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mimik-u · 3 years

Text

Togetherness

Summary: The aftermath of Steven transforming into a huge reptilian monster brings back old memories for Pearl, who remembers another time Steven was scared so many years ago.

A/N: This piece was written for the Pearl-focused I am a Pearl! mini-zine a couple of months ago! It was a great opportunity to get to explore Pearl's mind space after the events of "I am My Monster" and how her friendship with Greg has evolved over the years. ;w; Thanks to the mods for a great zine experience! <3

AO3 Link / Zine Tumblr Link / @iamapearlzine

—

Steven is sixteen years old when he erupts into a scaly, pink monster—fifty-foot tall and inconsolable.

Everyone tells him that they love him, but because words are rarely ever enough, they show him that they do; they embrace him; they hold him; they press their fingertips into his reptilian skin. His scales are cold and sharp against Pearl’s palms, keratin hard and impenetrable. She tells him that he shouldn’t have to keep anything from her, all the while burning with shame that he’s kept so much from her.

He’s felt responsible for her fragility and loved her enough to tiptoe around the Diamond in the room.

His mother.

His mother and the complicated history between them.

The love.

The torture.

The grief.

The love.

(Because what is grief after all but a manifestation of love? A reminder, its echo, and its painful, lingering, lovely ghost.)

Connie kisses Steven, very lightly, very softly, and he falls from the sky, a boy again.

Pearl wraps him in a blanket.

Garnet carries him into the wreckage of their home.

And approximately one hour later, they’re all standing on the deck, waiting for Priyanka Maheswaran to finish her professional assessment of him as the sun sinks into a honey-colored sea.

Pearl cradles her face in her hands, elbows sinking into the railing, trying to retrace every missed sign in the blackness of her own head. She sees his skin glowing pink in the darkness—at the Reef, in Little Homeworld, just moments ago in the living room…

So many flares in the night.

And Pearl had watched them all fizzle.

—

Steven is six years old when he moves into the newly minted beach house, and he tells Greg that he’s afraid of the silence. Nearly all of his life, he’s been surrounded by noise—the gentle rumble of the van’s motor, the susurrant murmur of the sea, wind, rain, buskers playing guitars on the Boardwalk, the whoosh of the rollercoasters at Funland.

His dad’s snores echoing off the tin ceiling.

His dad’s laughter.

His softly-sung lullabies, too.

The beach house is really quiet at night, Steven tells Greg who tells the Gems, and he doesn’t like that…

He’s trying really hard to like it, though.

Maybe things’ll get better next week.

Pearl never looks at Greg as he delivers this news, tapping her fingers against the side of her leg as she sits at the kitchen table, ankles primly crossed. He stands in the doorway—right beneath Rose’s painted image—wringing his hands and looking too awkward to be allowed. She resents him for this—for his awkwardness, for his intrusion into their lives, and for everything else, too.

(Namely for Rose.)

She inwardly knows that she’s being unfair.

That loathing a person on the basis of his existence is morally suspect.

Wrong.

But what are rightness and wrongness to emotions? To the sheer primality of grief?

Grief is irrational, she rationalizes to herself—she self-justifies; it knows nothing of ethicality.

“Why didn’t Steman tell us this?” Amethyst asks, absently scratching her nose. “If it’s noise he wants, I got an old drum set he can knock himself out on.”

Pearl frowns, well-remembering the ten straight years Amethyst played the drums through the nineties. Rose loved it; Pearl spent many hours alone in her room to decompress.

“He’s still intimidated by you three,” Greg shrugs kindly. “And shy. You just have to give him reason enough to trust ya with stuff like this. Tucking him in at bed at night, y’know. Checking under the bed for monsters.”

“There aren’t monsters under his bed,” Garnet says, practical as ever. “They wouldn’t fit.”

Greg chuckles, running a flat hand across the back of his neck as he peers between the three gems. When he and Pearl lock eyes, she meets his stare coldly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“But Steven doesn’t know that,” he mumbles, glancing away, his cheeks flushing. “You gotta shine a flashlight down there and show him there’s nothing there.”

“Doesn’t that seem patronizing to you?” Pearl asks, taking little care to disguise the condescension in her voice. Across the room, Garnet’s visored stare finds her—blank, inscrutable, and arcane—but Pearl knows her fellow gem well enough to understand that this is chastisement, silent and brutal.

Arching a thin brow, she ignores Garnet.

She demands an answer from Greg.

“Maybe,” the man concedes, but when he acknowledges her gaze again, there’s a little defiance in his eyes, an edge in his scratchy voice. “But maybe not. That’s what being a parent is sometimes. Patronizing the kid! Playing along. Showing him that you’re listening to what he needs. Letting him know that you’re there… haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?”

“No,” she protests immediately, bristling.

“Pssh,” Amethyst snorts. “Last week, you jumped ten feet in the air ‘cuz you saw a snake.”

“You did,” Garnet smiles wryly. “I was there.”

Pearl scoffs, trying and failing to ignore that her cheeks are suffused with blue blush…

… and that Greg is staring at her with an almost distinguishable emotion in his eyes.

If she didn’t know better, she would say it was pity.

—

Dr. Maheswaran tells them that Steven is okay; he’s tired and sore—transforming expended a lot of his energy—but he’s ready to see everyone now. She tells them to be quiet and to maybe go in one by one, so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed.

Firmly, she warns them that it’ll take more than a good night’s sleep for him to heal .

And she doesn’t mean physically.

“Here’s a number of a good therapist I know,” she says, placing a card in Pearl’s hand. “Her office opens at nine.”

Pearl folds her fingertips over the edges of the glossy card stock but doesn’t quite glance down to look at the name—too fixated on watching Greg stand in front of the doorway, palming the screen door as he seemingly steels himself to go in.

He’s aged so much in the twenty-something years that Pearl has known him—from his nearly bald head to the branching lines creasing the corners of his eyes—but for some reason, it is only now, in this ephemeral moment, that she realizes how old he is.

She doesn’t mean physically either.

As the others gather around Dr. Maheswaran, asking her questions, voicing their concerns, Pearl takes one deliberate step and then another.

—

Garnet tells Steven that it’s okay—there are no monsters under the bed—and when she shines a flashlight beneath the mattress, Amethyst is there, shapeshifted into a tiny kitten, purring at the child sweetly.

“See, dude?” She laughs, bounding out from beneath the bed. In an instant of blurred matter and color, she becomes herself again, her bangs sweeping inelegantly over her eye. “No monsters under the bed, only cute kittens.”

“Only kittens?” He repeats, grinning that famous gap-toothed smile that everyone adores. His legs are nearly swallowed by his oversized shirt.

“Kittens and dust bunnies,” Amethyst confirms, knuckling his curls playfully and smiling broadly when he laughs. “G’night, Steman.”

“Night, Amethyst!”

“Goodnight, Steven,” Garnet murmurs, lifting the six-year old into her arms and gently placing him onto the bed. She tucks him beneath the covers. She tenderly kisses him on the head.

“Nighty night, Garnet.”

And then it’s Pearl’s turn. Garnet and Amethyst head towards their temple rooms, and Pearl settles down on the edge of the comforter, balancing her left ankle on top of her right knee.

“Don’t forget about M.C. Bear Bear!” She teases softly, reaching over and placing the stuffed animal next to Steven’s arm. “He needs a snuggle buddy.”

Steven nods in agreement, his brow furrowed seriously over his eyes.

“Yep,” he says importantly. “I’ll be sure to hug him tight.”

“Excellent,” she says primly.

“Excellent,” he echoes playfully.

She lightly skims her knuckles across his soft cheek, smiling when he giggles a little, always ticklish…

… but then, when she withdraws her hand, letting it fall away from his face, the moment that immediately follows is quiet.

Too much so.

So quiet that Pearl can hear the softness of Steven’s breath, quiet enough that Greg’s words from earlier haunt her in the absence of noise.

Haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?

Contrary to what Garnet and Amethyst may believe, she isn’t afraid of snakes —pestilent creatures though they are.

She’s surprised by snakes.

And afraid of much bigger things—five-thousand-year old secrets and equally ancient insecurities, for instance.

Six thousand years ago, after all, she was coded to believe that her highest order in life was to be a slave.

And sometimes—if only sometimes—she fears that her weaknesses were ingrained then, in the very moment she emerged from a shell and was called a pearl

One of so many.

Disposable.

Programmable.

Objectified.

Sometimes, she barely knows what it means to be herself, much less what it means to be a parent .

Indeed, Greg Universe of all people seems to have the idea down better than she ever could.

So, yes, Greg, she is afraid.

(Afraid of failing Steven.)

(Terrified that she’s already failed her. )

Patronize him, Greg suggested.

Play with him.

Show him that you’re listening.

Let him know that you’re there.

—

“Greg?”

Pearl places a light hand on Greg’s arm, startling him from his trance as he turns around to face her.

“Pearl!” He exhales, his breath coming in short bursts. “Y’scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, not quite moving her hand away yet. His skin is warm beneath her fingertips, soft like wave-washed sand. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yes,” he returns immediately, and then—taking one look at her imperiously raised brow—just as quickly rectifies himself. “No. I don’t know. I’m freakin’ terrified, Pearl. I feel like a failure of a parent. I don’t know what to tell him. But I gotta go in there anyway.”

He says it all very rapidly, as though he’s talking to himself.

Encouraging himself.

And putting himself down to do it.

“I’m his dad,” he concludes, his voice breaking, tears standing in his dark eyes. “I’m his dad, and I didn’t… I wasn’t there for him, and I should have—“

“ Shh, ” Pearl cuts across him gently, patting his arm as tears threaten to slide down her own face. “Shh. There are so many hypothetical should haves that we’ll all have to face soon when it comes to Steven. But not today, Greg .”

With her free hand, she conjures a tissue from her gem and hands it to him, unflinching and kind, even when he needs to wipe his nose.

“Today,” she murmurs, her voice inhibited, a hundred emotions thick, “we just let him know that we’re here.”

—

“Pearl?” Steven asks.

Pearl blinks rapidly, coming back to herself; she’d been lost in her own thoughts, nearly consumed.

“Hey,” she smiles, placing her hand on top of Steven’s own. His skin is so warm and soft; she absently wonders if her alienness feels sharp to him… hard… cold… “Here’s an idea—how about I sing you a lullaby before you go to sleep?”

“You know how to sing?” Steven’s eyes widen incredulously, his mouth shaping itself into a delighted smile.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she laughs playfully. “When we were younger, your mother and I used to sing all the time—hymns from our home planet and the like…”

A pause, infinitesimal, hesitant.

“...I could sing one for you if you’d like?”

“You could?” The child dares to be hopeful; the very emotion shapes the pitch of his question, the light in his eyes.

He has his mother’s eyes.

Dark and full of stars.

“I could,” Pearl repeats. “I’d sing as long as you wanted me to.”

“How about fooooorever?”

“Let’s just start with until you fall asleep,” Pearl laughs. “That’s a part of forever, yes? This moment?”

“If you say so, Pearl,” he wrinkles his nose skeptically.

“I know so, Steven.”

As she sings him to sleep in her mother tongue, Pearl admits that this must be something that Greg knows, too.

The importance of hereness to a child.

Togetherness on scary nights.

#pearl #steven universe #greg universe #amethyst #garnet #s: future #mimiku #gosh i loved writing this

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 4 years

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

I came out as trans half a year ago - and I decided that’s a good time to share my coming out story with you! Some of you have been asking about it over the last few months and I am now in a place where I can comfortably reflect back on it.

Before we start, I quickly want to say that this is not a “How to come out” guideline. The decision how and when to come out is deeply personal, there’s not the one right way to do it. What worked for me may not necessarily work (or feel good) for you. This is just my personal story.

The first person I “came out” to was my therapist. I put that in brackets because by coming out to my therapist, I also came out to myself. We talked about my issues and over many sessions, it just became clearer and clearer to us both that many of them were related to my gender identity.

During one session, I said something and he replied “If we cut off the “But” in your sentence, you just said “I am a man”. Have you heard the term transgender before?” and I just sat there like “Oh! Yes.That’s how I feel.”. It was just one of those lightbulb moments. I knew it before - but actually hearing someone say the word trans related to my experience just gave me the push I needed to allow myself to know it.

He offered to call me by a male name and he/him pronouns to see how that feels. I chose the name Oliver - and I loved it! It felt so much better than my birthname and she/her. And yet, I decided to never tell anyone about that. I would secretly identitfy as a trans man but I would just keep that to myself, I thought. I can be Oliver in my head and in the therapist’s office and be my birthname everywhere else. Easy-peasy, no need to make a fuss and actually come out to anyone, right? It’s just for fun anyway.

Well, when I look back, I knew it wasn’t just for fun. But I was scared how the people in my life would react. I was scared of having to make a decision - I felt like as soon as I told someone, I would also have to have a definite plan regarding medical steps and I wasn’t ready to even think about that yet.

But feeling so happy and euphoric about my new name only highlighted how miserable I felt with my birthname. During that time, I published my book and I couldn’t bring myself to put my birthname on the cover. I published under my new name - and it was bittersweet. I was so, so overwhelmed with happiness to see the name Oliver in my bookshelf... and it hurt so much to say “It’s a pseudonym, I just wanted to publish anonymously, so it’s a fake name” when that wasn’t true at all.

My therapist told me to take my time with coming-out, to not rush into it but I knew that I needed to come out, for my own peace. I reached a point where I felt like hiding it hurt me more than any negative reaction could. I didn’t really have a big master plan - my mother invited me to dinner and one of my brothers was going to be there and I just woke up that day thinking “Today I am going to tell them”. Looking back, I am glad I only gave myself some hours to plan and freak out about my plans. Otherwise, I would have had too much time to think and convinced myself to give up.

I actually had a therapy session that day, so I knew they would ask me about that. My plan was to wait for that question and then tell them that my therapist thinks I am trans. In case they react super negative, this would give me the chance to blame the therapist or downplay it and say “Yeah, I don’t agree with him”. Maybe that’s a bit cowardly and yes, I am an adult and don’t need my family’s permission - but I came out as bi as a teenager and it went horrible. It took a while for my mother and me to have a good relationship again after that, I didn’t want history to repeat itself. My family means the world to me, I was scared of losing them.

Dinner came, that question I waited for came... and I hesitated and ruined the moment. The conversation moved on and I didn’t came out. Oh gosh, I hated myself in that moment. I had that plan and just got too scared to actually do it. I had just convinced myself that I lost my shot and would not come out to them at all when my brother said “You look sad, is there something you want to tell us?”.

I actually started crying and went “I need to tell you something but please don’t be mad”. I am pretty sure I sounded like a 8-year-old who broke mom’s favorite vase! My family got really worried. I guess that, based on my breaking down in tears, they assumed that I was either dying or going to jail. When I think about it now, it’s ridiculous and funny but back then, I felt terrible.

I managed to say “My therapist thinks I would be happier as a man” during sobs... and my mother just said “Oh, then you should do that. Do you want us to call you Oliver, like on your book?”. At first, I thought that she was thinking I was just kidding and that’s why she reacted so calm. I explained that I am serious and told them about the conversations I had with my therapist. They stayed calm. My brother said he already had guessed that I am trans based on the way I dress and the fact that I published my book under a male name, so it wasn’t shocking news to him and my mom agreed. She had a couple questions (mostly if I would date men or women now, I told her it’s still both) - and that was it.

It went way better than I expected. Yet, if I could turn back time, I would change something: I would explain more. I feel like I should’ve given a little “trans 101″ speech, especially explaining why the new name and pronouns matter. She still mostly calls me by my birthname and uses she/her. It’s not that she refuses to call me Oliver - if I correct her, she will change it. I feel like she simply believes I don’t care about it that much. Maybe she doesn’t really see a difference between butch lesbians and trans men, too. I feel like I could’ve done a better job explaining it to avoid those misunderstandings.

My fear that they would instantly ask me about surgery plans did not come true. I wasted quite some time worrying about that and preparing what to say in case they ask - they just didn’t ask about that at all.

I do not regret that I kind of rushed into it. To be honest, I don’t even know if I did. There were only a few months between calling myself trans the very first time in my therapist’s office and coming-out - but it’s not like I never thought about it before. I feel like I struggled with my gender identity since puberty but I didn’t have the words or didn’t allow myself to connect the dots. To me, it doesn’t feel rushed.

I came out to more people since then. But this letter is getting too long, so I will end this with a final thought: My coming--out, both to myself and the world, felt a bit messy and I can name things I would do better if I could start over again - but maybe I would just do it exactly the same way. I’m incredibly happy I came out. It didn’t make all my problems go away but I do feel better emotionally, more confident. I like myself more now. For me, it was definitely the right decision.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

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shiishki · 3 years

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okay wait, i changed my mind. you should answer all of these questions as well, if that's what you want from me >:)

oof there's a lot of it, that's what i get for wanting to be ✨aesthetic✨

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

vowels (and the importance of being me) - hunny

honeypie - jawny

pretty young thing - michael jackson

mirrors - justin timberlake

sunflower - red orange county

paradise - rude-a

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

a therapist.

ok someone else.. uhh,, my grand grandma because i only have scratches of memories but i dunno if that counts since she passed away...

*rummages through ancient scripts* uhh ok someone who isn't dead.. uhm,, tommie? yeah I'd like to meet them if i could meet anyone on earth

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

ok, the closest german, english or polish book? nvm i have english

"suddenly was. So I just said thank you a few times too, and Mum" ironically this is one of the normal lines in this book

4: What do you think about most?

the fact that I'll have to do something after school. and I don't know if i want to go to college or get a job bc i have no legitimate idea on what to do with my life. it gets overwhelming, just the lack of knowledge about the actual experience.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

with, tho i sleep with just shorts in summer

7: What’s your strangest talent?

not sure if it's a talent, but i can fall asleep anywhere

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

girls are pretty. boys are pretty

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

by me, yes. no one else has written a poem about me specifically. nvm, tommie wrote one and it shall rest on my wall, or desk, i need to find a place for it

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

uhh i think last month?

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

i don't think so, but i am hella afraid of the possibly gigantic, terrifying things in the ocean depths that humans haven't discovered yet

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

yep, beloved legos as a lil child

13: What’s your religion?

i can't ever remember the name, but i believe gods (from all religions) exist in some way or form. so i believe in different pantheons and etc.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

walking my doggo, skateboarding, thinking about how to make the lives of my characters worse

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

behind it.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

uhmm the arctic monkeys? or the strokes

17: What was the last lie you told?

i know what i want

18: Do you believe in karma?

yes, the rule of three specifically

19: What does your URL mean?

i don't know. it's something me and my sis came up with and that's just my whole identity now.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

uhh greatest weakness.. i can't finish things. strength is that I'm very stubborn so maybe I'll finish that thing out of spite

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

i grew up thinking crushes were like unicorns. my ex was odd enough to argue with that i didn't love her if i didn't have a crush on her. but I think if i had to guess.. selena gomez, especially in the role of alex russo in wizard of weverly street

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

nope

23: How do you vent your anger?

i write angry letters. sometimes they're sad letters. i write a lot of letters. except i never send them out and no one made a movie about them :}

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

jars and witchy bottles, books? scented candles

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

phone calls are stressful enough as is, i don't need you to see my reading off what i frantically wrote to not stumble over my words

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

i think so, yes, but that won't stop me from becoming better

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

hate flies buzzing right by my ear, love cat purring

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

what if I'd been born in a place where it was illegal for me (nonbinary) to live, in a time when others thought of me as a curse?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

they be chilling.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

right arm, doggo, left arm, pillow

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

fresh air and doggo, because doggo is with me and I can't live without open windows

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

i dunno tbh

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

which one is less homophobic?

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

every gender is my opposite gender. selena gomez and justin timberlake

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

to make it easier for people down the line

36: Define Art.

make thing, thing goes woo

37: Do you believe in luck?

yis

38: What’s the weather like right now?

it's nice actually, very sunny, slight breeze

39: What time is it?

12.59 am

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

i don't, but i once crashed into a fire department vehicle with my bike. bike ded.

41: What was the last book you read?

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

i legit ass don't know what gasoline smells like.

43: Do you have any nicknames?

many variations of my name, aka. Luce

44: What was the last film you saw?

i think it was Robin Hood: King of Thieves, but it might have been that half of spider-man homecoming i managed to watch with my poor internet

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

oh man i dunno... it's not an injury, but i was very sickly as a lil kid and almost died :)

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

once, years ago

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

hmmm horizon zero dawn i think

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

proud pansexual ^^

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

not really, i don't think they're big enough to be actual rumors,, meh

50: Do you believe in magic?

yis

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

meh. they suck, i know they suck, that's it.

52: What is your astrological sign?

cancer ♋

53: Do you save money or spend it?

i attempt saving. attempt

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

for my own money, sweets. i bought lizards for my cats so they can brush their teeth from my dad's amazon acc

55: Love or lust?

luv

56: In a relationship?

nope, i buy my own cookies

57: How many relationships have you had?

1, kinda toxic toward the end, very stressful, don't recommend

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

nu ><

59: Where were you yesterday?

on the fields walking my doggo

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

yep, a pastel pink hoodie in my closet uwu

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

yis, thicc warm socks

62: What’s your favourite animal?

cats

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

cuddles and food.

64: Where is your best friend?

bold of you to assume i have a best friend.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

tommie-hildebrandt, kageyuji, nekomas-kuroo, joyful-soul-collector

66: What is your heritage?

I'm a demon boi from Poland tho that's not a thing to be proud of, i mean, look at the economy. awful.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

sleeping, trying to sleep.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

Pinkton. or Satan.

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

this is such an odd combination of words i had to look it up. yea.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

a friend who won't laugh at me when i ask them to order smth for me because I'm too anxious to.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

excuse me? i am saving the doggo wtf. f u boss, I'm gonna sell my tragic story to the news.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) i tell my parents. b) live the hell out of them uwu c) nope uwu.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

trust.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

history maker - dean fujioka :]

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

3332

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

communication, trust, some more communication.

77: How can I win your heart?

let's not pretend to be something else to please each other, and bring some bitter chocolate.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

maybe. it could. i don't have a say in it since my sanity is held by tape.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

eat the pizza. stop caring about others not liking me/parts of me. just living for myself uwu.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

uh i dunno how the american sizes work and i don't wanna look it up so, 39, 40 fits too.

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

demon boi

82: What is your favourite word?

socks.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

the bloody organ that sits in your chest and pumps blood into your body so you don't die.

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

uhm im not sure if that counts as a saying, but fake it till you make it

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

blinding lights - the weeknd

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

oh a normal question people use for ice breaking, sea blue and pastel variations of it.

87: What is your current desktop picture?

like my wallpaper? or the actual picture that sits on my desk? or how my desk looks like atm? it's ugly, a lot of papers and pens and schoolbooks.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

donald trump. or the next asshole who'll try to take the rights of the lgbt and poc away

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

this. this is the question.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

yo there's a pizza somewhere in the refrigerator, want me to heat it up? we can have a sleep over and talk about our feelings :3

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

telekinesis! or shapeshifting! i could do such fun things with telekinesis ^^ yeah I'd totally eat some radioactive veggies

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

that time my "friends" got me into shoplifting, half-hour is more than enough to punch some sense into my brain and develop good music taste

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

can i save this one? i don't think i have an experience horrible enough to be erased haha

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

sleep as in.. uh no thank u. but I'm down for a sleep over with sam smith ^^

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

just me? what about my pets? my fam? it's lowkey illegal for me to go just anywhere without them owO

uhhmm, greece. imma become part of the greek pantheon out of pure spite. and maybe toronto canada.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

not any that i know of o.o

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

i think i may have but i honestly don't remember

98: Ever been on a plane?

nope, i dunno if i like planes, but I'd probably sleep if i were on one.

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

yeet.

#that was long #probably because my stubborn ass wanted to make pretty formatting #shiishki.rambles #shiishki.interacts with tommie

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hedonisthierophant · 4 years

Text

Aching abyss

The doctors proclaimed that he was alive, crowed over their victory, their triumph in snatching his fragile form from the jaws of death and conspiracy. Clay wasn’t so sure that he believed them. Oh he knew intellectually that he lived. His eyes beheld what unfolded before them, he was aware of various scents perfuming the air, he heard the constant drone of life around him, he was able to process the flavors of his food, his body was warm, his lungs filled and emptied themselves of air in a regular fashion, his bones muscles ligaments and tendons obeyed his commands, he felt sensation against his skin, and most importantly, his heart beat. This could be objectively verified, all he had to do was press a hand against it and feel its steady rhythm. Yet, despite overwhelming empirical evidence to the contrary Clay felt that he had died during the faithful procedure and what the doctors had so pridefully revived was merely an empty shell, a purposeless, empty husk of a man.

Before the operation Clayton had always looked forward to it as the door through which he would step into his new lease on life. Now he looked back on it ruefully as a pyrrhic victory. The result of a twisted covenant with some deity who was spiteful at worst and apathetic at best, they had given him a new life and in exchange taken away Clay’s sense of being alive. Yes his body was here, but was Clay here? That was a more complicated question altogether.

Clay tried first to explain his situation to his physicians, they assured him that these sorts of feelings were par for the course in transplant patients and would pass in time. Clay next set up a meeting with a therapist, discreetly and through a series of intermediaries. He didn’t have the courage to go on any websites or call any numbers for himself. Instead he delegated what he assumed was the more burdensome task to an assistant, he was certain he’d known her name at one point but since the transplant everyone who worked with him seemed to lose their individuality in a sea of faceless underlings, drones whose existence was based around snapping to his soft commands. His sleek black town car pulled up to an equally sleek glass skyscraper. The glass had been tinted green and was interspersed with frames of obsidian. He mumbled the name of his destination to a security guard in the lobby.

He was directed to the 151st floor, some hopeful, grateful voice buried in the back of his mind spoke with an abrasive cheer and reminded him that he’d never have been able to walk up 151 flights of stairs before the operation, maybe he should just to say that he had, after all he had plenty of time before his appointment. A petulant, bitter, far louder voice simpered in return that perhaps he should and his unfeeling misery and run up all 151 flights until his new heart gave out and he ended up in the ground where he belonged. The loudest most omnipresent voice spoke next, it commanded him to simply ride the elevator instead, this voice was the herald the emptiness inside him, a mouth that spoke for the vast abyss where his feelings had once been. He rode the elevator, contemplating whether this parody of life was the price for cheating death? He had been so afraid of the silence and stillness of the grave he’d never considered the idea that they could be draped over him like a burial shroud before he passed away. As he strode down the hall he was steeling himself for some unimaginable and invasive horror. The things his mother would say if she knew that he was seeing shrink. A much younger Clayton had actually mistaken the word “shrink” for a slur such was the venom with which he heard it passed his mother’s lips. He’d used it as a weapon hoping to strike back at a girlhood called him to fragile to play and had been met with laughter that was cruel and worse yet laced with pity.

He entered an upscale reception area suffused with an aura of enforced calm. Diffused light came from a few lamps that had been covered in simple cloths in addition to their shades. Some well concealed noise machine was causing an approximation of the sounds of the surf to bleed through the space, the floor was covered by an enormous, lush, pale green carpet. A portly woman with mousy hair and oversized spectacles handed him the intake forms. He stared at them, his brain lazily processing words like “health conditions, medications, prior diagnoses, history of treatment, presenting issue, drug use, alcohol use, suicide attempts and ideation,” he stared numbly at the forms wondering what the correct pattern of checkboxes was that could possibly communicate what was wrong with him. After several idle minutes the receptionist looked over “don’t worry about it dear many people find it difficult to put in writing, you just have a talk with our provider and she’ll fill one out for you afterwards, it’s no trouble at all.” His mother was laughing at him berating him for his inability to fill out a simple form, his dawdling would make this person’s job that much harder, he was already inconveniencing them and he hadn’t even met them, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that his mirror presence here was a bother.

This entire endeavor was a mistake. For once his body reacted, his pulse hammered, beads of sweat carved frosty path down his brow, he couldn’t get enough oxygen, he was dizzy, his deal with death had only bought him a minor reprieve apparently, he’d come here to discover how to feel alive again and instead he was going to die in this waiting room. Distantly, some part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. The rushing of his blood and the incessant pain in his head brought back memories of the table and what was left of his composure shattered as it was assaulted by those recollections. He heard a faint whirring, it grew louder as though some angry machine were approaching him. His beleaguered mind wandered if perhaps the Grim Reaper rode a scooter? A powerful voice broke through the chaos within him. He was commanded to raise his head, instinctively he did so.

A woman sat in front of him he thought but he couldn’t be sure, his vision swam, threatening to blur into unconsciousness. “Mr. Beresford?” Hearing his father’s name brought a fresh wave of turmoil it felt as though his throat completely closed, in a few moments it was possible that he might be face to face with his father and bare the full brunt of his ridicule for this display of frailty, for the disappointment he caused his father, for the failure of a son that he was. “Clayton?...Clay?” Someone was calling him, it’d be rude not to respond, he couldn’t be rude he would be punished. Reflexively he fought to bring the image before him into focus. He failed, but he was able to force us stammered “Yes?” past his tremulous lips. His effort was immediately rewarded, “Clay I’m Dr Mensah. If you would like I can lead you in a breathing exercise that may provide you with some relief. Would you like me to do that? If not I would like you to know that panic attacks pass and I will stay here with you until this one does.” Her voice was infused with an iron certainty. Clay gave her a weak nod of his head that was almost perceptible amidst his twitching and hyperventilation. She spoke in a calm voice , “I would like you to inhale whilst I count to four, then hold your breath whilst I count to four again then I would like you to exhale whilst I count to four, and hold your breath a second time whilst I count to four final time. We will repeat the process if necessary. She began to count in a determined rhythm. One… Two… Three… Four. As though he was experiencing this from far-flung distant place he was aware of the ritualized pace of his lungs filling, waiting and then emptying. The chaos that gripped him receded ever so slightly. They completed the exercise twice more.

Clay was finally able to open his eyes and properly take in his rescuer. But he had some difficulty parsing the vision that greeted him. Her voice filled his ears again almost hypnotic in its steadiness and placidity. “I imagine that was quite a difficult experience. Would you like to talk about what you are feeling or would you prefer to rest? Perhaps some water? Clay nodded mutely. She turned away from him and the whirring returned, she made her way over to a low table he had noticed before that had the trappings of a miniaturized café. She retrieved a recycled paper cup from a pile and extracted a glistening portion of water from an expensive looking machine. She crossed the space between them accompanied only by the sound of whirring. She offered the cup to Clay. He reached out and nearly splattered it over the both of them. His hands and started to shake just as he may contact with the edge of the cup. He was already prepared with a thousand apologies ready on his tongue, already hearing a lecture from his mother about making a full of himself. But the woman’s grip was steely and sure. The cup hardly moved despite Clay’s embarrassing flailing. Her expression remained unchanged “may I assist you?” Clay’s face was burning with shame that all he could do was nod unwilling to risk another bout of tremors. With one hand she brought the cup to his lips and placed the other at the back of his neck as a sort of support as she tipped the cup up and he drank in the cool liquid. Clay should’ve been humiliated, should’ve been outraged should’ve been indignant. Yes he given his permission but how dare this woman presume to help him in this way as though he were an invalid or worse yet, a child. He was about to make her regret her trespass with some scathing remark but he was consumed by the thought that this woman was the first person to touch him in months since his mother died. He looked down at her and realized for the first time that the source of the whirring had been the wheelchair that she was occupying. “Would you like to accompany me to my office?” All Clay could do was nod, he rose, his limbs being more cooperative than he anticipated. The sound of Clay’s shoes against the carpet was all but inaudible so close to the whir.

He followed Dr. Mensah into a lushly appointed space. Gently lit by fairy lights with a single enormous couch arrayed against one back wall. Round the space there were several chairs pointed in the general direction of the couch. The wall was painted a pale green broken up by paintings of forests, mountains, and oceans.” Please sit wherever you’d like, or stand if you prefer. Make yourself comfortable.” Clay obediently perched on the edge of the couch fighting the natural instinct let himself sink into it his mother had disapproved horribly of anything that ruined his posture. The woman parks her wheelchair directly across from the couch, and waits. They sit in silence for about a moment before Clay blurts out the first thing on his mind. “I don’t like doctors.” “Perhaps it would be better for you to think of me simply as Beatrice then?” Again the only tool in his repertoire was to nod . “I would like you to tell me about what brings you in today if you feel so inclined, I got a glimpse of the distress you experience but I’d like more information so that I may place it within the proper context.” Years of being and vandalized and thought of week have left Clay with a bit of a sore spot around being anything less than perfect in the view of other people. He makes an effort to straighten his back even further and speaks in the distant tone his mother had employed when dismissing other people’s preposterous ideas as she so often did. “Distress? You must be mistaken ma’am. I’m fine.” He stares at her impassive face. The woman before him is perched in what Clayton assumes is an extremely high-end model of wheelchair looking for all the world as if she were in a throne and questioning an errant peasant. Her body framed by black leather and paint of the same color. Her right leg sits crossed over her left, giving Clay the impression that he is but a subject addressing a monarch, he hasn’t felt that way since his mother died. She is dressed for all the world as though she is one of the many high-stakes powerbrokers that have surrounded Clay’s entire life. Cream colored pants and a cream-colored blazer adorn her form, Clay’s first impression of her would have been that she was distant and inaccessible, unconcerned with those beneath her but this train of thought was derailed by the decidedly more human touches that graced her ensemble. Bangles that would’ve been out of place in Wall Street office, a tribal necklace, nails done to perfection but not merely buffed and coated in clear polish as was the habit of ladies on Wall Street face painted with only the lightest coding of makeup, a subtle red to her lips and black around her eyes.. Her nails glimmered a soft lavender color and several rings adorned her fingers. Her hair was in locks and gathered into a regal looking knot atop her head, secured by a lavender colored cloth. As they stared at each other Clay felt that he was being examined by some class of being several orders of magnitude beyond his comprehension. Finally she spoke, her voice bathed in a quiet authority, “people who are fine do not often experience panic attacks in our waiting room, Clay.” With that simple sentence it’s as though she’s drained all of Clay’s reserves of hostility. She continues, “I would imagine that this was the first time you’ve experienced something like that, perhaps your standard experience is more that of numbness?”

The floodgates open and Clay imparts to her all the apathy that has infused his existence since it was restarted that day on the table. She listens as he describes feeling like a windup doll merely going through a set of preprogrammed motions, acting alive but not feeling it. He describes the profound disconnect between himself and his emotions. The well of nothingness that has consumed him. She listens without interruption and when Clay can no longer think of anything to say they are enshrouded in silence. Clay can’t bear silence, it was quiet times like this that he hated the most before the transplant. When there were no distractions around and he could hear his own heartbeat. He’d made a macabre game of counting the beats wondering how many he had left before he hit zero. The average person’s heart beat 3,195,648,000 during their lifetime Clay had been obsessed with cardiology as a child after learning about the ticking time bomb inside his chest. He been able to recite all sorts of minutia related to the organ and its functioning, of course a particular attention was paid to transplants and the various gruesome fates that could await poor souls who had no choice but to undergo them or worse yet be denied the opportunity to do even that. Clay had always known with certainty of the doomed that he would experience but the smallest fraction of that instead. People were supposed to live to around 80 and yet it was a miracle that he made it to 22.

Clay imparts all this to Beatrice in the same unfeeling monotone because the crushing silence summons the screaming voice of his mother commanding him to take control of the situation, do something say something, be the performer that she had raised and not the useless lout. It is with a serene tone that Beatrice tells him that all his feelings are be expected from someone who’d been living on borrowed time, with one parent absent in the other abusive, suffered a near-death experience brought on by betrayal, followed by the trauma of a string of losses. Her words were cloaked in validation and understanding, enshrouded in a sincere seeming empathy. Hearing her speak made Clay want to cry but he knew he would be unable to. The session lit a tiny spark of feeling within him for the first time since his rebirth. Clay instantly became an addict, he booked a session next week and mustering what dignity he could left the office bed goodbye to the receptionist and descended back to the mass of scurrying mortals living their lives far below the glittering towers that had made up Clay’s. His town car was waiting at the entrance to the building, piloted to perfection by Mercy. Mercy was his chauffeur, assistant, bodyguard, confidant, and the closest thing he had left to a friend. She wore a simple black chauffeur’s uniform and, her face bare of any makeup, red hair concealed. Since his death he found it hard to trust people, to let them near him either emotionally or physically. Mercy had impeccable references, a degree in management from Harvard. She was proficient in three forms of martial arts and possessed a frightening level of accuracy when wielding firearms. She was the only one allowed anywhere near Clayton, any requests from his father’s company all were filtered through her, she ran his calendar, made all the arrangements for every facet of his day, and so shepherded him through his life. These two women were the light houses in Clayton’s so-called life. Mercy roused him each day, presented him with decisions that needed to be made, drove him aimlessly through the city, provided his meals, kept up with his medication, she was an almost invisible, almost silent, benevolent guardian. Beatrice in their weekly sessions helped Clayton begin to assess the level of damage that had been done to him long before you died. She helped to foster that flicker of life within him. Until he confronted her with a dilemma that he was certain would cause her to leave him.

Clayton tried his best to bask in the pleasures of life, to rekindle the flame of actually living life. The finest food tasted like bitter ash, and had to be forced down his throat. He walked the galleries and viewed great works of art, pieces that had once stirred his soul. Before he died he could’ve stared at those paintings for hours and been absolutely captivated, now they did no more for him than a child’s fumbling scribble. He visited the Opera and bought expensive equipment with which to listen to his favorite music, everything sounded as though he were hearing it from underwater, dull, distant, and boring. Films that he loved as a child played before him on the vast expanse of his home theater screen, he couldn’t bring himself to connect with a single scene, to feel anything whatsoever. This is where Clayton ran into trouble, he was forbidden from doing anything strenuous, for anyone else that might be fine. However, when you lived in the condition that Clay did nearly any activity that could bring the faintest spark of enjoyment was considered strenuous. No more gentle laps in the pool, no more mild jogs in the park, no more calm morning workouts, anything like skiing or basketball was completely out of the question. So yes, Clayton lived but he wasn’t alive. He took his questions to the Internet he figured what he needed was some shot of dopamine or else a blast of adrenaline but every activity suggested by the thrill junkies in their wild and free death-defying corners of cyberspace was well beyond Clay’s current ability. He was not permitted to travel by plane as the elevation might put stress on his heart, so visions of some faraway location where he could simply bask in the beauty of nature or a new culture would have to remain so. What drove at Clay the deepest however was the physical manifestation of his loneliness, there were days when his limbs failed him and Mercy efficiently helped him dress, her steady hands doing work that his had been ,capable of since he was a mere child. Fastening buttons here, tying laces there. The experience would leave him burning with shame every time despite the fact that he had no pretenses at an invalid such as himself ever being afforded much modesty, let alone dignity. Worse than the shame though was the ache that burrowed deep within him, the lightest touch of her fingers against his flesh soothed the hollow throb within him reducing all-consuming agony to the slightest aching twinge for an exquisite instant. Vicious vultures circled constantly in his mind filling his thoughts with wicked whispers imparting upon him the knowledge that he may as well already be dead, that this wasn’t a life worth living. He laid all of these burdens at Beatrice’s feet, she sent him to a psychiatrist who prescribed first this antidepressant, and then that, the happy pills gave him energy, but no purpose or drive, he was merely a remote control toy whose batteries had been supercharged. He no longer slept until two in the afternoon and the vultures screeching had been reduced to near silence but the absence of that cacophony and the less time he spent in blissful unconsciousness, unburdened by his reality for precious hours he wished he could stretch into eternity, the more he was enveloped in emptiness. When you were always drowning in pain its briefest absence induced an incredible sense of euphoria, there was no pleasurable feeling but the sheer existence of even a single iota of life, of a moment free of agony became a dangerously addictive high, the sort of sheer bliss that all hedonists would trade their souls for. Clay’s realization came through his dreams. The nocturnal adventures that his subconscious conjured for him were often replete with reminders of his suffering. His father’s abuse and death, his mother’s disappointment, Sam’s betrayal and Jack’s complicity, his mother’s death. It was as though his psyche was daring him to find even the single weakest reason to go on, as though some demon, livid that it had been cheated when he escaped death, embarked on a quest to torture Clay night after night, to remind him of all his pain and loss until he saw the price he paid for the cursed gift that was his second chance and chose to reject it, this malignant creature would use his own mind to rake him over the coals, to turn his only sanctuary into a place of torment until he gave in and died, probably by his own hand, then the demon would be satisfied and absconded with his prize back to hell, satisfied in having righted this imbalance of the cosmic scales that had allowed Clay, however transiently to escape his fate.

Having survived the table and experiencing the visions or astral projection or whatever type of hallucination he had during the process had left Clay with at least some ability to command his mind to come to his aid. Like a mantra he hurt himself repeat over and over, “show me something nice, make me feel alive.” Once, twice, thrice, upon the fourth repetition there was a change. It was early morning and the once brilliant light of dawn that would’ve drawn a smile from Clay no matter what his mood had saturated every inch of his apartment. Clay was lounging in his favorite chair, luxuriating in the feel of the plush cushions conforming to his body, Mercy stood over him gently carting her fingers through his hair draining his worries away and causing the slightest flicker to spark in the candle that had come to represent Clay’s joie de vivre…for the first time since his death he awoke hard.

Clay was groggy at first and then conscious of the delicious friction of his cock rubbing against his underwear, the ghosts of dream-Mercy’s hands still gliding over his scalp. He reached down to cup himself astounded at the arousal he felt, it had been so long, since the morning before his death that his body had given him even a phantom help that he might be able to indulge one of his most base urges. He’d miserably resigned himself to subsisting on half memories of his last morning with Sam before he discovered her betrayal, the colors bled from those images and he hated himself. Distantly he wondered if he’d given himself the opportunity to seek other inspiration some thought not tainted with her memory to make him hard if it would’ve worked, but his body was so thoroughly uninterested in the possibility of ever feeling pleasure again right up until this morning. A happy sigh escaped his lips as he teased himself through the fabric of his silk pajama bottoms. In his nascent pleasure his eyes open sleepily and he realized that Mercy was due to enter his room in a matter of minutes to wake him and begin their daily routine. His arm darted out with the speed and urgency he had not felt since that day and he fired off a terse message to her informing her that he intended to sleep in for at least another half an hour. Predictably, Mercy responded with a simple affirmative nearly the instant after his finger pressed the send key.

Without her Clay was free to bask in the return of at least a fragment of what it felt like to be human. Sure, it was the most primitive and unworthy fragment but it was something. He slid his clothes off with trembling h hands gasping at the feel of smooth fabric rubbing over the most sensitive parts of his body. He shivered and his nipples became rock hard as he was exposed to the chill air. The illicitness of the situation alone was enough to have him leaking, he brought a shaking index finger to slit and sent it on a slow journey back to his mouth. The taste of himself sent a spasm of shocked pleasure through his whole body. He had worried somewhere distant in the far dark reaches of his mind that he forgotten this. But resonance of recollections guided his movements and he moaned in quiet pleasure as his hands trailed up and down his body causing every hair to stand on end. He circled the shaft with his right hand and gave it the gentlest squeeze, a spurt of precum issued from the head and he laughed in boyish delight, delirious in the joy of rediscovering the art of self-love. Clayton spat into his hand and returned it to his twitching cock. Under normal circumstances he’d of turned his nose up at the idea of using saliva as lubricant but desperate times called for desperate measures and he was willing to abandon some of his principles for the chance to make this feel even the slightest bit better. He tweaked one nipple and almost embarrassed himself with the keening sound that it tore from his lips, rather he would be embarrassed if enough of his mind was not submerged in an ocean of want and could muster enough conscious thought to care. He brought his hand up to the other nipple and began playing with them in unison delicious shivers and twitches racing up his spine crossing him to cross and uncrossed his legs curl and uncurl his toes throw his head back and moaned as he wallowed in wildly wanton madness, mesmerized by the long forgotten pleasure he was capable of bringing himself. For the stolen half an hour he wasn’t Clayton Beresford Jr, the poor fragile billionaire, he was Clay, a horny 22-year-old like any other across the world who had the strength to do something about it. Delirious laughter escaped his lips as he began to massage his balls rolling them between his fingers gently tugging on the sensitive skin as it sent breathy gasps and moans up his throat. His head thrashed this way and then that in response to his ministrations his body giving a rapturous response to its own performance. Some faraway part of him was aware of the sweat that was beginning to soak his skin and distantly ever so faintly as though he were listening to the memory of the shadow of an echo from deep beneath the surface of water he heard his heartbeat. Clay let out a joyous little whoop as he brought himself closer and closer to that elusive peak of pleasure that he was chasing. His body on fire from the delicious torture, screaming at him that it wanted this, no that, that if Clay failed on this quest to satisfy himself that his very form would punish his loss by severing the single gossamer thread that allowed him to remain tethered to this mortal plane. Retribution for teasing himself and failing to deliver on the ultimate few instance of pleasure that would silence all the noise in his head and the complaints of his overtaxed body would be death, brutal in its suddenness. He felt as though he was quite literally, jerking off for his life. If he didn’t ascend to the peak of ecstasy the fire would reach his heart and it would stop once and for all and there would be no one to sacrifice themselves this time for the sake of him getting his rocks off. The train of thought made him laugh deliriously, winds and moans escaped his lips as reedy, needy breaths were all his lungs were capable of producing. He felt absolutely soaked with pre-come, a glance downward confirmed that there was so much of it that it spilled over his significant shaft and coded the light dusting of pubic hair and had spread to drip off his hips on both sides. He rutted mindlessly against his own hand for a few minutes more chasing ever ascending bubbles of bliss. His jaw hung open, his hair and body covered in sweat, heat rolling off him as though he were running a fever yet still he could not reach his peak, his moans turned to sobs of anguish as he pursued a climax that was constantly just out of reach. His muscle contracted, his heart beat like a machine gun, his cock twitched and spasmed, all to no avail. No! No! No! He wanted to scream with every fiber of his being to roar out his anger and sadness at the uncaring gods who cursed him to live this way, tears streaked down his face as he felt the waves of pleasure begin to crash further and further away from him, for the storm that had gotten him this far to subside. Part of his body began to relax, this was for the best he was pushing himself too hard, this was his new normal and he was condemned to adjust to it. Was he to be denied final satisfaction even after all this momentum had been built up? He snarled in rage, no he looked down at himself and saw that his cock had turned a pained shade of purple and was gushing precum with anticipation, he was so close just a few more strokes, just a bit of a tighter grip, and he would come, come like people all over the world did every day and, he would spend a precious few seconds gliding on a cloud of euphoria. He would be alive again. Clays hips jerked and bucked wildly as, his stomach clenched and his toes curled in anticipation of Nirvana. He let out a guttural, wanton moan, half pleading with his body and have commanding it to finish this, to let his live for just a few seconds, to let him feel. Tears streamed down his face as the pleasure turned to pain and his body refused. Clayton’s desperate wail of sorrow was cut off by a sharp pain in his chest. Agony brought him back to himself and through eyes that could see all too clearly he heard an alarm shrieking on his phone and Mercy burst through the door, her fingers keying in 911 and bringing it halfway to her ear before she got a good look at her employer. The shame roasted Clay alive.

An hour later after a litany of apologies and offers to find her better employment elsewhere and incoherent sobs, he whispered a stuttered explanation of his situation to Beatrice through the phone that Mercy held to his shaking body. His salvation arrived an hour after that. Mercy opened the door to his sprawling penthouse apartment and brought him a simple black blindfold which she affixed for him with customary professionalism. Clayton’s world was reduced to sounds than, he heard the enticing click of high heels on tile as a third person entered his bedroom. “Hello Clayton, I am Madame Olivia, I am a professional intimacy expert, a sexual surrogate, I’ve been informed of your difficulties and asked by Dr. Mensah to lend my talents to provide you with some relief and sense of normalcy. The blindfold was my suggestion as I worried that seeing my face might cause you to feel a sense of shame or unworthiness.” Do I have your consent to proceed?” Clay nods, her voice rings out, gentle yet firm, “Speak when spoken to Clay.” He shudders as a breathless Yes” escapes him. I am going to start out with small but intimate touches and we shall go from there until you give me a safe word.” Clay, what shall be your safeword?” she asked in a tone that spoke in equal measures of clinical competence and indulgent care. With absolute certainty Clay spoke the word “awake.” “And what shall be your return signal if you wish to resume our activities after you’ve used your safeword?” “Starving,” he says with an unfiltered honesty that surprises him.” “Very well.” Her voice is like warm honey, enticing and comforting all at once, but she speaks no more she advances upon him.

Clay has started to drip with anticipation again as he hears the click of her heels signal her approach. Each sharp, sure step a herald of his impending salvation. He whimpers as delicate, elegant fingers encircle his own, he’s only able to stand the rush of emotion and Ron need it comes from the simple pleasure of holding her hand for a pair of minutes before tears prick his eyes and he’s reminded of how pathetic he is before he gasps out his safeword. Instantly the hand is gone from his, as if by magic. If her touch had lit him aflame, her absence had frozen him he’s only able to bear one minute of wintry isolation and a fear of never having this opportunity again before he gasps out the return signal. They spend hours like that in a tortuously slow dance of advance and retreat, her hand moves from his to his forearm to his shoulder to his neck. He can only stand a few minutes of each touch at a time but even sooner he’s calling out for her again. She gently massages his neck and he mewls with pleasure. Only stopping her because he feels as though he could come from this alone. After his retreat is canceled and she moves forward once more her enchanted, soft hands caress his hair and rub gently against his scalp. He’s floating on waves of satisfaction. Eventually her fingers brushed delicately over the blindfold and he imagines that he can feel them running ever so gently over his eyelids themselves. Over the course of another few minutes she makes her way down to his nipples and begins to work them so much more softly than he had, he cries from the pleasure. She trails her hand over his abdominal muscles rubbing gentle circles into the quivering flesh. When he thinks that she’ll at last reaches caulk she takes a detour and skips over entirely and begins rubbing gently at his feet, massaging them with oil, that warm and has him twitching and gasping from the sensation of pleasure it’s causing to run through his body. They have to take five separate breaks before she is able to complete her work with his feet. Satisfied, she runs her hands back up his body and gently encircles his drenched caulk in her hand, his fluids mixed with the oil on her hands and create a divine sliding sensation free of all but the barest trace of friction behind the blindfold his eyes rolled back in his head. It feels so different from when he had done it in that ill advised session earlier, her hand is much smaller and more delicate than his own, the feel it creates is velvety. It smelled different the first time too, his fumbling attempts had filled the room with the smell of sex, sweat, and desperation combined with the odor of sadness. Now his senses are filled with the gentle floral notes of her perfume, some spice that seems to be emanating from the oil she uses, the faintest trace of his own arousal. The sounds are different as well, before they had been wild and desperate now his soft sighs, whimpers, groans, and moans, along with murmured pleas gently collide with the otherwise quiet air around them. She fondles his balls and works his shaft, tweaking and pulling just so. They are however engaged in a delicate balancing act, her mission is to help them achieve orgasm without putting too much strain on his body. It would be easy this would be over in a matter of minutes instead of the hours it’s taken so far if he could handle even the slightest bit of rougher or more frantic treatment. But the flame of pleasure inside him needs to be gently stoked and built up over time so that it does not burn him again. Eventually her hands wander back up and down his body in soothing patterns that he is not quite aware of. She returns and applies a helping of oil here and there massaging his chest tweaking his nipples in a heavenly rhythm and allowing his cock to relax and soften again before making another attempt. The edges of anger and desperation well up inside Clay and he begs her to be just a bit rougher with him let her nails dig into his skin to get this over with so that he no longer has to be spread out and vulnerable before her so that he can get off just like any other god damn young man in the city. She gives no verbal response instead she merely places her hand against his throat and squeezes gently, the most gentle of threats. His mouth goes dry as she massages his Adam’s apple and he murmurs an apology even as he can feel himself spilling a bit of pre-come at this change in dynamic.

There’s one part of his body that she’s avoided so far the garishly ugly scar that came with his new hollow existence. Clay can even bring himself to look upon it in the mirror. Eventually she slowly let her fingers trace it and he gasps as the sensitive scar tissue reacts to attach and waves of pleasure rolled down his body. He wants to stop her he wants to beg her not to do that not to remind him what he is not here in this safe place where it’s just the two of them under Mercy’s watchful eye. In response to his mumbled protests she merely presses harder against scar rubbing soft little circles into it that have him making a high keening sound somewhere between distress and pleasure. Tears fall freely from his eyes and soak the blindfold as he shakes his head vigorously but he cannot bring himself to use the safeword. She must sense that he’s conflicted about this because she redoubles her efforts rubbing it gently and stoking the flame of pleasure that she spent hours coaxing to life and to reaching new heights safely. Clayton can feel himself dripping, that’s not new he’s been absolutely soaked and alternating between rock hard and soft but hypersensitive in this slow burn arousal he’s been feeling for what feels like an eternity now. “Let go,” she commands. Clayton can only desperately shake his head filled with the new fear that if he does come that the fire will burn him again and stop his heart and he’ll die right here right now, he doesn’t like the way he’s living but he doesn’t want to die he’s terrified suddenly petrified of what the end of this night of pleasure will mean. “You’re safe, I’ve got you,” let go she impresses upon him yet again. Clayton is openly sobbing now. He knows he could use the safeword and bring this to an end but he’s trapped between death by fire and death by ice because he knows that stopping her before she’s done will kill him just as surely as allowing her to finish. “Let go,” Her words are infused with an unshakable authority as though she’s an angel giving a pronouncement from on high. Faced with that command, Clayton begins to relax, plenty of people say they want to die during sex. If this is how his life is going to end it’s not such a bad way to spend his final few moments he thinks, wryly. She leads him right up to the edge. No longer fighting his resisting body he allows himself to get closer and closer to oblivion pre-come pouring from his cock and his entire body shuddering, loud noises of pleasure leaving his mouth, but he’s unable to take that final step, to allow himself to plummet into a free fall of pleasure, until she presses a lingering kiss to the scar adorning his chest and says “Good boy.” Clayton’s world explodes. He hadn’t ever realized what the slow journey up the hill of pleasure could feel like, always concerned with raising up the mountain. It’s as though he’s burning but not with heat, as though he swallowed liquid sunlight all his nerve endings dance in pleasure, as electricity travels up and down his spine, his muscles clench for all their worth one final time and for the moment right before release he suspended in beautiful agony before his muscles relax and a euphoric moan leaves him as his cock spurts wave after wave of cum in the air, painting his stomach, torso, lashes and brows in his own seed. Tears, sweat and cum stain him and blend together as he collapses back onto his pillow and falls asleep, a beatific smile, his first since he died, adorning his angelic face He’s finally alive again.

#clay beresford #smut #awake

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sierrabinondo · 4 years

Text

2020

damn my last tumblr post is the last day of woodland creatures, did i not do a 2019 wrap up?? i feel like i did. oh well lmao

so, arguably the most tumultuous year in modern history (at least, american history- all pandemic and political events considered) is about to come to a close. it was very not fun experiencing a pandemic as millions lost their loved ones to covid. i was part of the 20% of people that became unemployed as a result of the economy taking a huge dump. i would not want to experience this same year again if it meant that every life lost could be saved. with the year i was given, i made the best out of it that i could.

like every other person on this earth (except for where the virus was already spreading), this year started out normal as hell for me. i was hating my job but chugging through each week, with the occasional show to worry about and then planning our band’s 2020 release plans. despite my salaried job, i was barely making enough to put anything away in savings, forthcoming disney trip aside. i really felt like i was putting in all this work at a full time job just to barely stay afloat and it grated at my soul. i don’t dream of labor, and i only take jobs like this because nothing i am passionate about truly makes money and the marketing jobs i would actually care about are never available to me/never come to fruition after submitting myself for consideration.

disney was a huge highlight of my year despite being deathly sick. i keep wondering if i had covid (i never figured it out), but it sure as hell felt like it. i feel like if i did have it i would have passed it on to jeremiah and his family but i didn’t. i could still kinda taste, but not smell because i had the worst sinus infection i ever had in my entire fucking life. like i know i get them a lot but really, holy shit. i really had it bad. it started when we were in the studio the 2nd to last weekend of february on the last studio day. i had to go back to the studio several months later because i was that unsatisfied with how the vocals came out. i didn’t want to fuck up these releases and have my performance be mid so i was willing to pay to have to re-do everything. i assumed if this was like any other sinus infection, it would go away in a week.

lmao.

i had that infection for THREE WHOLE FUCKING WEEKS. i played a show with that monster sinus infection, and went to disney with it. i went two weeks without meds because i really was convinced it would go away on its own. before we left for disney i finally got antibiotics at urgent care and couldn’t drink most of the trip which sucked. but that finally did the job, and the infection waned when we returned from disney. despite being physically weak, in pain (there was one friday my body pains were so horrible that jeremiah contemplated taking me to the hospital), and leaking snot all over my sleeves the entire trip (LIKE IT WAS THAT UNCONTROLLABLE. I HAD NEVER GONE THROUGH THAT MANY PACKS OF TISSUES IN MY LIFE. I WAS LEAKING SO MUCH I HAD TO LOCATE THE BABY CHANGING STATION IN MAGIC KINGDOM. IT WAS LIKE A SECRET STERILIZED TROVE OF HAND SANITIZER, WIPES, TISSUES AND BABY OIL.) i had an amazing time at disney. and it was my first time going with a significant other so it was incredibly fun. it was also a wonderful opportunity to spend time with his family. the only very not fun part was missing our nephew in the main street parade because some bozos fucked up the info they gave my sister-in-law and we were out walking around when his high school band had actually marched earlier than we thought.

it’s funny, because that weekend after we returned was the last weekend of “freedom” everyone had before lockdown. we were weary of covid while in florida but still living it up on vacation. at that time, there had only been 3 cases in orlando. 3!!!! i had plans to go to a party once home but i cancelled only because i still wasn’t completely out of the woods and 100% well again. i felt so bad cancelling because it was for my friend’s party and she never really did parties usually :( and i thought it wouldn’t be a good idea considering i may or may not have had covid.

then... the following week came.

monday we got a weird email from our CEO saying there was going to be salary cuts and that it was essential for the company to survive a downturn. i pouted but my parents consoled me saying it was better than nothing; maybe look for a new job. and then- i got the nothing! a day or two later, i was let go. and i could tell my manager was absolutely not souped to be giving me this call at all. she literally prefaced it like, “this sucks, but-” and gave me the news. and i was utterly devastated, sobbing controllably, because i was just scraping by on this income to begin with. and i had JUST, finally, received health insurance through this job. i was asked to continue working through friday the 20th, which i would be paid for, and then i would have to return my laptop and any other work materials (like printouts and promo stuff) i had possession of.

that day and the days following i had coworkers calling me or emailing me telling me they were so sorry. i was the first to be let go, and they were kind enough to extend words of encouragement to me. clients i worked closely with, a couple of them around my age, assured me that i could use them as a reference. many of my colleagues were my higher-ups, but were very down-to-earth people. one call that stuck out to me was from my colleague sarah.

sarah was candid with me and said, “y’know how i was unemployed for 6 months?” i knew this well though we had only worked together for a year and a half; it was an important part of her path to where she was in her career now and why she chose it. she continued, “those were the best 6 months of my life.”

and i would come to find out that yes, me too being unemployed was the best fucking time of my entire goddamn adult life.

when i posted i was officially unemployed i had an outpouring of support from my friends, and received enough animal crossing commissions to pay one month’s rent. the first day i finally felt peace was when i was sitting on my porch on an abnormally warm march day playing animal crossing following my last day at my company. it was like the universe was giving me a hug and telling me everything was going to be all right.

what would come was a pretty chaotic couple of months. jeremiah, my roommate and i would stay up until 3 am either watching anime or playing video games, subsequently sleeping until 11 am or noon. pair having fun, drinking (mostly me lmao) and lounging about with the scary realization that thousands of people every day were dying of covid and it could be my high-risk parents. i would cry at night and be so fucking scared. my sibling would tell me my family was being reckless, running unnecessary errands, and whenever my dad showed up to drop off food or necessities i would cry because i couldn’t hug him. i’m even getting choked up thinking about it now. and it was a fear that returned during the second spike around the holidays because it is the loss i fear the most.

amidst this really horrible time, i would play games almost every other night online with my friends and it was so much fucking fun because all of us were either unemployed, furloughed or working from home. we’d laugh so goddamn hard our voices were hoarse. one of my favorite memories is playing quiplash with the creatureposting gang and then my big friends from college. and a really fun night in particular was SIIE release night, i popped a bottle of champagne and got absoluely zonked lmao. every few days i would have something to look forward to, some sort of virtual plans with my friends. this would continue until july when my friends were slowly starting to go back to work.

most of my early quarantine days were as follows: wake up, watch anime, work on commissions for most of the day, order extremely good food for delivery, play video games, and then bed. at one point commissions became so overwhelming i started to get slower at churning them out. though this became a daunting project, WOW it really forced me to become a better artist. and this year i got to spend so much more time drawing, which was fantastic.

one thing i DID NOT spend a lot of time on at all? ugh. MUSIC. FUCKING MUSIC. i barely touched my guitar, stopped writing lyrics after july, and barely completed the instrumentals for about 3 songs. the only thing i consistently practiced was singing (because i would literally curl up and die if i didn’t). do you have any idea how much i blabbed to my therapist in 2019 about how much i would get done if i didn’t work full time and could just focus on my creative endeavors? and then life HANDED that shit to me on a silver platter the following year. i really did nothing insane musically with my time. and now i am really kicking myself for it. if i think about it, it was mostly because i was so exhausted from doing AC commissions, and partly because i was really intimidated about the prospect of struggling through songwriting. now i really wish that i had tried.

one thing i started doing this year was streaming. i originally planned to just do it for fun, because i am horrible at video games and i really didn’t expect much out of it. i thought it would be cool if my friends could watch me play animal crossing. and then i unfortunately learned that this 3rd expensive pasttime is actually really, really, really fun. i started to spend half my week streaming and it led me to either getting closer to some online friends i only talked to a lil previously and making new friends. viewers would ask me if i continue to stream after the pandemic was over, and i enthusiastically assured them i would. and i meant it. even with the difficulties of returning to work and the band playing shows again considered, i really wanted to. i don’t get invited to things anymore anyway, so fuck it if that’s what i stand to lose lmao.

when the curve flattened in jersey i decided to become lenient again and start meeting with my bandmates. we spent the year trying to finish some new material and chip away at what work we have to do for the full length (yes, a full length). we had plans to tour this year and it sucks that fell through. we also had plans to do so much more content during the pandemic and we faltered under the stress of... well, existing in a pandemic. we did finally get to drop a new single though, and the difference in hype now vs when we dropped our last work was incredible. i am so thankful we were able to build an audience with nothing new for two years. i still often beat myself up because god every day i look around me, at our peers, and wonder where the fuck we’ve gone wrong to have such a slow build. and even daily just trying to stand out and prove that we have cut our teeth/deserve a chance is so demoralizing. i feel like it’s even worse than before. i literally have to talk to myself out loud, both alone and during interviews lmao, to remind myself that we truly have accomplished so much. and to take in and appreciate the little positive things. because this could all be over in a second. and this won’t be forever. the older we get the more we are risking for this, both time and resources, and it won’t do to let myself get bogged down over my inner competitive voice. but god it’s hard. like even with new music we still didn’t even TOUCH any of the goal numbers we set for ourselves in may. though we did put out less music than we had planned, and we really hope to change that in 2021 forreal.

there was a single we were supposed to put out this year that’s on hold due to some pending assets but goddamn. if we really don’t break some sort of ceiling with this one i don’t know what will. i have the strongest gut feeling about the next single and in my opinion, it’s the best one we’ve had to date. when we play it at shows, the air in the room sometimes shifts. i’m eager to see what the response is and i’m so ready to push it with everything i have.

fuck this is getting so much longer than i planned i have to try to wrap this up lmao.

with our government stimmy money we turned around and got the dog of our dreams. we figured, i’d be home enough to watch him, and it was finally goddamn time. it’s why we moved into a house and not into another apartment. i was so scared meeting the puppy parents, and totally on edge the entire day. we went out to meet the breeder to test my allergies and see how i would react. samoyeds are not 100% perfectly hypoallergenic, but they were often lauded for being so. honestly? i still didn’t feel confident after two hours with the dogs because the pollen out there was bad (one of my WORST allergies) and i had mysterious hives on my arms i couldn’t figure out where they came from. for months jeremiah and my parents had to calm my nerves and remind me i lived with 3 cats before i moved out (i’m more allergic to cats) and that i would be fine. i had to do a lot of work on myself to get out of my own way about being excited about finally owning the dog of my dreams.

this little fucking boy. i couldn’t believe he was real. neither in the pictures i often looked at about 20 times a day on the breeder’s facebook page nor when we went to meet him. and he was truly, truly perfect. our little shithead. when we went to go pick him out, he sat apart from his puppy pile of brothers, sniffing around the room and trying to rip off his ribbon collar. we locked eyes and he fuCKING APPROACHED ME. i could not fathom any other puppy in the room being brawly. this was the one. we could already tell he was a mischevious smartass, because once he untied his ribbon he proceeded to rip off the ribbons of all the other puppies. but he was the cutest, flopping over on his back when you were near to get belly rubs.

ever since we have picked him up he has simultaneously been the biggest joy in our lives and the most source of stress lmao. that first week, and the next couple, werE FUCKING ROUGH. i had a horrible anxiety attack when i couldn’t calm him for bedtime the first saturday he was home and i was loudly sobbing to jeremiah that i couldn’t handle this shit lmao. he was so scared i was having regrets but i am just a fucking anxious wreck and not used to having a DOG!! this is my first dog!!! but while i can remember what life was like before him i cannot imagine going back. the first time he got sick and we took him to the emergency vet i cried so hard. when he is wagging his tail happy to see me and he looks like a fuckin seal because his ears are folded back it is the best feeling. i’m so excited for when he gets older and we’re vaccinated for covid so that we can take him on so many adventures. he is truly the best.

there is so much more i want to say but this is long as shit. this is even painful for me to read lmao. it’s always been for me, a guy with dogshit memory, to remember everything, but so, so much happened. so i’m gonna wrap up the real descriptive stuff with this.

being unemployed allowed me to just experience life. to wake up each day, enjoy the sun in my backyard, have time to try new recipes, go for long walks, GET A DOG, get better at art, get better at singing, spend more time with friends (virtually), bond even harder with my amazing, beautiful boyfriend, create amazing work with my bandmates, improve at video games, connect with people all over the world, and so much more. all my life i let money dictate my every move. i am insanely privileged to have experienced this but when i had to just live within my means off unemployment i did just fine. i once believed i was perpetually indebted to my employer when i was discarded like it was nothing. i can get a job anywhere and be fine. it strengthened my class consciousness and while i have control over my own destiny it is our country that has so royally screwed us of living the lives we should be living. our lives do not revolve around labor. so until we win the fight and get what we deserve, i will be returning to work next month (full time... in commercial real estate.... again), but i will do whatever it takes to replicate the everlasting feeling of joy i felt this year for the rest of my godforsaken life. if that means struggling for 2021 to build up my twitch channel and the band, working 9 hour days and then streaming/writing music for another 4, so be it. i felt from a young age i was not destined to live a normal life and that feeling has stayed with me no matter how much i have tried to play the game of life as i have been told. i finally have the confidence to pave the life i want.

so, if you are here at this very spot because you read everything, thank you. if you are here because you scrolled to see how long this was, here’s the TLDR of my best parts of 2020:

- tapping out cover

- the 2 shows we played lmao, maybe 3 tops

- disneyworld

- ACNH outside on the porch on release day in warm weather

- making banana bread

- learning how to BRINE meats

- watching anime until 3 am, namely the time we watched pokemon journeys until 3 am

-watching so. much. anime.

-watching livestream concerts with my friends (the chon one was a real good time)

-playing jackbox with my creatureposting friends, the volcano saga (if u know u know)

-playing jackbox with my big friends

-the first time we ever had panchos and juanchos

-finally having sushi again after painful cravings and being grumpy

-the first time we had chinese food again after the lockdown began

-hitting the punching bag for the first time in forever (my dad bought me one)

-the first time we had ramen in forever

-surprising joe with cake at his doorstep for his birthday (we thought he would be the only one with a pandemic birthday lmao)

-playing monopoly and wheel of fortune on the switch, surprisingly having fun

-jeremiah’s birthday

-getting PAID for my ART

-writing + recording ONE (1) acoustic demo

-finally finishing the singles, fixing the vocals

-shooting band promos

-unus annus

-meeting samoyeds

-meeting BRAWLY

-streaming except for the times 13 year olds cyberbullied me

-my birthday when my mom got me a terrifying singing birthday candle contraption and my sibling curbstomped the shit out of it (i was literally crying laughing like that kind of noiseless laugh cause you’re laughing that hard)

- getting the stamp of approval from andrew wells and anthony green

-my friends having their first baby!!!

-dying from thanksgiving charceuterie board

-that week i binged ghibli movies on an hbo max trial and did nothing else

-filling the front porch with plants and most of them SURVIVING the fall, possibly winter but we’ll see in 2021 lmao

- (in general) nailing riffs i fucking sing over and over when practicing but prob won’t get down good enough to sing in front of others lmao

-solo inflatable pool hangs

-thursdays with sarah in the fall playing with the puppy

-the release of the first WSA single in two and a half years

-virtual movie night with sarah watching happiest season

-the music video shoots

-brawly experiencing CHRISTMAS

-receiving really thoughtful gifts from jerry and my parents

-deciding i would work towards being a full time streamer to supplement being a musician

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goldenpctals · 4 years

Photo

TRUTH BOOTH, mackenzie edition

GENERAL QUESTIONS

1. Please state your full name: I’m Mackenzie Juniper Quinn 2. Does your name(s) have any kind of meaning? If so, what is it? I was named ever my mother’s grandmother, Mackenzie and Juniper was my own grandmother. So classic, right? 3. Do you have any nicknames? A few. Kenz, Kenzie 4. Where were you born? And in which country? Born and raised in Brisbane, Queensland. Also known as Australia 5. What is your date of birth? November 1, 1995 6. Of course, the following question; what is your Zodiac sign? Scorpio 7. Do you believe in Zodiac signs? No, they never add up. There is a moment where every now and then, I can relate to a certain post. However, Zodiac signs are just a myth to me 8. Where do you live? I jump between Violet Springs and London 9. What is your home situation like? (ex. do you live with your family? Your partner etc.?) In London, I have my own apartment, but in Violet Springs, I live with Theo. I have an apartment in London because of my work duties 10. Do you have any siblings? I have one twin brother named Sebestian who constantly reminds me that he is the oldest by 30 seconds. Sad 11. Do you have any kind of allergies? Peanut allergy 12. Do you own any pets? If so, what kind of pets are they? Do snakes back home in Australia count? We usually occur a wild snake every now and then. They keep seem to come back? 13. Why did you apply to St Jude’s? My mom recommended it to me and eventually, I had a scholarship 14. Did you had to go through a lot audition rounds? No, I was discovered 15. What is the current course you’re following? Acting, mostly on screen/tv 16. If you can switch courses, which one would you switch to and why? Producing. It’s a new journey I’m starting at the moment 17. What is your proudest project you’ve done? I, Tonya 18. What is the proudest project that someone’s else has done? Anything Mason does. His work is absolutely fascinating 19. Do you like FanCons? I do 20. What do you like about FanCons? The answer would be pretty obvious, but meeting fans and getting to know them 21. What don’t you like about FanCons? Too personal questions. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s FanCon and fans will ask questions, but some are unbelievably severe 22. A fan memory that always stuck with you? Can be positive or negative. Whenever they dress up as Harley Quinn. That always stays absolutely adorable 23. Your favorite event so far? I love any kind of award show 24. What kind of event would you like to see in the future? Maybe some kind of camping / surviving trip? 25. Would you recommend St Jude’s to friends, family. etc? Depends. If you handle the pressure and you are career-focused, then yes. If you can’t handle the drama, then no

PERSONALITY QUESTIONS

26. What are your positive traits? Passionate, purposeful and patient. The 3 P’s that Quinn’s usually swear by 27. What are you negative traits? Incredibly stubborn and a little too fierce 28. What would other people describe you as? I hope positive things. But I know some of them have a lot to say other wise, oops 29. What are your pet peeves? Picking men over your friends 30. What makes you happy? Family, genuine friends, working 31. What makes you upset? The classic: ‘seeing one of my loved ones upset’ 32. What is something you love? Working. I’m a workaholic 33. What is something you dislike? Being so proud of something and then not getting the recognision that everyone deserves 34. What are you strengths? I would like to say that I’m organised? 35. What are you weaknesses? Picking my head over my heart. Poor choices have been made, unfortunately 36. A misconception people often think of you? That I’m a spoiled brat, probably. Little did they know, everything I’ve done, has been acchieved by me, myself and I 37. Do you have any fears? Yes, but I’m passing this one since I have 3 passes 38. What scares you the most? Tiny holes. They are awful 39. What do you do to entertain yourself? Work out, go shopping or be around my friends 40. What is your MBTI? My MBTI type is ESFP 41. How do you deal with stress? Talk to Amber, she is like my personal therapist 42. Are you a determined person? Are you a stubborn person? Stubborn, very 43. Do you consider yourself selfish? I am. However, since when is this a bad thing? You should be looking out for yourself? 44. Would you like to be different? No, I don’t 45. Are you more introverted (focused on your inner world) or more extraverted (focused on other people and the outer world)? Extraverted

ROMANCE QUESTIONS

46. What is your sexual orientation? My sexuality is: Heterosexual 47. Current relationship status? I’ve been in a relationship with Theo Carmichael for a couple of years now, even when we had our low moments, I still adore him 48. When was your first kiss? Behind a bar, I was drunk and snuck out of my house 49. Do you remember your first date? If so, with who was it? What did you do? Yes, it was that awful that I’m sparing you the details. You’re welcome! 50. Have you ever experienced heart-break? Pass 51. Have you ever been in love? (If yes, skip to question 53) I have! 52. If no, how so? n/a 53. How do you know when you’re in love? Honestly, this was pretty hard for me to answer. I have experienced multiple relationships in my past and with Theo, things were just different. There was so much more and he opened up a whole new world to me by being so patient and understand 54. What would be your ideal date? Take me on an adventure and you’re good to go 55. What is your perspective on marriage? Being pressured into marriage is never good. My parents tend to do so. However, I would love to get married someday. 56. (only for non-virgins) Are you a sub, dom or switch? You had the audicity to ask that? 57. What do you think of relationships? If you’re in love, then it’s wonderful. I wish people stopped getting their lonely souls mixed into business they shouldn’t even be in 58. What do you think of one-night stands? Used to, but it’s a no for me, thanks 59. Are you still a virgin? No, I’m not 60. Most attractive trait in a different person? Passion 61. What matters most to you when it comes to a relationship? Being truthful to one another and talk things out if there is something to talk about. I’m still learning this myself 62. Are you comfortable with PDA? Or would you be comfortable with PDA? Not the biggest fan, but I don’t really mind it? 63. Are you more of a type to be asked out or the type to ask the other out? The one to be asked out 64. How do you express love to the other? *looks away at Theo* 65. Who is your celebrity crush? If I don’t say my boyfriend, he will probably ignore me for a solid week and come back with a replacement for me. Probably a dog. So, my boyfriend, Theo

GETTING DEEP QUESTIONS

66. Do you regret anything? Yes, I do 67. Is there something you woule like to re-do? So, start all over again? There are a couple of things yes. But that’s for me to know and for you to dot.. dot.. dot.. 68. What is something you would never share with anyone? What happened in Brisbane on July 20, 2012 (OOC: This is that her secret happened) 69. When was the last time you cried? Why did you cry? Yesterday. Sometimes I tend to get overwhelmed by the pressure of my parents. Bash thinks he isn’t their favorite and always calls me out for being the favorite. I don’t think he knows what they want me to be 70. Most memorable event that happened in your time in St Judes? This could be anything: I almost drowned whenever the ship sunk. This happened twice. Twice? Like, excuse me? Did St Judes raised their insurance policy? I hope they did 71. One thing you wish you could do all over? See question 67 72. Someone you miss? People leave for a reason. It is what it is 73. Something you wish you could forget? Once again, July 20 2012 74. Who has the biggest impact on you? Disney has a pretty big impact on me. She is definitely someone I look up to, a lot. Also my mom or my grandmother 75. What is your perspective on love? Is it beautiful? Does it scare you? It shouldn’t be scary. If love scares you, are you ready for it? 76. What has hurt you in the past that you don’t want others to go through? Hm, can’t really think of something? 77. What is something you have gained, something you have lost and something you let go of during the past year? Gained: More confidence in my work. Lost? “Friends”. Let go of: Chopping my hair so short 78. Have you ever lost a friend? do you wish you would still be friends? Yes and no. 79. Do you have any triggers? What is the history behind these triggers and are they related to any disorders or mental illnesses? I don’t 80. If you could meet your 16 year old self, what would tell them? That life isn’t really that painful and that I should really get a sense of fashion.........

RANDOM QUESTION ROUND

81. Summer or Winter? Summer, any day 82. Cats or dogs? Dogs 83. Beach or mountains? Beaches, but I love the mountain view more 84. Phone calls or texting? Phone calls 85. Have you ever skipped class? Rarely

#stjudestruthbooth #q.

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jjmaybanksbaby · 4 years

Text

monsters | kiara carrera

gif by @jjmaybnk

summary: Kiara opens up to the Pogues about her struggles with anxiety and depression.

tw: discussion of depression & anxiety, panic attack

requested? yes

a/n: taking care of your mental health is so so important. i do wanna preference this by saying that a lot of what kie goes through is based off my own struggles with bad anxiety. to anyone struggling with your mental health please remember: you are never alone. it does get better, hang in there just a little longer.

——————————————————————————

Kiara hated everything about the idea of being a Kook. She made it her life mission to be the furthest thing from a one. She couldn’t stand the way they threw their money around like it would never run around. The way they didn’t seem to care if they hurt other people as long as they were advancing their own interest. What she hated the most was the insurmountable pressure to be perfect that came with being a Kook. Kiara had seen first hand how that pressure could ruin people because it almost ruined her.

Midway through her Kook year, Kiara had began to slip into a mild depression. She started missing school because she couldn’t will herself to get out of bed. Kiara’s mom had suffered with depression from a young age so when she noticed Kie start to do some of the same things she did when the dark clouds moved in, she took Kie to see a therapist who helped her figure out the right medication. With a combination of the two, Kie started to perk back up.

Kie really started to feel like herself again when she transferred to Kildare County High School and reconnected with JJ, Pope and John B. Being around the Pogues was so easy, they didn’t demand perfection from her.

But Kiara kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. She kept waiting for something to come and drag her back to that dark place she’d been freshman year. No matter how wild and fun the adventures with the Pogues were, she couldn’t seem to make that achy feeling in her stomach go away.

It didn’t help that college application season was starting and her parents keep trying to pull Kie back into the Kook life. She got it: her parent’s only wanted what was best for her. They wanted her to have the same opportunities they had. But what Kie really wanted was for things not to change. She didn’t wanted to think about high school ending and the Pogues splitting up. She didn’t want to move to a school far away and start over. She was terrified of change but how could she possible tell her parents that. So she stayed quiet, letting that horrible feeling eat away at her a little more each day.

Kie had woken up early that morning and went down to the beach to surf as the sun came up, desperately trying to clear her mims. Currently, she was throwing some essential in a bag before she headed to the chateau to spend the day with the boys.

She just about to walk out the front door when her mother called her name from the kitchen.

“Kiara, come in here please. There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

Kie closed her eyes for a second, trying to muster the courage to walk into the kitchen. Recently, her mother had been parading admission counselor after admission counselor in front of her in some desperate attempt to get Kie excited about college. Earlier this week it had been Mr. Devon from Northwestern and the week before that, Mrs. Rockster from UNC. Kie could only imagine who was waiting for her today.

Kiara pasted a smile on her face and headed into the kitchen, mentally calculating how long it would be before she could make her escape.

“Honey, this is Ms. Cabot from William & Mary. My alma mater, you remember?”

Ms. Cabot stuck out her hand and Kiara shook it half hearted. “Your mother tells me you want to study business. That’s a sensible major.”

Kiara snuck a glance at her mother.

Business, really? She thought. They had never talked about what Kie wanted to major in, mostly because every time her parents tried Kie found an excuse to escape the conversation. The idea of college made Kie so anxious she wanted to throw up.

“William & Mary has an outstanding business program. Your mother knows, she experienced it first hand.”

Kie’s mother threw her head back in an exaggerated laugh. “Those where the days.”

“Mom, I’m supposed to be meeting my friends right now. I...” Kie trailed off.

“Honey, why don’t you sit down and let Ms. Cabot tell you about William & Mary.” Kie saw her mother’s smile get a little tighter and she knew she wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text to the Pogues to let them know she wouldn’t be coming today before sliding onto a stool at the island.

...

A few days later after her mom’s latest college ambush, Kie and other Pogue were arriving back at the chateau after spending all day out on the water. There was a party at the Boneyard later that night but Kie wanted to stop at home to shower and change before they went. She grabbed her backpack and went to step onto the dock. Suddenly, her vision went blurry and she had grab the railing on the dock to stop herself from falling. Everyone but Pope had been to busy doing their own thing to notice what had just happened.

“You good, Kie?” Pope asked.

Kie nodded in her head without turning around to face him. “See you later.” She replied as she started to walk to her car. Kie placed a hand on her stomach which had suddenly started to hurt very badly. As Kie replayed the day in her head, she realized she had barely eaten anything all day. She’d had a banana for breakfast and nothing for lunch.

Kie’s pulse started to race. One of the signs that her mental health was starting go downhill was when she stopped eating without realize it. Kie felt a few tears collecting in her eyes but she willed them to disappear. She wasn’t ready to accept that maybe her mental health was getting a lot worse than she wanted.

...

The Boneyard party was already in full swing when Kie arrived. She’d taken a nice, long shower when she’d gotten home and eaten a full meal to make sure she didn’t have a repeat of this afternoon. The boys cheered when they saw Kie approaching the keg.

JJ let out a high pitch whistle. “Damn Kie. You aren’t leaving anything up to the imagination tonight.”

Kie rolled her eyes at JJ’s comment. She’d spent quite a while picking out the perfect outfit before finally settling on a pair of high wasted white-washed jean shorts and a flowy bikini top that she felt uber confident in.

The night had been going alright for the most party. Kie had danced a little bit, had a few drinks and doged a couple of Touron’s offers to hookups. Kie was sitting around the bonefire with JJ and some other locals who she half knew when the conversations turned to college. Kie felt that familiar gut wrenching feeing at the sheer mention of college. She took a deep breath in, trying to make sure no one could see how anxious the conversation was making her feel.

“Right, Kiara?” Kie perked up at the sound of her name. It was coming from brunette girl who Kie had had history class with last semester.

Isn’t her name Megan? Or maybe Molly? Kie thought. “Yeah?” She said out loud.

“Well we were just saying how college applications aren’t even stressful for you cause you’re basically a Kook and you can just pay for a library or something if you don’t get in.” The brunette said.

Kie felt her heart start to beat so fast it blocked out all other noises.

This girl doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She doesn’t know you. It’s okay. Just laugh it off. Kie thought. But her palms were extra sweaty and her throat felt dry even despite the drinks she’d had. Kie knew she needed to get away from this party.

She turned to JJ. “I...um...I’m gonna go back to...I’m gonna...I’ll be at the chateau.” Kie said tripping on her own words.

She handed JJ what was left in her cup and then began to leave the party. Kie tried to even out her breath but it was becoming harder and harder to breathe. Tears flooded her eyes and her shoulders began to shake from her sobs. She made it to the edge of the Boneyard before she had sit down. Her thoughts were running faster than she could comprehend them. She felt overwhelmed and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

Unexpectedly, Kie felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked over to see JJ sitting in the sand next to her.

“You left so fast- are you okay?” JJ could see the panic on Kie’s face. “Wait here,” he said. “I’m getting the others.”

Kie hung her head between her legs and closed her eyes to focus on slowing down her breath while JJ searched for John B and Pope. Her thought had begun to slow when the three boys showed up.

Pope plopped down next to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. John B sat down close to Kie on her other side. JJ stood above them awkwardly before sitting down too.

“What’s up?” Pope asked her. “JJ said you were upset about something some chick said?”

Kie wiped the tears off her face with her palms before looking up at the boys. “It’s actually more than that,” she began. “I never told you guys this but during my Kook year I had a few really dark months. I had been doing a lot better but lately with all this college talk and stuff, it’s been getting bad again. When that girl made a comment about me being a Kook it just- just pushed me over the edge. I’ve spent so much time running from all the pressures of Figure Eight but I can’t really escape them. And my mom, she keeps parading admission officers in front of me like it’s gonna make me fall in love with the idea of college or something.” By the time Kie stopped talking, a whole new set of tears were streaming down her face and her voice cracked on the last words. But she felt such relif to finally tell someone how she was feeling.

Pope pulled her a little closer to him and Kie rested her head on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, JJ probably doesn’t even know how to spell admission officer.” Pope said.

“He’s right. I don’t.” JJ replied which caused Kie to laugh a little.

If there was one thing the Pogues knew how to do was make her laugh, no matter the situation.

“Have you told your mom how you feel?” John B asked her.

“No.” Kie said. “She has these dreams of me getting into some Ivy League college and I- I just don’t want to upset her.”

“Maybe you should talk to her?” JJ offered.

Kie took a long, deep breathe. Her mom had been her saving grace during her depression. But Kie could already picture the hurt on her mom’s face after she’d told she wasn’t interested in any of the schools her mom wanted her to attend.

“Whatever you decide to do, we’re always gonna be here for you Kie.” JJ said, placing his hand on top of her’s.

“Yeah.” John B agreed. “Pogues for life. You’re never gettin’ rid of us.”

“Once a pogue, always a pogue.” Pope added.

“C’mon.” JJ said as he stood up. He offered his hand to Kie and pulled her up onto her feet. “Let’s go back to the chateau and watch some shitty movie. This party is dead anyway.” He slung his arm across Kie’s shoulder and she leaned on him as they walked out of the Boneyard.

“I love you guys.” Kie said glancing at her three best friends.

“We love you too.” John B replied with a smile.

JJ looked over at Kie before he took off sprinting. “Last one day back to the chateau sleeps on the floor.” He hollered over his shoulder.

The Pogues glanced at each other before running after him. Opening up to the Pogues certainly hadn’t fixed everything but knowing she had them to talk to if she needed made her feel better, even thought they really were knuckleheads half the time.

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thejosh1980 · 4 years

Text

Was it only 6 years...

Today marks a special anniversary day for me.

Each year, when it comes around, I think to my self “nahhhh, don't write anything, don't say anything, let it go by without any fanfare, acknowledgment or celebration”. It's just another day, no one has to know what happened 6 years ago.

However, if there's one thing I've learnt, sharing is caring. Sharing my story may help someone else, it might encourage someone, it might save a life.

To help catch you up, here's a brief history lesson...

This is about the time I visited a German psychiatric hospital. I was admitted, voluntarily, after a night of booze, arguments with my then girlfriend and complete loss of my emotions, my actions and my thoughts. Words like suicide watch were being thrown around too.

I had been in therapy for a couple of years, but hadn't made any huge progress. Later I would find out that on the 5thleading into the morning of the 6th of February, according to my therapist at the time, I did make huge progress.

I had hit my rock bottom.

So what was I going to do about it?

Well, first things first, I had to get out of that hospital. I'd say generally those places are full on and intense for anyone, but this was in Germany, and my German wasn't very good (still isn't) so I felt very uncomfortable that I didn't know what was going on around me and I couldn't communicate with my other “inmates”clearly.

Sleeping in a room of 6, with weird noises and yelling all night, wasn't my idea of a good time.

So after one good night's rest, I spoke with the doctor who recognized I'd sobered up and was very uncomfortable inside those walls. The deal was, I could leave if, and only if:

I stopped drinking

I got plenty of rest/sleep

I did as many things that brought me joy as possible

I see my therapist as soon as possible

And that's exactly what I did.

I haven't had a drink since making that promise, to myself and the doctor, that Saturday morning 6 years ago. I didn't give it much thought at the time. I didn't put any “stop for a month” restrictions on it, I just promised no more. I still try to get the best rest I can each night, I do as many things that bring me joy (especially when I start to feel down) as I can and I stayed in therapy for another 5.5 years.

Pretty simple... right?

Well no, it wasn't...

It's been a rough ride to be honest. When I stopped drinking, stopped self medicating, I had to start looking at myself and I didn't like what I saw. I had to start figuring out why I felt the way I did in social situations, with the bands I was playing with and in my relationships with friends, family and my partner.

I didn't want to go into all of that here, but I did wanted to say, it was a confrontational, intense and very personal experience. I had to learn to accept my flaws, find my boundaries and stick to them, learn to actually talk about my feelings and learn that I have mental health issues, which cannot be ignored.

I had to become selfish too. I don't mean in a angry, mean, spiteful or negative way... But if I wanted to live a healthier lifestyle, I had to begin to put me and my feelings first, not the parties, not the drink and certainly not those who actually didn't care for me.

If I wanted to hang out, I'd stay... If I didn't feel up to being around people, I had to learn to leave, instead of staying and feeling uncomfortable or, even worse, pick up a bottle. Pretty simple rule, but it was hard to put in place at first. I was so used to being the life of the party.

I was humbled yet strengthened by those learning experiences. I still am...

I never considered myself an alcoholic, I only drank in social settings to feel comfortable and I rarely drank at home and more often than not, I was fine without the hooch. However, if I did hit the bottle, I usually did it really good, after all, it was usually free and everyone else was doing it! Why not join in...

It did affect my relationships as well as my mental health in a negative way. It wasn't easy to admit that, it took a few years to finally realize, alcohol just wasn't my friend.

As hard as those first few years were, confronting life without the inhibition boost of alcohol to protect me from my social anxiety, I definitely don't want to go back to being that person.

These days I can't think of any reason to have a drink...

It took about 3 years, at some point I just realized there isn't a reason for me to drink anymore. It's tradition. It's celebratory. It's medicinal. They're really just excuses to get messed up. They're excuses for bad behavior. Excuses for “fitting in”. Excuses for ignoring what's really going on in your life.

I started taking responsibility for my actions and letting go of excuses.

I had a great support system then and now. Back then, while my girlfriend and I were having relationship difficulties, she stepped up and helped me get help when I asked for it. She supported me... I'll always be thankful to her. My family was always understanding of my troubles even if they didn't really know what was going on. Once I got help, they really let me talk things out, supported me and gave me a chance to grow within the family. My band members and friends, once I talked it out, were always there for me, and understood sometimes I needed space, sometimes I needed a friendly ear and sometimes I needed a hug.

Some of us grew into having deeper and more meaningful relationships.

So what was I so afraid of in the first place?

I swapped out the beers, the cocktails and the whiskey parties all night in a loud bar, talkin' shit and being “the man”... to... a calm, quiet chat over a coffee during daylight hours with clear eyes and an open heart... Guess what? I remember the coffee conversations way better than the drunk wild boy nights too!

Asking for help is one of the big things I wish I'd learnt to do earlier in life. Maybe it was a masculine thing. Maybe it was my lack of feeling comfortable with what I perceived as weakness... Who knows... I don't really dwell on the past all that much if I can help it... But I am really glad when I asked, when I called, when I cried, I had good people around me. Unlike when I was drunk and acting the fool, I wasn't laughed at.

So today is a special day for me. We all celebrate Christmas or birthdays... But this one, this one is for me. And each year it's a line drawn in the sand to remind me how far I have come... How much I have grown... That life is a rollercoaster, and since I made those promises to myself 6 years ago, I am in this for the long haul.

If you feel like you might have a problem, you feel overwhelmed or you just need someone to talk to, reach out. Ask for help. Don't be worried about getting help, it could be hard work, but it'll be worth it in the end.

At the very least, give yourself a chance to grow, to change old habits and to learn that life is... what you make of it...

By the way, I'm not saying people can't drink, it's a personal choice. I think what I'm trying to say though is that I was ignorant and arrogant when I was drinking. I just had no idea how much effect it had on my life. It's all about choices, just make the best one for you.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#self growth #AlcoholFree #alcohlism #soberissexy #soberliving

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lakesandquarries · 5 years

Text

After the Storm (Chapter One)

great news everyone! cringe culture is dead and i’m fortnite dancing on its grave. i wrote sonic 2020 fic. please enjoy.

AO3 link

Tom Wachowski’s search history looks like this:

-what do hedgehogs eat

-hedgehog care

-hedgehogs as pets

-can hedgehogs eat hot dogs

-adopting children

-how to raise adopted kid

-ptsd

-neglect

-how to help kid with ptsd

-accidentally adopted a kid

-help for adopted parents

-dr robotnik

-san francisco terrorist attacks

-therapists in my area

-can you tell therapists about illegal stuff

-therapist confidentiality

-how did my life end up like this

-really fast treadmill

Sonic, luckily, walks in while he’s googling the last one.

“What’s that?” he asks, leaning against the couch. Tom shuts his laptop, stretching.

“It’s a secret,” he says, which gets him an eyeroll and a pout. Tom finally glances at the clock for the first time in….two hours, apparently. It’s barely noon. “Did you just wake up?”

Sonic nods, climbing over the arm of the couch to make himself comfortable. His...he doesn’t have eyebrows, per se, but his eyes squint in a way that on a human would look “worried”. “It’s okay you slept in, kiddo. S’been a busy few days.”

“I’ve never slept in a bed before,” Sonic says, which was what Tom has been thinking, but it’s a lot sadder to hear out loud. “Except that time in the hotel! That was a bed. But this one felt way comfier, and way cooler looking, and the blankets were so soft, and honestly I don’t think the other one counts because we were trying not to die and it’s really hard to sleep well like that. This was way better!”

“Hotel beds are weird,” Tom agrees, half listening to Sonic’s rambling. “You want breakfast? Well, I guess it’s brunch now.”

“Food?” Sonic asks, eyes going wider than should be physically possible. Tom assumes that’s a yes. He pushes himself off the couch, Sonic darting ahead to bounce around in the kitchen eagerly.

“You like eggs?” he asks, grabbing the carton from the fridge. Sonic shrugs.

“Never had any before!”

Right. Sonic’s been hiding for most of his life. He seems so much like a normal kid, it’s easy to forget he’s some kind of magic alien.

“Well, what kind of food do you like?”

Sonic shrugs again, climbing up onto the kitchen island. “I dunno! I just kinda eat whatever.” He pauses, going still for the briefest of moments. “If I tell you I did something illegal, are you gonna arrest me?”

Tom shakes his head emphatically. “I’m not gonna arrest you, Sonic.”

“Well….y’know the rat problem the local diner had? And the dumpsters getting broken into and stuff? And how raccoons keep getting everywhere?”

To say Tom is surprised would be a lie. A little sad that Sonic’s apparently been eating garbage for however long, but with everything else knows….yeah, that tracks.

“Kid, how many weird conspiracies around here are actually just you?”

“Pretty much all of them? Except for the cow that got abducted that one time, that wasn’t me!”

“Gonna have to tell Annabelle to scrap her article on the town’s super smart raccoons,” Tom says, with a huff of laughter. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. No more breaking into grocery stores, okay? We’ll take you with us next time we go shopping.”

Tom has never seen someone look so excited about grocery shopping. Sonic beams at him, swinging his legs and kicking them against the island. “Really?”

“You can pick out anything you want,” Tom says.

---

“Anything” turns out to be “everything”.

Sonic’s kind of an open secret, at this point. The town is small enough that, within a day of the the whole “Robotnik Incident”, everyone knows what happened and who was at the focus. And, to the town’s credit, people seem...surprisingly okay with it. So Tom doesn’t bother with any kind of disguise when he and Maddie take Sonic to the grocery store, and maybe a few people stare, but no one says anything other than “hi”, and “how are you?”, and “good to see you!”

It’s not too busy, luckily. There’s maybe a handful of people at the store. Sonic still seems a little overwhelmed at the attention, but he does a good job managing, greeting everyone like old friends - which, from Sonic’s perspective, they kind of are. He’d told Tom all about how he’d watched the town, familiarized himself with its inhabitants, pretended to be a part of it (and he’d also, luckily, agreed to stop.) So while the townsfolk are meeting Sonic for the first time, Sonic has already known them for years.

The majority of people don’t seem to mind too much, and Sonic isn’t actually paying much attention to them anyway. He seems far more excited about the food. He’d started out in the cart, little legs kicking against the hard metal, but had ended up jumping out by the first row. It takes fifteen minutes to get down the chips aisle, as Sonic inspects every flavour and asks Tom his opinion, and that’s before he notices the cookies on the other side.

“You know, we go grocery shopping pretty much every week,” Maddie says as Sonic stares at the fifteen different varieties of oreos. He taps his foot on the ground, a frantic pace that Tom would usually think of as anxious but with Sonic is just normal. “How about you just pick one for today, and then try something else next time?”

The tapping slows a bit. “Next time?”

Maddie nods, reaching down to place a hand on Sonic’s shoulder. “We go through food pretty quick, so we’ll probably be back in less than a week. Or we can stop by whenever you want.”

Sonic throws the mint oreos into the cart.

He moves quicker after that, darting back and forth between aisles and the cart, a little blue blur Tom has to be careful not to trip over. Maddie directs him towards some of the healthier options, too, fresh fruit and vegetables and food that isn’t full of sugar. She gives him a whole speech on vitamins and nutrients that Sonic very clearly does not listen to, seeing as he immediately starts grabbing cartons of ice cream once they’re in the dessert aisle.

By the time they’re at the checkout, the cart is overflowing. Sonic is a helpful hand with unloading, though Tom does have to give him a couple pointers. The cashier, a young lady named Jane who Tom recognizes from the time her dad called the police over his rat problem, smiles as she rings them up.

“Someone’s excited,” she comments, as the price climbs higher and Tom starts getting nervous. “Settling in well?”

Sonic beams at her. “They said I could get anything I wanted!”

“Made some good choices,” she says as she scans a carton of Ben & Jerry’s.

Tom fishes his wallet out as she nears the last items, but she holds up a hand. “Hang on.” Jane rummages around her cash register, digging out a couple gift cards that she scans, along with a stack of coupons. By the time she’s done the total is nearly halved. “As a thank you,” she says, finally allowing Tom to hand over his debit card.

Sonic tilts his head. “What’re you thanking us for? I mean, I know I’m pretty cool and all but - well, I did kinda almost get your city blown up!”

“You saved it in the end, though, didn’t you? Plus, Tom’s helped my family out a million times. About time I returned the favour.”

“Thank you,” Tom says, before Sonic can keep rambling. “We really appreciate it.”

Jane finishes ringing them up, helping them bag everything and showing Sonic the best way to do it. He waves goodbye to her as they leave, yelling out another “Thank you!!” that’s loud enough to get the whole store’s attention.

#sonic 2020 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog movie #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #sonic wachowski #typing that tag is so delightful #ats tag #after the storm #cora writes

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charlotine · 4 years

Text

Have You Ever Heard of ADHD?

The first time I heard the word ADHD, I was in secondary school. I had to see the teachers, my classmate would tell me. I just got diagnosed ADHD. She’d never focus in lesson, always scraped average grades and everyone would gossip about her. What’s ADHD? I’d ask my friends. It’s what all the delinquents and stupid people have, they’d joke with a giggle.

As a child, I was always described as smart. I asked questions about how the world worked and persisted until I’d reached a full understanding of the topic. On top of that, I was the firstborn, a girl in an Asian household, so I grew up very traditionally. My parents worked a lot to provide for me in this foreign country we’d moved to, so I was often left alone. My parents would know to leave the PC or TV on because otherwise, I had a bad habit of wandering. Sometimes it’d just be to the landlord’s apartment, sometimes it’d be to other people’s houses (obviously quite bad seeing as I was 4-8).

In primary school, I was the weird Asian kid. In fact, the only Asian kid. Per year group there was at least one or two Asians and one black person in my school. But I was weird, I struggled to fit in with my peers because nothing they did made sense to me.

My behaviour and how different I was proved to be enough ammunition to bully me. I’d watch TV sometimes, to try and figure out how to interact with people my age. Adults always seemed easier, because I was cute and smart. I remembered watching how a boy had pulled down his friend’s trousers on TV and they’d laughed, so I did the same to a girl in my class with the blue dress, and she screamed. I didn’t know, I’d wail to the teacher, I didn’t know it was wrong, please don’t tell my parents.

Eventually, I reminded myself I was different from other kids. How? I didn’t know, but I just did. So I taught self to be quiet and recluse, no matter how bad my mind would shout, because I wanted to be liked. Needed. I was so quiet some people would forget that we’d been to school together all our lives. I learnt to be quiet, because the few instances where I did have friends, I didn’t know how to control my exuberance. It was either hot or cold for me, and I was already worried enough about being ostracised, so I taught myself to be quiet.

I began to hyper-fixate on books and reading from age 8-11, because I had no friends. Or because I hyper-fixated, I had no friends, but growing up, I bitterly assumed the former. I’d read during break and lunch hours, and during lessons if I could; I could roughly get through two 500 paged books a day. I finished the Harry Potter series in 4 days. Every time I would stop, I would feel like my chest was crashing in, and I’d feel that all-consuming isolation and darkness in my heart again. My reading age was on par to a high schoolers by the time I was 9, partly because my dad began handing me adult crime novels.

The teachers would all describe me as smart, but lacking in effort. I’d astound them during class hours, but they’d have to put me in a lower set because once I’d leave the classroom, I wouldn’t exert energy into the subject. I rarely handed in homework, and I’d attend my detentions and read a book because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d forgotten. Everyone would lie and say the same, and I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway.

By the time I started secondary school at 11, my issues all but seemingly disappeared. I always held the best grades in English, Science, German, amongst others. I’ve never given this high a grade to a 12 year old, my English teacher would say with teary eyes. I called all my friends to read your work to them, and I wanted to ask permission to photocopy your work because I want to keep this with me. It’s a truly beautiful piece.

It’s because she’s Asian, my classmates would say dismissively. They couldn’t compete against an Asian, being smart was expected of me. Things like schoolwork were easier for me, somehow.

I’d always turn up to class with innovative and original projects, shocking all the teachers pleasantly because no one had ever in their entire time of being a teacher. When everyone would turn up with paper drawings of a hastily drawn house labelling the French verbs, I’d turn up with a large painted box with 3D figurines. Miss, she’s Asian, my classmates would say. We can’t compete with her when it’s in her blood.

After a teacher would issue a project, my mind would be hyper-fixated. Make a project, she’d say. I don’t care what medium you use, but it has to relate to the verbs we learnt in lesson today. I’ll see you after half term break. As soon as I’d get home, I’d need to start the project otherwise my heart might just give up. I‘d neglect tidying my room, my social life, my personal hygiene, my sleep, my other projects and eating because I need to do this project mum, you don’t understand. My mind was in hyperdrive, I couldn’t rest because this project was my world, my reason for air. 4 days later, and I’d have a few days left of half term and I’d only eaten maybe 2 small meals the past few days.

(Why can’t you be normal? My mum would plead.

Eyes downcast, I’d whisper, but mum. This is my normal.)

We’re concerned about her, my mum would say to Jenny the therapist. She can be the loveliest person one minute, and the next she can be a whole different person. And she’s not eating again, I think she thinks she’s fat.

She isn’t eating? Jenny would frown. The rest is just hormones, but I think I need to explain to your daughter the negative side effects of anorexia again.

I did think I was fat. I’d look in the mirror and wish to be somebody else, just not me, but I didn’t starve myself. Not intentionally, anyway. But, I’d frown, how do I explain to everyone that sometimes I just forget how to take care of myself? How, sometimes, some things were more important than taking care of myself?

Your daughter is very, very smart, my teacher would say with a smile. She reminds me just exactly why I’d decided to be a teacher — she excels in French, German, Psychology, all my subjects! You should be very proud.

Ah, my mum would look at me with watery eyes, thank you, thank you.

The lesser pieces of homework, I’d forget about until last minute, but no one would ever believe me. How did you explain that if it didn’t send your mind into hyperdrive, that it’d disappear? I’d go through the week care free, and then my friend would message me at 9PM at night and then I’d remember. During those times, I’d skive off school the next day to get out of it because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d simply forgotten to a teacher when everyone would lie and say the same.

Your daughter hasn’t turned up to lesson this week, my teacher would say with a frown. We’re very worried about her, she said she’s going through a hard time, and even in lesson she never seems to focus.

Really? My mum would look at me with watery eyes, I didn’t know. She, ah, told us she went to the school this week.

First Jenny said anxiety, then depression. Anak, my mum would say. Tell us what’s wrong so we can help you. You’re so smart, but you’re wasting it away. You know me and dad want you to make something of yourself, so you’re not suffering like us. But I’d taught myself how to be quiet, and I didn’t know how to explain. What was I meant to say?

(Mum, I can’t focus on things and it goes right out of my ears and I don’t know why, no matter how hard I try to listen. Mum, I couldn’t sleep last night, because I really needed to finish researching the Cold War and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I couldn’t stop, and that’s why I didn’t get up for school in the morning. Mum, I can’t go to school today because even though I’ve known about our speaking test for 2 weeks and it’s all I can think about, I couldn’t revise. Mum, I can’t focus on this thing right now, because all my mind can focus on is Henry VIII even though we haven’t done him in history for 6 years. Mum, I know you gave me all of this month to clean my room, but then I’d have to pick everything up, put it into order, change my bedsheets, hoover the floor, and the thought of all that was too overwhelming for me that I just couldn’t start, but I’m not lazy, I swear.)

Instead I’d say, mum, I think I’m just sad. I fell out with my friends last week, I’d say hollowly, and I just feel sad.

With hardened eyes, she’d tell me to prioritise yourself, anak, friends come and go, and the only person you can depend on is yourself.

My mum never remembered my friends names. I loved all my friends and every single person meant the world to me, but I’d cycle through them in the span of 6 months. I’d go through friends and friendship groups, and my mum would smile at all of them and say, what happened to Natalie? What happened to Lily? in our native tongue.

I hate them, mum, I’d say bitterly. They were using me, too.

With disbelieving eyes, she’d laugh. Everyone is always using you. Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just read a book and be happy?

(Mum, I can’t stop counting the lines, I have to make sure that they follow the pretty pattern in my head that make it look inexplicably real to me, otherwise I can’t, and then I realise I haven’t been paying attention to the words at all.)

Instead, I’d shrug. Books are boring now, mum.

My relationships were intense with everyone. No matter the longevity, I’d feel heartbroken for every single person. I’d be inconsolable for days. If you want to die so bad, my sobbing mum would say with my lined wrist in her grasp, just tell me and I’ll do it for you.

Have you heard of hyper-mania? Sarah, the first, would inquire with a tilt of her head.

No, I’d shake my head.

Rivotril, aripiprazole, lithium, and alprazolam for anxiety attacks, Sarah would write. We think it’s bipolar disorder and anxiety disorder. They often have comorbidity.

I feel sorry for you, my aunt would say. You’re only 15 and you have to take so much.

Setraline, alprazolam and lithium, David would write. Due to the last two suicide attempts, we think it’s borderline personality disorder and anxiety disorder. Her mood swings are too frequent.

She’s only 16, my dad would say gruffly. Why does she hate being alive so much? It’s the meds, they’re ruining her.

I made friends with a girl with ADD in college. She was a daydreamer and had to sit extra classes. Oh, I’d laugh. It makes sense, you’re always losing track of conversation. Then I dated a boy with ADHD; that’s why I struggle so badly in school, he’d explain to me. Oh, I’d reply. School has always been easy for me. I can help you go through your notes.

In college, they’d tell me I shouldn’t have been a year behind. Not to show any blatant favouritism, my teacher would say with a conspiratorial smile. But unlike some of your other classmates, you’re one of the few who don’t really need to be here in remedial GCSEs.

I’d take the compliment and thank him with a nod. But why can I not focus? My mind would plead. Why is it that I can never sit still, why is it that I need to be talking or using my phone to function during lectures? Why is it that I can’t learn the same way everyone else does?

But I’d learnt to be quiet, after a while. My parents had told me I was attention seeking and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. How could there be? I was pretty, I could make friends easily if I so wanted, and I was smart. In the homeland, anak, my mum would tell me with a scathing look. The mentally disabled people are in wheelchairs, you don’t have any mental illness. You just want there to be, and it’s all in your head.

(I wish I hadn’t lived, I’d whisper to my brother in the hospital. This would be the third time, and not the last.

Huh? What did you say? My brother would ask.

I said, I screamed, I wish I hadn’t lived.)

Why did you do it? The third, Jamie, would ask, after the fourth, the fifth. Did you plan it?

Everything was spinning out of control, I’d reply. And I needed to escape. I wanted to disappear. I didn’t plan it, but it made sense at the time.

So you didn’t want to die?

Contemplatively, I’d tell him I don’t know, but maybe.

Hmm, would be all he’d say for a moment. How do you feel?

I feel empty a lot. Like I need something to fulfil me so I won’t feel like dying today. Even when I try to sleep at night, I can’t, because there’s so many things that I need to do. Like go for a long jog, bake a cake or write as long a story as I can write. I used to have a drinking problem, I’d tell him shakily. Back when I was 14. It was the only way I could get to sleep at night. Everything that I do to myself needs to be intense, so it can break through the monotony. I struggle in school, I do, I’d plead with him. Everyone looks at my grades and they don’t see it, but it’s hard going in and doing work, when I can’t sit still and be focused.

Hmm, he’d say.

I have sex a lot, I’d tell him. I don’t like forming attachments to people because they always leave, so it’s always different people. Sometimes... I’d hesitate. It’s not safe.

What do you mean?

They’re strangers I meet on the internet, I’d whisper. I can’t do it at my home because of my parents, they’re catholic and believe in chastity, so we go to their house. Or their cars.

Hmm, he’d say. Why?

Why what?

Why do you do this to yourself? You’ve mentioned before that you dissociate during sex and find no pleasure in doing so, so why?

I... I’d say truthfully. I don’t know.

Jamie would ask about my sex life. My parents would say I’d indiscriminately have sex with men and women too often, and they were scared for me. He’d ask about drugs, and my parents would say they didn’t know, but that I was easily influenced. He’d ask about school and friends; my parents would say I was very smart, but lazy. They’d inform him that I argued and fell out with my friends often, and had a penchant for the short term. He’d ask how I was like at home; my parents would share a look, and tell him how I could be two different people sometimes. Lovely, my mum would say, and other times horrible and a stranger to us, my dad would finish. She can be sweet often, my mum would tell him, and other times she’ll be so angry she trashes her room, my dad would finish.

(What’s it like, I’d ask my boyfriend. Having ADHD?

It’s like being a magpie. You have one thought, but the other is too shiny, and the next is always shinier. Your thoughts are always racing, conversation topics are always changing, you can’t stop talking, and people say you’re annoying. Sometimes, I’ll have that nyan-cat song stuck in my head on repeat. It’s like needing subtitles when you watch a movie and the Wikipedia page up, too, because you can’t focus. It’s like the way I can never find the right tab, because there’s always more than 50 open on my phone. It’s like having a long list of things you really need to do, but no matter how much you know this, you can’t do any of it. It’s like, when I was 5, I’d say swear words in school all the time. It’s like always being late to everything, no matter how hard you try. It’s why I get angry at you a lot, he’d tell me. And why I can never remember what you last said to me. It’s like being a normal person and drinking 10 energy drinks, but you don’t need the energy drinks.

Oh, I’d frown. I understand what you mean. And I did. I really did.)

Finally, my third psychiatrist would say to us, have you ever heard of Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder?

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

You Know You Love Me, Chapter 3 (Branjie) - Kiki

A/N: Here’s chapter 3! To anyone who liked or commented either here or on AO3, I love you more than words can describe! Hopefully chapter 4 will be finished by the weekend but for now, please enjoy chapter 3!

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes returns to New York City after being shipped off to boarding school and her ex best friend, Vanessa Mateo, isn’t too happy about it… which would be bad enough, but add in the fact that they’re lowkey in love with each other. (Gossip Girl AU)

Vanessa usually loved going to school. She loved spending time with her friends and judging the other girls’ outfits, but most importantly, she loved the power that she held over everyone. So when Vanessa wasn’t feeling her absolute best, everyone noticed.

It didn’t help when the reason for Vanessa’s sour mood was eating lunch in the same cafeteria as her, just three tables down.

The outdoor cafeteria of Constance Billiard School for Girls was usually a pretty relaxed place. Students would pick at their lunch, rush to finish their homework assignments at the last minute or check the latest Gossip Girl blasts.

Vanessa, Silky, Akeria and Plastique sat at the centre table. Silky and Akeria were gossiping loudly about Silky’s latest date with a lacrosse player while Plastique was nodding along trying to hide the confusion on her face. On a normal day, Vanessa would jump at the chance of roasting Silky’s choice in men while Akeria cackled alongside her.

After being asked by Akeria approximately eight times if she was okay, and then being asked a further five times by Silky, Vanessa had enough.

“I AM FINE!” she yelled, causing several heads to turn and look at her with wide eyes. Vanessa abruptly packed up her things and stormed out of the school, leaving her friends concerned for about one minute before they went right back to talking about Silky’s dating life.

Three tables down from them, Brooke watched with concern as she witnessed Vanessa storm out for the second time that week. She thought about opening up her phone and texting her to make sure that she was alright, but she quickly realised that it would probably cause more harm than good. Plus, she didn’t really know if they were on speaking terms at the moment.

Brooke was sitting with Nina West, who was the daughter of one of New York’s most successful and influential bankers. Their parents had been friends for years which meant that Brooke and Nina had no choice but to become close friends since they had spent a lot of time growing up together. Those days consisted of spending most of their time in Brooke or Nina’s bedroom while their parents got wine drunk downstairs.

Nina was a year older than Brooke and in Brooke’s eyes, that made the older girl seem a lot wiser than all of the other people she knew. They didn’t really hang out much in their spare time, apart from when they had to go to an event that both of their families were attending, but Brooke was always able to confide in Nina.

It wasn’t a secret that Brooke Lynn was gay. Her multiple flings from two years ago had been posted all over Gossip Girl as soon as they had happened and no one had really cared. Sure, guys still hit on her all the time and told her she was “too pretty to be gay”, but they would usually leave her alone once she started to yell at them.

Nina knew about Brooke and Vanessa’s history, how Vanessa was still very much in the closet to everyone apart from Brooke and how it didn’t seem like she wanted to change that anytime soon. So when Brooke returned from boarding school, Nina had immediately noticed that something was off between the two girls.

“So what was that all about?” Nina nodded her head in the direction of the gates that Vanessa had just stormed out of.

“What makes you think I’d know?” Brooke mumbled, her eyes looking down at her salad bowl instead of up at Nina.

“Don’t try that shit with me, B. You know that I know everything that happened with you two last year and I know how beat up she was when you left, so what’s changed?” Brooke loved Nina, but she also hated Nina’s no-nonsense approach to life, especially when it was Brooke’s life that was in question.

“She hates me.”

“I’m one million percent sure that she doesn’t hate you.”

“We’re not talking to each other and she stormed out on me when we tried to talk things out, okay?” Brooke could feel the sadness inside her growing the more she talked about what happened with Vanessa out loud. She hated any feelings of sadness in her life and she especially hated when she couldn’t go and talk to Vanessa about them.

“Do you want things to work out?” Nina asked inquisitively with a raised eyebrow. Brooke looked at her with a frown on her face.

“What are you talking about? Why would I not want it to work out?” Brooke was outraged by Nina’s accusation. The only thing she wanted in life right now was for Vanessa to be by her side. Even if it meant stopping whatever weird relationship they had going on and settling for just being friends.

“Well, let’s be real here, Brooke. You never know what you want. Maybe you’re clinging onto the past and it’s not letting you work things out logically,” Nina replied while picking up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks and placing it into her mouth. “If you wanna be with her, tell her. If you wanna be just friends, then that’s okay too. But she deserves to know.”

Brooke nodded slowly and they sat in silence for a few moments. The love that Brooke felt for Vanessa seemed to hit her all at once and she was overwhelmed by it. All of the things that could go wrong started to flood her mind. What if she told Vanessa that she loved her but Vanessa didn’t feel the same way? What if Vanessa loved her back but wasn’t ready to come out so they couldn’t date? What if Vanessa hated her so much for leaving that she didn’t want to be her friend anymore, let alone her girlfriend?

Brooke took a few deep breaths in and out to try and calm her anxiety like her therapist had taught her. Nina placed a hand on her shoulder sympathetically and squeezed it.

“Listen…I didn’t mean to get you all up in your head. But maybe it’s where you need to be right now. Work things out in your head before you try to work things out with Vanessa. Take your time, as much time as you need, and when you’re ready you two can sit down and have an adult conversation about what you both want to do moving forward.”

“You’re right, Nina…thank you.” Brooke smiled weakly at her longest friend as she started to pack up her things. Nina followed her actions and they both walked to their afternoon classes together in silence as Brooke began to overthink what her next move was going to be.

—

1 year ago

The elevator doors opened as they reached the floor of the Mateo’s apartment, Vanessa immediately stepped out and stomped over to Dorota and threw her school bag into the waiting woman’s arms. Vanessa’s phone was glued to her hand and had been all day. She’d been calling and texting Brooke for hours now and hadn’t gotten a single reply.

As she walked up the large staircase to her bedroom, she tapped on Brooke’s name for the 34th time that day and heard the familiar dial tone yet again. She rolled her eyes at the phone not being answered and started to type her 42nd text message:

To: Brooke Lynn Hytes

BROOKE WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU??? CALL ME BACK!!!

After she changed out of her school uniform and attempted to finish some school work for around twenty minutes, she slammed her notebook closed with a dramatic sigh. Yeah, the homework was due tomorrow but she couldn’t get her brain to focus on anything but Brooke Lynn, so what was the point in continuing it?

As she began to contemplate all of the reasons that Brooke could be ignoring her for what felt like the millionth time, she decided to call the only person that might know where Brooke was: her mom. Vanessa never had to call Brooke’s room at The Palace, the blonde’s phone usually by her side twenty-four seven.

“Hello?” Brooke’s mom answered the phone and Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to speak to a member of staff and be put on hold. She wasn’t sure her patience could handle it.

“Mrs Hytes, hi, it’s Vanessa.” She blurted out all too quickly, sounding anything but calm and collected like she had intended to.

“Hello Vanessa, darling, is everything okay?”

“Not really…uh, is Brooke Lynn at home? It’s just that she didn’t turn up to school and—” Vanessa began to explain herself but was cut off by Mrs Hytes.

“I should’ve known that’s why you were calling…” Mrs Hytes paused before taking a deep breath in. “Vanessa, there’s no easy way for me to say this but Brooke Lynn and I have decided she needs a bit of time away from Manhattan for a while.”

“Time away? What do you mean, like, a vacation?” Vanessa instantly pictured Brooke laying on a beach on some tropical island with another girl and was instantly riddled with jealousy.

“No, not a vacation… she’s been enrolled in a boarding school in Connecticut for this school year. We’ll re-evaluate whether she will be coming back next year closer to the time.” Vanessa felt her heart shatter into a million pieces in her chest. She couldn’t find the words to reply which left a bit of an awkward pause on the telephone call. “Vanessa? Are you still there?”

“Yeah…I’m just, confused…she didn’t tell me she was going anywhere.”

“Well, it was a pretty last-minute decision, but we both decided it was for the best. She ended up being pretty excited about the whole thing.” Mrs Hytes said, not caring that she was lying to Vanessa.

Vanessa felt her heart sink. She couldn’t believe that Brooke had left without telling her, and not only that, had been excited about it. All she could think about in that moment was how awful she felt. She was just starting to come to terms with how deeply she felt for Brooke and in one day, both of their lives had changed. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she hung up on Mrs Hytes, not saying goodbye.

She crawled into bed, got under the soft, luxurious covers and immediately started to cry. The last time she cried that hard was when her childhood dog died, which kind of summed up how she was feeling: like Brooke Lynn was gone forever. Like she was never coming back. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Vanessa. Not even a phone call or a text.

Vanessa didn’t know if she’d ever get over this pain.

They weren’t even together, so why did she feel like she’d just been dumped?

—

Now:

After school had finished, Brooke went straight to Central Park. The park had always been her favourite place to go and reflect on everything that was going on in her life. Usually, she used it as a safe place to escape to when her mom brought home yet another new boyfriend. Sometimes, she went there when her dad had promised to come and visit but unsurprisingly had cancelled at the very last minute because of “work”. She would take her journal or a book and just escape her life for a little bit.

The hours passed by but if someone asked Brooke how long she had been sitting there for, she wouldn’t be able to answer the question. She was sitting on a bench with her legs outstretched in front of her. It was raining heavily around her but as the bench was under a large bridge, she was protected. She was so engrossed in her book that she didn’t even notice the person walking up to her.

“Whenever something’s bothering you, I can always find you here.” The voice startled Brooke but she was even more surprised when she looked up and realised that it was Vanessa. She wanted to smile and wrap her arms around the shorter girl, but she tried her best to fight her instincts and hold back.

“You here for another catfight?” Brooke asked as she stood up, facing Vanessa and looking straight into her eyes. Vanessa didn’t reply and broke eye contact with Brooke, opting to look at the ground instead. After a few short moments had passed, she reached into her purse and took out a white envelope with Brooke’s name on it. Brooke froze and it felt like her heart beat stopped momentarily as she nervously looked at the envelope in Vanessa’s hands.

“What’s that?” Brooke asked as she internally debated whether she wanted to know the answer to her own question or not. What if Vanessa wanted nothing to do with her anymore, wanted Brooke out of her life permanently and never wanted to see her again, and this is her way of telling her? Vanessa wouldn’t write that in a letter, would she? Brooke hoped that she’d at least say it to her face.

“It’s a letter…I wrote it to you when you were in boarding school but I never sent it.” Vanessa explained as she opened the envelope and carefully unfolded the page. Brooke started to fidget with her hands as Vanessa started to read the letter out loud.

“Dear Brooke,

My world is falling apart and you’re the only one who would understand…but you’re not here.

My father left my mother for a 31-year-old model. A male model. I feel like screaming because I don’t have anyone to talk to. You’re gone, my dad’s gone, my mom’s acting weird…

Where are you? Why don’t you call? Why did you leave without saying goodbye? You’re supposed to be my best friend. You said you’d always be here with me.

I don’t know what to do without you here…I don’t know what my life is supposed to be like without you in it. I miss you so much.

Love, vanessa”

Vanessa finished reading the letter with watery eyes. She was trying her absolute hardest to keep her tears in. Brooke, on the other hand, had large tears rolling down her face as she heard the pain that Vanessa had been in because of her. Pain that she caused, even though she didn’t do it intentionally.

“Why didn’t you send it?” Brooke asked quietly, her voice hoarse as she tried to stop herself from openly sobbing.

“What would you have done if I had sent it? You knew. You knew what was happening and you didn’t even call.” Vanessa argued, now with her tears pouring down her face as she tried not to let her anger take over her body once again.

“I didn’t know what to say or how to even be your friend after everything that was going on between us, V… I’m so sorry.” Brooke reached out to take Vanessa’s hand in hers and silently thanked all the gods in the universe when Vanessa let her and didn’t flinch or drag her hand away.

“Nina called me earlier…after I left school this afternoon. She told me things haven’t been so easy for you either. I guess your families been going through a rough time too.” Brooke nodded slowly, agreeing with what Vanessa said and Vanessa wrapped her arms around Brooke’s neck, letting her letter fall to the floor as she finally was able to hug the girl that she missed for so long again.

Brooke’s arm wrapped around Vanessa’s waist as she buried her head in her neck. She immediately felt at peace. Like nothing bad could happen to her or Vanessa when they were in each other’s arms. Brooke hugged her tighter as she decided that she never wanted this to end.

Vanessa tried to look around discreetly to make sure that no one was watching them. With Gossip Girl and her minions running around, she could never be too safe. She had seen a man and a teenage girl with red hair walking around on her way to the park, but she didn’t recognise either of them and the park seemed to be empty.

Vanessa pulled back slightly and Brooke followed her lead. They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes and Vanessa couldn’t help but bring her eyes to Brooke’s lips. She let out a shaky breath and decided that she had waited over a year to see Brooke again and she couldn’t hold back anymore. She leaned in slowly and their lips met, Brooke reciprocating Vanessa’s advances immediately.

The rain poured down loudly around them and they still had red eyes and mascara stains on their faces from the crying, but in that moment, neither of the girls would have changed a thing. They continued kissing for what felt like hours and for the first time in an entire year, both girls felt as if they were entirely calm.

But unfortunately for them, what they didn’t see was the flash of a camera phone going off just in front of them, hidden by the fog that the rain had brought.

—

Spotted in Central Park: Brooke and Vanessa finally talking things out. Could an Upper East Side peace accord be far off? So what will it be: besties, or enemies? We all know one nation can’t have two queens. What happens next? Only time will tell.

XOXO, Gossip Girl

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #gossip girl au #rich girl au #high school au #you know you love me #kiki #submission

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fandomfanfics12 · 4 years

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We Are A Family-Part 33

Title: We Are A Family. Pairings: Steve x tony, Peter x Wade, Nat x Clint, Sam x Bucky. Part: 33/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slowburn. Summary: When Nat comes into the avengers tower with baby Peter Parker, the avengers didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. But now that Peter is here,Steve and Tony both feel protective over him. It doesn’t help that Peter hates everyone other than Steve and tony. But as Steve and tony raise Peter, they start to fall for one another. Will this superfamily work out or will it all turn to hell?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32

Steve was angry, devastated, but mostly angry. At himself and at Tony. Why was it so easy for Tony to just move on? Was it because he got the extra years with Peter? Did he get his fill of Peter and decide that he didn’t need their son anymore? Steve knew it wasn’t fair for him to be bitter that Tony was around in the last couple years of Peter’s life, but he couldn’t help it. Tony was there and Steve wasn’t. and now it was Steve fighting for Peter, not Tony.

“Steve?” Natasha prompted and Steve snapped back to attention.

“Yeah?” he asked, but she was frowning. Her head tilted to the side and then she rolled her eyes.

“I still can’t believe you gave up on Tony, after everything.” Steve shook his head, that wasn’t fair.

“I didn’t give up on Tony.” Steve told her and she snorted.

“Right.”

“He gave up on me. and on Peter.”

“so that was the deal breaker huh, the very thing that brought the two of you together?”

“I don’t see Clint hanging around either.” Steve snapped and knew it was a low blow. He’d vanished and Steve knew that Natasha had been hunting him down. Halfheartedly, but Steve knew that she was just afraid of the man that she’d find.

“On the account that you and Tony just broke up and given the history, I’m going to let that one slide. Besides, they’re both not here for the same reason.”

“And what’s that Natasha?” Steve asked, crossing his arms.

“They’re scared that it won’t work and that they’ll have to face the disappointment of not bringing everyone back yet again.”

“And what about us? Don’t they think that we’re scared to?” Steve asked and she shrugged.

“When I first told you that I was doing this, you said you didn’t want Tony to know. You wanted to protect him from that disappointment, so don’t get shitty with me that you blabbed.” Natasha said and Steve sighed, he was being an ass and he knew that, but the idea of losing Tony was killing him. He wanted Peter back, and Tony and Steve didn’t understand why he couldn’t have both. Why was Tony making him choose?

Tony felt like the worst person on the fucking planet. The worst person in the fucking universe. God, how was he so selfish? His own fear of facing disappointment, was ruining the one good thing he had left in his life. Here was Steve, working tirelessly to bring back Peter, and Tony was being selfish. Yet, if it didn’t work-if they couldn’t figure it out, how the fuck would Tony survive that disappointment? It would be like Peter dying all over again. So he’d asked Steve to choose, in Tony’s head he thought Steve would just nod and that would be that. But Tony should have known his husband better than that, should have known the truth that was coming for him.

Steve didn’t quit.

Especially not when it came to their family. this whole time Steve had been fighting for it, he’d never given up on their little family. so why was Tony?

Four years later...

Steve stared down at his phone and was overcome with the overwhelming urge to call Tony. He just had to press down on the screen and the phone would dial. But Steve was afraid of rejection, of being told no by Tony. He was scared to tell Tony that he couldn’t give Tony what he wanted. All Steve could do would be to ask for forgiveness, for them to learn to get passed this.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Steve’s brows furrowed and he shot up to his feet, his phone forgotten. He knew that voice, the man who that voice had vanished along with everyone else. Natasha pulled up a video clip and there was Scott, waving at the camera.

“is this an old message?” Steve asked as his heart leaped up into his throat. How was that possible? The only person who was still alive despite Thanos’ best efforts was Wade, and that was only because he rematerialized faster than the stones had been able to take him.

“No.” Natasha said and the phone fell from Steve’s hand and clattered against the floor.

“Let him in.” natasha pressed a button and Scott grinned, Steve took off so he could meet the man halfway.

The phone ringed and ringed and Tony’s heart was up in his throat. Finally it stopped ringing.

Ttony? Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, I wanted to talk to you about that little girl, Morgan?” Tony asked and the therapist chuckled.

“So you’re going to go through with the adoption?” she asked and Tony began to pace around his little cabin.

“Yes, I think so.”

“That’s great news, her parents disappeared in the snap and she’s just been passed around from foster home to foster home.” Tony nodded, that was why Tony cared about this little girl so much. She was Pepper’s daughter, and if he’d known about her earlier-he would have adopted her sooner.

“So when can I get her?” Tony asked and the therapist laughed.

“Well I’ll have to make a few arrangements, you’ll have to sign some papers but I suspect that within the next couple days she’ll be all yours.” Tony grinned, feeling relieved.

“Excellent.”

“How the hell are you alive?” Steve asked and Scott shook his head.

“It’s a long story.” Steve couldn’t help but look around, hoping others would start to materialise out of thin air.

“Well how’d you do it? I need you to tell me every detail Scott, we need to bring the others back.” Scott shook his head, a sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t go in the snap Steve, I was in the quantum realm.” Scott said and Steve shook his head.

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t come back from the dead.” Scott said and Steve shook his head, his brain couldn’t process that.

“No but you, you were gone and-“ Scott cut him off.

“I was in the quantum realm. I’d explain it to you but I doubt you’d actually hear anything I said and, are you okay?” Steve felt like he was being crushed by disappointment.

“I’m uh, fine. Just go talk to Nat.” he could feel her watchful eyes on his back, but Steve didn’t care. He needed a moment to process. To understand that once again, he didn’t have Peter.

“I spoke to my daughter Cassie and she told me everything, and while I didn’t die in the snap, I think I have a solution for it.” and there it was, a spark of hope that flickered to life in Steve’s chest. He whirled around, eyes wide and heart hammering.

“The stones were destroyed, we can’t use them to bring everyone back.” Scott nodded his head, but he didn’t look disappointed.

“Yeah I know, but that’s not my solution.” A new idea, Scott had an idea-a theory and it was the biggest breakthrough Steve had.

“And what is it that you’re suggesting?” Steve asked and Scott scratched the back of his head, suddenly seeming nervous.

“Time travel?”

Morgan was perfect in every way imaginable. She was adorable and sweet and so so smart and Tony fell in love with his little girl instantaneously. She stared up at the cabin with wide eyes and Tony’s heart leapt up into his throat. He would protect her at all costs.

“so I really get to live here?” she asked and Tony nodded his head.

“Yeah kiddo, you get to live here.” He murmured and she grinned her big toothy grin.

“Yay!” she began to run, dodging in and out of rooms and jumping up and down on pieces of furniture. Tony smiled and his mind flashed back to little baby Peter, who had run around in their new house in a similar manner. No, stop. Tony shook his head, wishing the memory away. He didn’t want to think of Peter and of all the sad memories that came with thoughts about Peter. God, what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he move on? Why couldn’t he let go? Steve would love her, he’d adore Morgan-Tony just knew it. but he also knew that Steve would never forgive him for this. this would be a slap in Steve’s face, but Tony had done this for Pepper. So Pepper’s daughter could grow up feeling loved. This wasn’t to get back at Steve.

“Mr Stark?” she called and Tony followed the sound of her voice, she stood before the fireplace and was staring up at the pictures.

“Yeah Morgan?” Tony asked and she tilted her head.

“Who are they?” and she pointed at an old family photo. Back when things were good, Peter and Wade were twelve, and Steve hadn’t had his mind under Thanos’ control. Back when they’d all been alive and happy.

“Nobody important.” Tony said and she frowned.

“They look important.” Tony sighed, unsure on how to proceed.

“They’re just some people I knew.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you see them anymore?” Tony’s eyes focused in on Steve’s face, smiling and happy. Not the haunted look he’d worn for the last year they’d been together.

“No.” There was a finality in Tony’s voice that stung, but it was the truth. He hadn’t spoken to Steve in years, and he only saw Wade a couple times a year. And Peter was gone, so Morgan would never meet him. Which really sucked because Tony just knew that Peter would be the best big brother. But Peter wasn’t here anymore, so Tony just picked up Morgan and carried her to her room.

Wade slumped down into a chair at the bar, his mind foggy.He hadn’t spoken to any of the Avengers-apart from Tony-since they’d failed to bring everyone back. He’d dropped off the map, unable to look at Steve or any of the others, it was too painful. He still saw Tony though, a couple times every year. Just to check in with him, make sure he was doing alright-for Peter. Everything Wade did these days was for Peter, he tried to make the world a better place because the world had lost Peter and that was absolutely devastating. But when Wade wasn’t busy helping other people and being a good citizen of New York, he drank. A lot.

“Whiskey.” He said to the bartender who rose a brow.

“Do you want me to call you a cab buddy?” Wade sighed and shook his head.

“No, I’m fine.” He was about three drinks away from passing out, and he was so so desperate to pass out. The bartender set down the whiskey and Wade downed it in one large gulp. It burned his throat but he didn’t care. The world spun and he tapped the glass. The bartender hesitantly refilled it and then Wade tipped the amber liquid back.He was supposed to go visit Tony tomorrow, Wade was hoping he’d never wake up. Next thing he knew, he was sliding off his seat and body crashing to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Wade spun around and there was Peter, sitting on the bottom bunk in May’s apartment and scowling.

“Trying to see you.” Wade said and Peter shook his head.

“You can’t keep doing this Wade.” Peter snapped and Wade shrugged.

“it takes the edge off, seeing you.”

“I don’t care, you can’t waste your life away for me.” Peter said and crossed his arms. Wade wished he could touch Peter, wished he could hold him.

“Steve is still trying to figure out a way to bring you back.” Wade told him and Peter groaned.

“You both need to stop, I’m serious. He’s not allowed to keep this up, it’s been what-five years?” Wade nodded and Peter shook his head, mostly looking disappointed.

“it’s all we have Peter. Looking for a way to bring you and everyone back, it’s all that’s left.”

“No it isn’t. you could move on and be happy and and-“ he was panicking and Wade tried to go to him but was stopped by some invisible barrier. Peter shuddered and glared at Wade, but the room was getting blurrier. Peter was becoming translucent-Wade was waking up.

“Petey?” he asked and Peter spoke but Wade didn’t hear it. the real world came rushing back to him and Peter was gone.

Steve took a steadying breath as Natasha parked the car in Tony’s driveway.

“You alright?” she asked and Steve found himself nodding.

“Yeah, it’s just-what do I say?”

“Sorry?” She suggested and Steve snorted. Like that would make up for it.

“This is going to work Steve, but only if we have Tony’s brain to help us.” She murmured and Steve sighed.

“What if he says no?”

“Then we figure out a way to persuade him.” Steve got out of the car and saw a little girl with brown hair and a tutu running around.

“Who’s that?” Steve asked and Natasha frowned.

“I don’t know.” Steve spotted Wade, chasing the little girl and both Wade and the girl fell silent and stopped once they had spotted Steve.

“Steve?” Wade’s brows rose and Steve forced a smile.

“Hey Wade.” And then Tony stepped outside, a smile on his face.

Tony stepped outside expecting to see Wade and Morgan playing, instead they were looking at the driveway. When Tony turned he saw Steve who was in a leather jacket and looking as gorgeous as ever. Once again Tony was overcome with all the love and desire he felt for the blonde man, who was forcing a smile and looked extremely uncomfortable.

“what are you doing here?” Tony asked and Steve’s blue eyes snapped to Tony. Tony saw his face soften and felt relieved to know that Steve was still in love with Tony.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Steve said and Tony heard nerves in his voice. For a second, Tony thought Steve was asking for another chance. A chance Tony would give in a heartbeat, but then he spotted Natasha and knew that that wasn’t what Steve was here for.

“What?” he asked and made his way to Morgan, scooping her up in his arms. Steve clenched his jaw at that, clearly putting two and two together.

Steve’s brain was short circuiting at the sight of Tony with what Steve presumed to be his daughter. She was adorable, and Tony’s face lit up when he looked at her. Steve wondered if there was someone else? Had Tony completely moved on? Found a new partner and adopted a new child, completely started life from scratch?

“We’ve got a lead.” Wade reacted first, a flinch and Tony stared at Steve.

“No.”

“Tony I need your help.” Steve pleaded and Tony shook his head.

“I told you once and I didn’t think that I’d need to repeat myself when I said that I didn’t want to be disappointed again. Steve you can’t just show up here and say you have a lead.”

“Think about Peter, I can’t do this without you.” Steve said and Tony shook his head.

“shouldn’t we let him rest in peace?” Tony asked and Steve shook his head.

“He shouldn’t have died and we can bring him back. I just need you to trust me, do you still trust me?” Steve’s voice shook with each word and he hated how desperate he sounded. Tony didn’t need Steve, but Steve needed Tony and that fact terrified him. But he couldn’t focus on that, he had the opportunity to bring back Peter, and he fully intended on taking advantage of that opportunity.

“Of course I still trust you Steve.” Tony said, and Steve smiled gently.

“Just hear us out, alright?” Steve asked and Tony nodded his head, his hair had gotten longer and Steve was filled with longing. It had been a long five years without him.

“alright.” And then Tony was leading them inside, and Steve’s heart filled with hope.

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hedonisthierophant · 4 years

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Aching Abyss

Aching abyss

#Awake #clay beresford #smut

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reddie-fangirl24 · 4 years

Note

“I know a game we can play.” for reddie!

@zoejohnson8 and @sapphos-ex-lover‘s request lines are also in this piece. I hope you enjoy it.

Support me on my Ko-Fi!

That first Friday night after the Losers got their very own apartment in the city together, Bill thought it would be a good idea to go out and celebrate. Because Eddie was still in the midst of recovering, he declined the offer, not having the energy to go on late outings just yet.

Just so, he wouldn’t be alone, Richie offered to stay behind. Of course, Eddie told him to go have fun, but Richie being Richie denied, happily staying with him for the evening. Eddie had been feeling down lately, no help to the awful divorce that he was going through with Myra.

“Want to watch a movie?” Richie suggested. “Have you ever seen Coming to America?”

Eddie shrugged his shoulder unenthusiastically at the idea but he agreed. It was strange. For the first time in so long, twenty-seven years if you wanted to look at it that way, he was alone with Eddie. Trying to ignore his insides heating up, Richie sat close to Eddie, but not as close to enough like he was going to wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“How about we play a game?” Richie suggested, seeing how Eddie wasn’t enjoying the movie.

Like that, Eddie perked up. “What about tic-tac-toe?”

Richie looked at Eddie as if he were out of his mind. “Do you have any idea how easy that game is?”

“Okay, how about a game of mono-”

“I beat your ass at that, Eddie when we were sixteen, and you wouldn’t let me forget about it for a week!”

“What about…”

“If you’re going to ask me to do a word search it is out of the question.”

Eddie’s cheeks flared. Getting Eddie all worked up was Richie’s guilty pleasure. It was better than seeing him mope around.

“Fine, asshole, If I’m such a bore why don’t you pick an activity.”

Thinking for a minute, Richie raised his finger in the air. “I know a game we can play.”

“What is it?”

“Ever play fuck, marry, or kill?” Richie asked, raising his eyebrow at him.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know, Rich...”

“Come on, it’s not boring! And nobody wins or loses! It’ll be fun!”

“Do I really have to kill someone?”

Richie cracked up, spitting a bit on Eddie’s arm. “Wow, you’ve really never played this! Okay, time to set up.” Richie turned off the TV and went to the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, sitting up a bit. He grimaced from the pain. Luckily, the pain was starting to subside, but as doctors noted the pain was likely going to linger for a certain time.

As Richie walked to the kitchen he lightly whacked Eddie with a pillow. “For starters, you don’t actually kill anyone, Spaghetti-man. It’s figuratively. And second,” he went into the fridge, returning to the couch with several bottles of beer. “Let’s get drunk!”

“Control yourself, Rich.” Eddie nagged him as Richie popped one open and guzzled down a bottle.

“Be quiet. We’re havin’ fun, aren’t we?” Richie said popping open another beer for Eddie. Eddie never drank beer in his life. He was lucky if he even had any alcohol. Now that he was finally living away from Myra, and the shadow of his mother, Richie made him do all the things that he was band from ever enjoying. So, Eddie took the beer and took a little sip.

“I’ll go first. Fergie, Reese Witherspoon, and Jennifer Aniston.”

Wow, this was harder then Eddie expected. After sitting on it for quite a bit, a smile grew on Eddie’s face. He was hardly able to contain himself from laughing. “I would kill Jennifer Aniston.”

“You read my mind. I hate her movies.” Richie laughed along.

“I never said I hated anything about her, Rich. You have to admit that she can act…”

“So why do you choose to kill her?”

“‘Cause I don’t have any urges to do it with her.

Richie, spat his beer out, making a purring noise. “So you’d fuck Fergie?”

Eddie shook his head. “I would rather do it with Reese Witherspoon.”

“Wow, look at you, Mr. Good Manners!” Richie lied back into the pillows sipping his beer. “Your turn.”

“Alright, uh, let’s see, Marie Curie, Marie Baker Eddy, and Henrietta Lacks.”

Richie stared blankly at the ceiling. “I must either be drunk or I have no idea who those people are.”

“Didn’t you pay attention to the history lessons in school, Richie? Those women were important figures in our history.” Eddie explained.

“’ Were’, huh? You want me to fuck a corpse?”

“Richie, don’t be disgusting! God, you are an asshole!” Eddie whipped a pillow at Richie who broke into a fit of laughter. “Fine, I’ll change to people who are still alive!”

As the night went on the laughter increased while the beers decreased. They hardly noticed their minds starting to swirl. If they noticed Eddie and Richie were sitting at close proximity to one another. Richie wrapped his hand around Eddie’s shoulder for a short period, not like it was any different.

“My turn again,” Eddie was trying to calm himself down from all the laughter. The alcohol was definitely going to his brain. “Bill, Greta, or me.”

“Wow, now we’re gettin’ serious.” Richie laughed as he nudged Eddie in his side. “I’d kill Greta...”

“You would?” Eddie asked in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Really…”

“What?”

“N-Nothing.”

“No, no, come on say what you want to say,” Richie said sitting up on the couch. Conversations like these annoyed Richie. Something would bother Eddie and he’d refuse to talk about it. He’d been having trouble trying to get any information out of him in the last couple of months. Myra had a lot to say, that was for sure.

“It’s just that you went out with her,” Eddie said touching Richie’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it was a small fling. She was a total bitch!”

Eddie realized that he was still touching Richie’s buff shoulder. In a flash, he pulled back. Richie hadn’t realized that Eddie was touching him, but now that he did it made him feel hot in his stomach again. Maybe drinking those beers wasn’t the best choice.

“Go on…” Eddie told him, averting his eyes, and pulling up the small blanket.

Richie was unusually quiet for a moment. Eddie noticed the man make a side glance at him a few times. He looked nervous.

“I’d marry you.” Richie finally said.

Eddie was taken aback by the comment. His heart fluttered. Why was it doing that? And why did he feel so warm? Could this mean… no, it would be too good to be true.

“You would?” Eddie had to ask.

“Yeah. Well, figuratively, you know?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Figuratively.”

Richie looked sheepish. He was avoiding Eddie’s eyes. Noticing him staring Richie nervously smiled.

“Wow.”

“What are you erapted by?”

Laughing a little too hysterically, Eddie fell against Richie’s shoulder practically rolling against his body. Richie slightly recoiled from having Eddie so close to him. He could feel the soft skin on his face. Did it always feel so soft?

“That’s not the right word, Rich, but I love how you’d want to marry me. It shows how much we love each other.”

The mood in the room changed. Eddie covered his mouth. What was wrong with him?

“That beer must be going to your head.” Richie smiled. He wasn’t smiling. It was a nervous smile as he also felt his cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry, Rich, um... I think I should turn in for the night.” Eddie was just about to get up. He made a fair point. This was around the time he went to bed at night anyway. The physical therapist was here today to help him with exercises.

“Wait.” Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand. Eddie stared at his friend’s grasp. It was firm. He didn’t want him to leave. Slowly he sat back down letting Richie continue to hold his hand.

“What would you do?”

“Huh?”

“Which would you do to me?”

It was like a spell took over Eddie. Suddenly he was crawling closer to Richie who was watching him with cautious eyes. Without trying to look suspicious, Richie slowly hid a hand over his crotch. Eddie’s voluptuous eyes stared intently at him, wanting him, looking as if they wanted to eat him if he were his favorite food. Eddie’s eyes were so intense that he could feel something moving.

“I’d fuck you.”

Richie’s mouth practically hung open. Drips of sweat fell from his face. “Would you?”

“Yes,” Eddie answered without hesitating, his hand cupping his half-shaved face.

Richie smiled up at him. “I would too.”

Their lips smashed together, evaluating kisses all over one another. Their arms wrapped around as Eddie moaned bringing their faces closer together. Their insides felt so warm feeling the other's tongue exploring around. Richie felt overwhelmed and yet he loved this feeling. Here he was, kissing and laying on top of his best friend….

Wait… his best friend…

“Uh, Eds?”

It took a few moments for Eddie to regain control of himself. When he finally took it what was going on, Eddie’s eyes flew out of his sockets. They were still resting on top of each other, Eddie staring up at Richie who still had his arms around his slender body. They were both in shock to see a bump coming from the mid-region of their pants.

“Fuck.” Eddie was all red. Still, he couldn’t help, but smile.

“Um… is this why you don’t drink?”

“Richie, I’m sorry! I don't know what came over me. You see…”

“You love me?”

Eddie was silent. “You do too?”

Richie looked at him once more with an ‘are you serious look’. “Eddie, did I ever look as if I wanted Greta or any other girl on the face of the planet?” He was gently smoothing his hand along his face. Eddie didn’t know why, but he craved to see Richie naked. It was a random thought that didn’t have to do with anything, but he imagined it. He didn’t know if he regretted it or not when Richie could feel Eddie’s penis wiggling.

“And I’m the one who should contain themself?” Richie asked. He was turned on by this wanting more.

“I didn’t think you felt the same way.” Eddie was fiddling with Richie’s shirt button.

“You couldn’t tell?”

“I guess I’m not that observant.”

“Says the guy who made the dean’s list since high school.”

Eddie flicked open Richie’s shirt button revealing the smallest strands of chest hair. He was mesmerized by it, touching, suddenly wishing, no, wanting Richie to be naked right now as they were still in this position.

“You’re really a good kisser,” Richie said to him.

“Really?”

“The best.”

Eddie was embarrassed. The question was sizzling on his tongue, beating his mouth to come out. “So…”

“So..?”

“Do you?”

“Do I?” Richie asked curling his eyebrow to make Eddie finish his sentence.

“Okay, okay, stop being annoying, you asshole!” Eddie looked into his eyes again. “Do you want to do it?”

Richie leaned closely into his face. He was so close that Eddie could feel his warm breath and his tongue which was inches away from his own. Eddie wanted so badly to have it in his mouth.

“I would fuck you any day.”

The sound of a key turning in the doorway made Eddie and Richie shoot up from their suggestive position on the couch. When the Losers entered the apartment Eddie and Richie scattered to their feet collecting the beer bottles and picking up the most random conversation about socks.

“What were you guys up to?” Beverly asked, suspicious of the empty beer bottles.

“Oh… j-just talking.”

“Eds decided to get drunk,” Richie said, nudging Eddie in his side. It wasn’t just to be funny, but so he could feel Eddie’s soft warm skin again.

“You were the one who brought them out, asshole!” Eddie fought back.

“Aw, someone’s a little drunk. Better get this one to bed!” Richie grabbed hold of Eddie’s shoulders, walking him off to his room. It was no use, the Losers were going to stick around forever now. There was no way that they could do this tonight.

“Wait, guys, we need to ask you something,” Mike called out before they could disappear.

Eddie and Richie were nervous. Did they know?

“We were wondering if we wanted to go out tomorrow night to see a movie,” Ben suggested. “I know Saturdays are the night’s we do something. Do you want to...”

“No!” Eddie and Richie yelled simultaneously.

Jumping, the Losers had no idea what to say, or how to react. Besides, Richie always wanted to spend a night on the town.

“There are hundreds of Saturday’s, guys. You crazy kids go enjoy yourselves!” Richie awkwardly gave them a thumbs up.

“Yes, it’s alright to skip a night.” Eddie chimed in.

The Losers looked suspiciously at them, noticing Richie still holding Eddie by the shoulders. He needed support while walking after all

“Are you two just trying to get us out of the house?” Bill lifted an eyebrow and smiled slyly at them.

“NO!” Why did they say it like that? Now they were sure to catch on!

Finally, Eddie and Richie retreated into the bedroom. The Losers were in conversation right outside. Besides, Richie had to go back to his own apartment now so he wouldn’t cause anymore suspicion.

“Tomorrow,” Richie whispered to Eddie as he made him comfortable in bed. He craved sleeping in a bed with Eddie.

“That’s so long.”

“Oh, you’ll find out how long it is,” Richie said glancing down at his crotch.

It was sure to be the longest night and day of their lives. They kissed one another good night and dreamed of their kiss.

#Reddie #it chapter 2 #the losers club #reddie fanfiction #fuck marry or kill #it movie

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