn’t it be nice if it was as easy as taking a walk, or writing about it.”

variousanthologies-blog

Hayden scratched, once again, behind his right ear with his index finger. Oh, is the first word to plop into his thoughts. Oh. Though he was unsure of what she was going through one hundred percent, due to never having an eating disorder or really any real vendetta against food, he knew someone who did. Not that he’d say it out loud, because this wasn’t exactly his problem, and this woman was going through an extremely difficult ordeal, and saying something along those lines is the equivalent of a white guy saying saying he has a black friend before saying something incredibly stupid . But it had just hit him that his cousin could be going through similar thoughts and feelings, and he found himself in a state of open mouthed shock. Not just because it was his cousin that was in such a bad state, but because he was seeing and hearing first hand what Elsie could be feeling and it felt like his heart was being sliced out of his chest and run over repeatedly.

And while Hayden had his past for reference, he was unsure of whether his advice would mean anything if he had no idea what it was like being in this woman's shoes. Since this woman wasn't his cousin, he couldn't put straws in his nose and make the pain go away for just a little while. He understood that maybe, too, whoever the woman who reminded him of a painting was, could probably feel moderately better by going on a tangent about it. Thankfully for him, there was no cup throwing or anything involved. Just an irritable expression and the woman drinking coffee milk or tea? So, he felt alright listening, if that is what was needed. If she wanted him to go away, he would go – without any questions, either.

“I’m not saying those activities really help me feel better one hundred percent,” he admitted seating himself at a nearby empty table near her booth. The waitress gave him a skeptical look, one he assumed meant, ‘you weren’t seated there, so you shouldn’t be sitting there’ without the words. “I’m merely saying: find something to distract you that makes you feel good for a while? Or think of something else when you want to do whatever it is, you want to do so badly, but know you shouldn’t be doing.”

He’s picked up on the eating disorder from what she’s bitterly expressed out loud, but he isn’t willing to state anything dealing with those two words. Leaning to rest his chin in his hand, he understood using words like 'eating disorder' or 'depression' could only make a person feel worse when they were on the threads of breaking. “Like, when you go to the bathroom --” Again, he doesn't know what it's like to look in the mirror and think about purging, but he does know what it's like to look in the mirror and dislike what you see. He knows what it's like to look in the mirror and think, hey, maybe the world be better without me in it. He gets that.“--think of some of the good stuff? Something you do like about yourself? I'm not saying that's easy. Cause, in truth, it's a helluva lot easier to point out all the horrible about yourself than the good. But sometimes it helps. Not all the time. It won't make you better all the way, but it's something.”

#para #p: cog #anxiety trigger #eating disorder trigger #binge trigger #lorde have mercy this took forever i apologize #i've kind of been everywhere irl #also don't feel the need to match length #cause this was a bit rambly

Hayden & General Visualosities

"Where'd you think you'd be right now, way back when you were a munchkin in the big city with a twat for a dad?"

"Probably married to Mariah Carrey..."

He gets smacked on the arm. "No, c'mon. Be serious. You never tell me anything, and I'm your family."

"I don't know, really. When I was a boy, I was always reading books about religion and space. I think back then, I wanted to be a star? Like an actual burning ball of something up in the sky. It's weird, I know. But that's what I'd always thought I'd be. Something high, high up where no one could touch or talk to me. I mean, I don't recall having very many friends at that age. Then the home life was awful. So, I thought being a star would make thing different. People's look at me and see something grand." He paused to ruffle his hair in thought. "I think I prefer where I am today, however. I like what I'm doing, even if I have no idea what the hell that even is...or even if it's what I wanted in the first place."

"I think that's everyone, though. Not the wanting to be a star bit -- like no offense, buddy, but that's fuckin' weird. But I think everyone's going with the flow, you know? I don't think anyone normal knows what the fuck they're doing. I think people who do are robots who descended from outer space and are out to get our women!"

Hayden sighed into his hands. Oh God. Here she goes again.

#the facts were these: hayden #my grumpy family who likes to talk about cotton balls at 3 am and doesn't #really know what he's doing with his life #queue for tat

marty-zibra

#visualosities: hxi #hayden #n: B | face is always his face is2g

ohyesdavidsedaris-blog

I would never want anyone to think that I would have wanted a different father. I always acted against my father, right?… it’s what got me out of bed every morning, thinking, ‘Well, I’ll show him.’ And I don’t know if my dad knew that. I don’t know if it was part of his master plan, but it really worked.

David Sedaris (via ohyesdavidsedaris)

#quotes #...idk he has some complicated issues with his pops #oh and i'm going to sleep #don't have work tomorrow or anything planned...so hopefully i'll get the rest of stuff done

You're Getting Old.

Rating: PG-13; lots of swearing...Elsa swears A LOT. NPCS: Elisabeth McLean, Sylvia Gallagher Location: In Hayden's room. Notes: Back-dated to July 10th. Hayden's Birthday. This really has no point. I just wanted to write Hayden and Elsa. Elsa calls Hayden, Lee, since Liam is his real name.

#solo para #you're getting old #npc: elisabeth mclean #npc: mathias darmody #trigger warning swearing #trigger warning sex workers

variousanthologies-blog

The Breakfast Club→ Logan & Hayden

logan-navarro

Back in Savannah, Logan had lived in an area of the city where everyone knew their neighbor. They’d stop each other in the street to catch up, and they’d have diner at each other’s houses once a month or so. University towns were obviously different, and while Logan was immersed in her studies she didn’t really plan on having a community of neighbors around her. But when she moved into this little neighborhood in Alexandria she’d been disappointed to find that her new neighbors were not as open and friendly as the ones from her childhood. She smiled wider when her new neighbor responded so warmly. “That’s exactly it,” she affirmed. “And you were …. Hayden, right? You had a baby with you when we met, I’m pretty sure.”

Hayden mentioned his cousin and Logan stifled a laugh. She’d found her enthusiasm for her new neighbors immensely refreshing, and Logan had been more than happy to listen as the girl recounted tales from their move and their settling in. “I actually rather enjoyed that story,” she said mildly. “Made me feel less alone in my horrid cooking skills.” Her tone was light, but it sadly was not a joke. ”Honestly, I don’t remember what flavor the cookies were either, only that I think I ate them all in like, two days. How is your cousin?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. Beside her, Rigby also sat, although he was still sniffing at Hayden’s dogs. “Is she settling in okay? She seems like a sweet girl.” Logan was probably talking a bit too much, but their family had left an impression on her.

At Hayden’s question, Logan looked down at her companion, taking note of the grey that was starting to spread around his chin and his eyes. There was no denying he was getting older, but she hoped they’d have a few more good years together. Rigby had been what got her through her initial adjustment to Alexandria three years ago, and as silly as it might sound to some he was probably her best friend. No one else ever looked as happy to see her as Rigby did at the end of the day. “His name is Rigby - like the song, actually,” she started. “I actually inherited him from my neighbor a few years ago. He was getting too old to take care of him so Rigby came to me. What about your dogs?” she asked. “What are their names?”

variousanthologies-blog

Not really thinking on it, Hayden nodded. Logan could have asked if he were a man named, Bob, and he would have agreed. He, again, was always a little more interested in what his neighbors had to say than he was with others. It was a bit weird, he knew. But it was nice getting to know the people who lived nearby, in case he needed milk at three in the morning or Elisabeth was going through something and he needed someone to help him drive out and find her. “Good. I try and make habit of remembering people’s names, but sometimes it doesn't take.” He replied, scratching the side of his neck with the mail. "I did - his name's Mathias. He's..." Hayden squinted his eyes, thinking about how the little guy only recently began crawling and was now more destructive than any tornado or hurricane. "Ah, well. He's grown some, since then. Became a lot harder to handle, but...it's really impressive watching him grow into his own little person."

Hayden took Logan's laugh at the mention of Elsa, as good sign. Most people either really enjoyed the girl's company or found her a pest. There was absolutely no in-between. "How bad's your cooking? On a scale of one to ten?" he asked, prior to slumping his shoulders at the mentions of how his cousin was doing. Contemplating on what to say, his eyes focus on his dogs and he knitted in his eyebrows. “She is a sweet girl. God knows what I'd do without her. But...she's recently gotten into something of a pickle at work. They want her to find a therapist, and she's not having an easy time finding one she trusts." Not going into more detail, Hayden shrugged; it really wasn't his business to tell. But maybe Logan knew somebody willing to be of assistance?

Intently, Hayden listened to Logan speak about her dog. Before she told him the animal was old, he could see it in the way it carried itself -- like it had seen a lot and was weighed down by time. In his mind, it gave the animal some character. "Your neighbor obviously had fantastic taste in music -- naming a dog, Rigby." His dogs were busy sniffing around Rigby, the brown chihuahua trying to play-fight with him. "The little white one's name is Buddy. The Chihuahua's name is Chicka." He explained, gesturing to the dogs. "How long have you had him; Rigby?"

#para #p: the breakfast club #logan-navarro #insert a spongebob themed sign: 400 questions later #omg sorry about the first paragraph #it's kinda clunky

7-centimeters-per-second

Visit Original Link

#playlist

celia-defiore

Confines of Gravity || Hayden & Celia

celia-defiore

Humanity was something Celia saw as holding on by a thin string, and normally on any given day she didn’t have much faith in it, or the general populous despite those stupid little Facebook posts titled “Faith in Humanity Restored.” Three random acts of kindness did not turn her opinion for the whole world, especially when the things on that list got recycled more often than yesterday’s newspaper. Even when she was teaching, those snot nosed brats that sometimes passed as high schoolers couldn’t fool Celia into thinking that the world wasn’t heading in a regressive downward spiral.

Not even with the voice that reached out past the flurry that occupied her mind behind her closed eyes. She could feel the cool table touching the tip of her nose while he spoke to her (she could tell by the deep tenor of his voice that it was a man) but she didn’t pull her head up to look at him. She didn’t do anything actually. He rambled on for a good five minutes but Celia could still the anxiety in her stomach that reminded her that there were eyes on her at that very moment. The little prickling sensation at the back of her neck that let her know that the only other patron in the diner was still standing by her table waiting for an answer. But even as her warm breaths started to make her face sweat she refused to acknowledge he was there. Only the murmuring from the waitress about refills on the milk made Celia look up—and then she had to acknowledge his presence.

When she opened her mouth to answer him with a swift few words that were laced with sarcasm so heavy they’d make her great great grandmother roll over in her grave about how rude Celia could be, it was like a wave started in her head and rolled down her spine. It gathered in her stomach only long enough for her to know it was there and then there was a lump in her throat that prevented her from saying anything. And her eyes were stinging. And Celia wasn’t the crying type of girl, forget crying in public. She didn’t fall apart. Celia de Fiore could be the poster child for having it all together in spite of the past that she harbored, but here she was with defiant tears rolling down her cheeks.

“How?” She asked, not sure if she was angry or if she was sad. “How does it get better if it’s been the same damn way for almost twenty years?” She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe her wet eyes, though it only made them puffy and red, which was really the last thing she wanted. So, she shoved her hands in her lap and tried not to fidget, and tried to look the stranger in the eye, and tried to be a proud human being, but Celia was not proud. She was not happy. She was not confident, and sometimes she didn’t even think she was sane.

variousanthologies-blog

Hayden stood with his hands in his pockets, unsure of whether he was wasting his breath yammering on like he was some motivational speaker. From personal experience, he knew people didn't have to listen to everything thrown their way. He, himself, had cleverly taught himself to block out information he was unwilling to hear. Mostly, in therapy where his therapist asked him how he was ‘dealing’ with his circumstances. To be honest, any time that question was asked, he wanted oh-so badly to quip back with, “What do you think?” or, “Would I be here, if I was dealing positively with the shitstorm life’s thrown at me?” He never said the words out loud, though. Instead, he’d merely look at the wall behind his therapist and bring up the positive things that had happened that week.

Expressing himself to a shrink always felt wrong, so he wasn't sure what he’d do if he was in this woman’s situation - with a random stranger talking to him like they knew everything. In truth, Hayden was a hypocrite giving this ‘everything gets better’ advice. He knew it, too, as the waitress glanced in their general direction: Sometimes things didn't get better. Sometimes they got worse or things stayed the same, and you had to learn to live with your own personal bullshit.

The waitress, who had oddly managed to keep a smile while walking to whatshername's table, asked him if he wanted a refill of his dark coffee. He gestured to the table he had been sitting, stating it was still pretty full, and he watched as she strolled over to the woman lying her head on the table. Hayden hadn't expected the waitress to ask the woman for a refill on her milk. So, when she did, his mouth was a little gaped like a fish. Not positive on how the other woman was going to respond, Hayden let his eyes rest on the waitress.

Shifting his feet, Hayden attempted to put his hands deeper into his pockets. When she attempted to speak, he could tell she wasn't just lying there because she tired. Something told him that he was going to have a run for his money for giving his advise, but he was prepared to take it anyway. He was used to the expression the brunette was giving him. There was a little part of him who hoped -- no prayed --he hadn't irritated her to the point where she was destined to throw her milk or cup at him, as his cousin sometimes did on a really bad day. "How?" He repeated, before letting out a huff of breath. "It's... different for everyone. For some people it takes a lot of courage. For others, it takes the courage to admit you're feeling shitty -- whether you say it to a friend or family member." He scratched behind his ear, trying to think fast on his feet. "My method's usually writing my thoughts down or going for a walk outside for a breather." His mind wondered as he watched the waitress walk away. When he found more words, he spoke, again, "While I know someone who waits for it to pass, aggressively...by throwing plates."

#para #p: cog #celia defiore #binge trigger #eating disorder trigger #anxiety trigger #he's like no help i s2g

variousanthologies-blog

The Breakfast Club→ Logan & Hayden

logan-navarro

In theory, Logan loved Mrs. Rosenthaal, her next door neighbor since moving to Alexandria. The elderly woman had a talent for knitting the most beautiful scarves Logan had ever seen, she carried around pictures of her grandchildren to show off to anyone who was willing to look at all twenty five wallet-sized portraits, and Logan envired the amount of time and effort she put into maintaining a nearly flawless garden. In actual practice, Logan had little patience for her. Mrs. Rosenthaal was constantly asking Logan when she was going to settle down and “find a man already,” and wasted no time in reminding her that when her own daughter was thirty she’d already had her first child after opening a successful bakery. In addition to the constant prying into Logan’s love life (and maybe part of the irritation was that it was nonexistent, but still), Mrs. Rosenthaal had a habit of throwing her shrub trimmings and pulled-up weeds into Logan’s yard. She doubted it was intentional, but it was still an annoyance that had to be dealt with before the homeowner’s association fined her again.

So once again, Logan woke early on her Saturday morning to clean up the mess in her yard that someone else had made. She dressed in clothes she didn’t mind getting dirty, and brought Rigby out to keep company while she spent time outdoors. Though he was beginning to get too old to really play in the lawn, he enjoyed being outside as much as Logan did and this seemed like a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. As far as Logan could tell, Rigby seemed content to sniff around the grass while she cleaned up the debris from next door and carried it to the curb for pickup on trash day. Despite the fact that Logan had dragged herself out of bed to accomplish this task, she was determined to complete it and was done cleaning out her yard in considerably less time than she had anticipated. Since Rigby was starting to look antsy, she decided now was as good a time as any to take a walk with him.

Once his leash was attached, Logan and Rigby made their way around the neighborhood, following the same route they used every day: down the street, turn left and follow around the block. A few minutes into their walk, they approached a figure with two dogs of their own, and upon inspection it was someone Logan recognized. She’d met him when he first moved into the neighborhood; he and a younger girl had introduced themselves to her as new neighbors. She lifted her hand in a friendly wave and tried not to stumble as Rigby pulled on his leash in his haste to greet the other dogs. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully. “How’s it going? I - we’ve met before, I’m Logan. I live down the block,” she added as an afterthought; on the chance that he’d forgotten who she was, Logan didn’t want to scare him.

variousanthologies-blog

Going through his mail, Hayden was surprised by the jubilant sound of a female voice - one which rang with familiarity and somehow had him smiling, too. He was a sucker when it came to his neighbors. He felt a certain glee when they spoke to him. Which, in a way, was rather strange, since he preferred to be perceived as an old fashioned grump; one which rarely ever smiled, unless in the comfort of his own home or around an old friend. Ignoring the mail in his hand, he waved in response to smiler's greeting. Making habit of remembering names and bits and pieces of information related to those inhabiting the area -- mostly people who spoke to him, or people Elsa grumbled about -- Hayden asked, “Good morning to you, too.” He paused, scratching his forehead with the few letters he received. As good as he could be at socializing, he typically found himself at a lost for words and kind of hated himself for it. “Logan, was it? If not, it is something with an L - right?”

The writer felt a pang of embarrassment, knowing there was a possibility that he could be wrong. But hopefully he hadn’t gotten her name wrong. And if he had, hopefully he hadn't been dumb enough to confused her name with one of the elderly women who typically roamed the area. He’d once called Ms. Rosenthaal, Ms. Erickson about a month ago and had yet to hear the end of it. Watching his dogs sniff his neighbor’s dog, he nodded at her statement; wanting her to know he was paying attention and not ignoring the statement. He was thinking about her words, more then anything. When it hit him, he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “I remember now. My cousin practically talked your ear off with some offbeat story. I think it had to do with how she nearly burnt the house down making the cookies she gave you. I think they were chocolate chip, but my memory is fuzzy, because most of what I remember has to do with me dragged from house to house.”

His head shook as he reminisced. Folding his mail, he placed the papers in his pocket. When he said he didn't remember much of the day, he meant it. What he remembered, mainly had to do with his son, Mathias, crying quite a bit from a long day without a nap. Hayden had also remembered how wanted to sleep, but was unable to due to the amount of unpacking Elsa had forced him to do. Remembering that he preferred to let others talk, most of the time, he asked, “What’s that one’s name?” The man gestured to the dog, knowing some people - including himself - saw their animals as members of their family. Already, his curiosity was getting the best of him.

#para #logan-navarro #p: the breakfast club #he's such an old lady i swear #idek why but he just wants to know all about his neighbors #and i'm like HAYDEN YOUR WEIRD PLS #refrain from playing 20 questions with the poor woman

marycwells

As humans, we waste the shit out of our words. It’s sad. We use words like “awesome” and “wonderful” like they’re candy. It was awesome? Really? It inspired awe? It was wonderful? Are you serious? It was full of wonder? You use the word “amazing” to describe a goddamn sandwich at Wendy’s. What’s going to happen on your wedding day, or when your first child is born? How will you describe it? You already wasted “amazing” on a fucking sandwich.

Louis C.K (via charwrites)

#quotes

brianrollins-blog

"C’mon, you’ve got to think of stories better than that," Brian said. While her tone was riddled with the hint of amusement, she did not allow such to play on her features. She kept a stoic countenance, refusing to allow her small, barely noticeable smile to form into a full grin. "The whole gift wrapping thing is so cliche. But no. It’s something else entirely: Santa wrote a letter, saying he was too old and too fat to send presents. The whole story’s miserable, and that’s just a gist.” Brian now couldn’t help but smile. It was still a small smile, but it was a smile, nevertheless. She looked at the man before her pointedly before uncrossing her arms before her. “I’ve told you my story. Your turn now. I’d love to hear about how Santa Claus and the tooth fairy were secretly lovers. Or sexual partners.That’d be quite the story to tell children, wouldn’t it?”

variousanthologies-blog

Hayden made an attempt to look perplexed, his gaze turning every-which-way to give the illusion that he didn’t understand what she was talking about. “You might think I could have, but I honestly don’t think I wanted to come up with much better.” He shook his head, then placed his hands out in the space in front of him. After listening to her story, he let out a tuneless whistle. “You’re right. That is miserable. It’s not your fault Santa couldn’t lay off the cookies to give you the gifts you rightfully deserved. I would’ve been pissed, had it been me.” Though, that was a lie. His belief in Santa ended when he was eleven and Santa refused to leave presents in his prison cell; even when he had been a good boy. But, in order to continue on with their discussion without sounding like a complete buzz-kill, Hayden said, "I'd tell you all the dirty details, but it's not exactly for young ears. I'm pretty sure it's not for old ears, either. Let's just say, there were several things under that tree a child wouldn't fancy seeing on Christmas Eve." His eyebrows rose and he placed his right hand on his heart to show his fake outrage. He wanted to laugh at his own stupidity, but he decided against it.

#gc: brianrollins #// old titanic lady whispers...it's been 84 years since el last replied

karli-strauss

ten layers • questionnaire • for a character

variousanthologies-blog

note: the content in this post (such as the wording in certain sections, and obviously the title) has been slightly edited by jo. this is entirely for convenience, and full credit goes to the original maker of this post.

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Liam Gallagher

Nickname: Hayden Darmody // Roger calls him Scorcher, because he was once really good at getting people to trust him to say what he needed for a story; oh my gosh, it's one of the things that keeps him quiet now and why he probably comes off as awkward.

Eye Color: Green.

Hair Style/Color: Black, short, and messy; he plays with it a lot.

Height: 5’10”

Clothing Style: Hayden wears a lot of casual wear. He likes blue jeans and button ups, the most. He'll wear black-tie, if he needs to. But he insists he looks like he stole it when he wear the stuff.

Best Physical Feature: Half-smile.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: Anymore family hating him (Elsa and Sylvie, especially.) // Not being good enough // Losing his freedom // Losing Mathias //

Guilty Pleasures: Lifetime Movie Network, Connect Four, Dominoes Pizza, hiding Elsa's socks so she'll think it's Lennon's ghost, All Three Rocky Movies, Bruce Springsteen, Finding Nemo, Playing Chubby Bunny, Spraying Elsa with silly string or water guns, Beyonce.

Biggest Pet Peeve(s): People who don't let others talk, People who interrupt conversations, Reality Television not being reality, People who judge people for what they like, People who judge people before getting to know them, People who smoke in front of their children.

Ambition for the Future: to write something worthwhile.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: "Must feed child."

What They Think About the Most: Mathias, whether Elsa's alive and not having a breakdown, and if he's ever going to actually write his fucking book.

What They Think About Before Bed: ”Am I even here? What's going to happen to me when I'm gone? Is there even a heaven or hell? Is the iron still on?”

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: Curiosity.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Single. He likes getting to know people. In his opinion, it's easier to get to know someone if there's just two people around.

To be Loved or Respected: Loved.

Beauty or Brains: A sense of humor and a sense of heart? He's dated what some people would call 'dumb' girls, who've had hearts of gold. He's also dated really smart women who are some of the most interesting people he's ever met.

Dogs or Cats: Dogs. He's growing fond of Elsa's cats, though. He's not going to admit it. Not to her face.

LAYER FIVE: DOES YOUR CHARACTER…?

Lie: He tries not to as much. About a year ago, he couldn't keep up with half of the bullshit leaving his mouth. He was a journalist. If you don't lie, you don't get the interesting story you want. It's that simple, to him.

Believe in Themselves: "Eh."

Believe in Love: He does. He sees it when he looks at Mathias. He knows it exists, because Sylvie would have left him on his own if she didn't love him. He also knows love, because he was head-over-heels in love with Joanna -- but haha, it didn't work at all how he thought it would. But he likes to give the illusion of being an old-fashioned grump. So no one will ever know this piece of information...okay, maybe his therapist knows.

Want Someone: He wants someone to talk to. Like, really talk to. He prefers to listen, but sometimes he thinks he needs to talk to someone who's not paid to listen.

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: No. Boy has serious stage freight. Couldn't even attend seminars for work. The only reason he survived meetings were because of Roger and Joanna.

Done Drugs: No.

Changed Who They Were to Fit In: A little bit. Not too much. He doesn't really care what people think of him anymore.

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: Sky Blue.

Favorite Animal: Dogs.

Favorite Movie: The Goonies.

Favorite Game: Hide-and-seek in the dark. He and Elsa used flashlights way back when.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Their Next Birthday Will Be: July 10th

How Old Will They Be: 31 (He'll insist he's 29, but he's 30.)

Age They Lost Their Virginity: 23

Does Age Matter: Not too young. Doesn't really mind older women, however.

LAYER NINE: IN A POSSIBLE SIGNIFICANT OTHER

Best Personality: Someone he can talk to, who doesn't mind the fact that he sometimes wants to ask 50 million questions dealing with stupid things like cotton balls. Someone who is understanding; mostly, because if someone's including him in their life, they HAVE to include Elisabeth and Mathias.

Best Eye Color: He doesn't think it matters.

Best Hair Color: He doesn't really care.

Best thing to do With a Sexual Partner: He's making faces at me. Apparently things are different with different people.

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE [IC]

I love Sylvia, Mathias, and Elisabeth.

I feel stuck.

I hide how much I care for the world around me.

I miss my mother and sisters.

I wish I could go back in time and fix everything.

#hayden: extras and about #queue for tat

tripps42

“I wanted to tell her that being loved is a talent too, that it takes as much guts and as much work as loving; that some people, for whatever reason, never learn the knack ”

Tana French, The Likeness (via trippsonfire)

#npc: elisabeth mclean #elsa is basically is second child =|#quotes #visualosities: family

retrodrive

#visualosities: hxi #=| but this is how this idiot dresses #fashion: hayden

paulineradcliffe

Pauline wasn’t sure what to think of this guy. He looked mature like her father, but his mannerisms were child-like. Much like her, really. She didn’t feel threatened at all, and was sort of confused when he apologised for it. "N-no, um. No, you’re fine," tumbled from her lips. She bit on the lower inside of her mouth, where a small water blister was forming. Again. Pauline instantly stopped and rubbed at her mouth.

She listened to him trail on about his cousin and finding a young bird. She had encountered a lot of that sort of thing — usually, it was best left alone. If the creature, whatever it was, became too annoying, Pauline always called the nearby animal control; it was almost comical, but the one employee usually sent knew her by name.

At his inquiry about whether she had a lock on the cellar…Pauline felt a bit embarrassed. "No, I don’t have a lock. But I’ve got good reason, and I prefer it, um, if…I just let bygones be bygones, right? Whatever that means, anyway. My aunt used to say it a lot." Pauline felt almost silly now, to keep talking to this guy. "Um…my name’s Pauline, if…you were wondering. But you probably weren’t."

variousanthologies-blog

Hayden placed his hands in his pockets. There was a tiny part of him -- the part of him who was still a journalist --that was slightly disappointed she didn't go into detail about the little kid hiding in her cellar. In his mind, stories like those were worthy of at least a minute of airtime on the five o'clock news. In response to her words, Hayden nodded, then said, "I tend to ramble and ask one too many personal questions. So if I need to shut up, please let me know. It won't bother me at all. "

His eyes curiously scanned the inside of the tiny gas station, while she spoke. Driving during nights wasn't really his style. But today he was supposed to meet his old friend, Roger, at a restaurant to talk business. Hayden knew his friend would be extremely late -- as always -- and he basically had all the time in the world to talk to (possibly bored) strangers. The place seemed like any ole' gas station, by the looks of it. He however was well accustomed to the whole 'looks can be deceiving' thing most places had. So he kept himself from silently thinking the place was nothing special.

"I know what you mean -- even if I've never really liked or understood the phrase in question." He replied with a half-grin. In an attempt to be friendly, he placed his hand out for the strange girl --who reminded him of Winona Ryder's character in Beatle Juice, for some reason -- to shake. "I'm Hayden. It's nice to meet you, Pauline." He scratched the side of his nose, right before twisting his mouth in confusion. "Don't understand why I wouldn't want to know your name, though. I mean, people are are fascinating and names are extremely remarkable things." In attempt to show he wasn't bothered by the introduction, he gave the young woman a hard nod.

#gc: paulineradcliffe #idk you said on skype she worked a gas station #so i worked with that

celia-defiore

Confines of Gravity || Hayden & Celia

It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong, in fact everything was almost going right and looking back she wondered if that’s what was causing her anxiety to rise and feelings of discontent to follow. Celia knew these feelings all too well and knew what was coming and knew what would follow. She wasn’t a binge eater like one of those people that flew off the deep end and ordered fifty dollars’ worth of fast food and binged and purged and binged and purged, but if she was feeling especially disgusting one day a long time ago she might have purged. These days she liked to think she had a grip on the disease that riddled her mind day and night but as soon as she thought so it would come creeping back, as swift as the night taking over the day. It was debilitating really, how when she was heading on a downward spiral, things just seemed to consume every fiber of her being.

And though the twenty-four-hour diner she found herself in wasn’t packed, in fact there was only Celia and one other patron, she could feel the sweat on the palm of her hands as she thumbed through the sparse menu looking for something to eat. This was bad; she shouldn’t be at a stupid diner in the middle of the night with anxiety up to her eyeballs ordering sausage biscuits and a glass of chocolate milk. She gave a faint smile to the waitress and palmed her hands across her jeans in an attempt to make her hands dry again to ward off the clamminess. But it felt like everything in that moment was too loud. Too much tapping of that guy’s pen across the diner, and the grills were too loud in the back, and for some reason Celia could hear everything and it was driving her nuts.

When the waitress came over with her chocolate milk and she asked if Celia was alright and the dark haired teacher pondered that for a few moments while she sipped her milk through a straw the waitress had so kindly provided. Finally, with a shrug of her frail shoulders, Celia spoke, “No, not really.” The waitress waited to see if she was going to say anything else, but she just kept drinking her chocolate milk while she struggled to keep a straight face, though she hoped it didn’t show. Finally she walked away, and Celia pushed the milk away, folding her arms on the table and laying her head down. She was miserable. And she really didn’t think the food coming was going to help any at all. In fact she thought when she ate it, she was going to feel sick, but she was losing her grip on reality.

variousanthologies-blog

Hayden was given one order and one order only,("Get out of the house, loser-face, and don't come back until you've written something!") before he was kicked out of his house. The writer was well-aware of his issues with procrastination. In the past he would handle those issues by calling his grandmother, Sylvie, who made habit of bouncing ideas back and forth with him. He loved listening to the older woman talk, whether she was criticizing his ideas harshly or not. Even when he started to get something of a big ego when he worked on the news site he, Joanna, Roger, Maryanne, Jeff, and Travis began together, Sylvie was typically his go-to person when he suffered from writer's block. But with Sylvie busy with activities at the old folks home, and her not being allowed to use the phone past nine, Hayden was indeed Writer's Block's Bitch.

Not really knowing where the hell else to go, Hayden drove to a nearby twenty-four-hour diner he remembered enjoying his last visit there. He also remembered being extremely drawn in to the red and white, vintage, aesthetic the place had going for it. Upon arrival, he walked out of his car, then took a seat at a corner table. In front of him, the man placed his notepad on the table, right next to his pen. Guiltily, he knew he was supposed to be writing, but he found himself making a little building with toothpicks to pass the time. The building, ultimately, crashed down when the waitress -- a young woman with an overly energetic voice and high pitched tone of voice - startled him with some well-memorized greeting. After ordering a black coffee and a piece of cheese cake, Hayden watched as the waitress went on to speak to the only other person in the diner at the moment; or rather, the only person who wasn't staff.

And while it was none of his business or concern, he found himself in a fury of curiosity as he habitually did whenever around people. On any other day, his curiosity would have swayed in the direction of the overly-enthusiastic waitress (who before his inquisitiveness had gotten the better of him, he would have asked how much caffeine she had prior to working. Or went on the question, whether she was just really excited about her job.), yet the moment the waitress left and the woman placed her head against her table, he found himself letting his curiosity get the best of him. Standing up, he slowly walked over the brunette, and hoped she wouldn't get angry at him for fishing to see what was going on.

"Excuse me --" Hayden said to the woman (whose position reminded him of an Edward Hooper painting), as he awkwardly tapped on her shoulder. "Are you alright? I mean -" He paused to place his hand to his face; he knew he wasn't the best at these sort of things, and well, for all he knew she could totally be cheery and just wanted to lye her head on the cold marble table? "You wouldn't, like, have to tell me. It's none of my business. But, from where I'm sitting, you looked..." Again, he rolled his eyes at himself. "Not alright? Unless you were...then I'm sorry for...like...ruining your..." He waved his hands around in an awkward circular pattern, even if he wasn't sure she could see him. "Whatever...you were doing." He scratched his head. "But if you weren't...I hear things get better? It takes a long time, sometimes...but they do."

#para #p: cog #celia defiore #eating disorder trigger #anxiety trigger #binge trigger #purge trigger #i'm sorry this got hella long #but he wouldn't shut up #feel free to make this like two paragraphs or something along those lines #also sorry this took like a year #and i don't think he knows what he's saying #so i'm kind of laughing at him right now

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