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stomachflu · 4 years ago

Note

Ooo, for c//ritical r//oll concept, something with sick Mollymauk? Maybe he's got a really bad stomach flu but is covering it super well with his usual showmanship. He's gotten used to taking care of himself and not showing weakness while on the road-- cant miss a performance for a lil bug. Pretends to be totally fine until he crashes, cue the rest of the m9 taking care of him? Bonus for belly rubs and drawn out nausea.

🚫don’t rb to non-sickfic/emeto/kink blogs, thanks!🚫

thank you so much for this really good prompt! i’ve been working on this for a REALLY LONG TIME but cr//itical r/-/oll has become one of my new fave interests so i enjoyed writing this a lot!

have over 5k of nausea buildup, multiple puking sessions, and caretaking!

(i only realized after writing this fic that not only does jester not have the cure illness spell, but it’s not even a spell in dnd 5e, and i’m thinking of a similar spell from my 3.5e campaign. whoops! there’s probably a lot more errors in here due to me being new to the show, so please be nice to me and ignore them! ^_^)

Molly certainly hadn't objected to taking shelter out of the storm, but the town was small, with only a few small rooms in their only inn, and not much in the way of entertainment, so by all means, he should've been more than happy to be moving on as soon as the rain passed.

The thing was, he had definitely picked up something in that weather. He'd spent most of the previous day huddled in blankets, trying to rid himself of the chills that racked his body. He was lucky that they'd had enough money for four rooms this time, luckier still that Beau and Jester were still insistent upon rooming together, and Caleb and Nott were stuck like glue, leaving him and Fjord with separate rooms. Molly had to make appearances at mealtimes, of course, but he'd put on a good show then, mustering up enough energy to entertain the room with simple tricks – disappearing coins and such.

Molly had hoped that it was just a momentary illness, that it would pass in time, but when he'd woken up burning with fever, he knew he was in it for the long haul. He felt terrible, hot and cold at the same time, aching down to his very bones. It hurt to swallow, but he needed energy if he was going to beat this, so he choked down breakfast as quickly as possible.

The sky was clear now, not a cloud in sight, and they needed to be moving on. The group didn't have time to waste on a cold – Molly was no use bedridden, and, besides, there was nothing that would cure him but time. Jester needed her spells, and it wasn't like he wouldn't have plenty of time to rest in the cart.

Once they jerked into motion, though, Molly quickly realized that he'd made a mistake. He had eaten breakfast with everyone else, and his stomach was not happy with that decision. He took deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to concentrate on something other than his suddenly-churning gut.

Probably motion sickness. Traveling had never made him ill before, but there was a first time for anything. If he had to guess, it probably had to do with how dizzy he was – having the world spin around him while he was jostled back and forth? That would make anyone queasy. What was it that people always said? Something about focusing on the horizon, but that just made him feel more queasy.

Fjord had the reigns, with Caleb keeping watch next to him, so Molly snuck a glance at the rest of the group – Nott and Beau in an animated conversation, Jester with her sketchbook – and risked placing a hand on his tender belly, rubbing it gently. He swallowed back a burp, grimacing as the pressure in his stomach only increased.

The sun was still high in the sky, and Molly needed a distraction from what was quickly becoming nausea, so he spread out his cards in front of him, shuffling through his deck.

"Ooh!" Jester exclaimed, bouncing into a sitting position across from him. "Do a reading for me, please?"

Despite himself, Molly smiled. With his view of the horizon blocked, he did feel a little better. Perhaps it was simply motion sickness after all.

"Alright, cut the deck for me – good. Now, two more times..."

Molly's momentary relief didn't last long. He did a reading for Jester, and then one for Beau. By the time Nott asked, he was certain his fever was up, sweat beading on his forehead, so he feigned exhaustion and put the cards away.

His stomach hurt. It was an on-and-off kind of pain, the cramps coming in intervals, leaving him shivering with chills each time. Maybe it's simply hunger, Molly thought, fishing out some strips of dried jerky out of his bag and gnawing on them absently. At any rate, he needed to eat to get over this illness, but putting food in his mouth, but swallowing it down just made him more nauseous.

He needed to throw up.

The thought struck Molly at the same. time that a wave of nausea washed over him, and he swallowed hard. Not right now, not this moment, but at some point in the near future, he was going to vomit.

The cart pulled off to the side of the road, jostling Molly's sick stomach and forcing a soft burp up his throat.

"Alright," Fjord said, hopping down from his position at the reins. "Short break to feed and water the horses, but 's about all I got in me. Anyone else wanna drive?" A beat in which nobody else answered, and he repeated, "Anyone...?"

"Fuck it, fine, I'll do it," Beau grumbled.

"If we are to be switching positions, is there anyone else who would like to take watch?" Caleb asked.

Molly slowly slid out of the cart, his hot, aching joints protesting every movement.

"I volunteer," he said. Maybe the fresh air would help. Already, he felt a bit better, standing in the open air like this.

That was settled, then. Fjord and Nott went about taking care of the horses, and the others took their time walking about, stretching or disappearing into the woods bordering either side of the road to relieve themselves.

Molly was glad for the thick cover of trees – the second he was out of sight of the cart, he clutched his belly with both hands, bending over at the waist. The pressure helped, but his stomach was still churning. He felt awful, knew that he needed to throw up now if he was going to keep up appearances.

Molly traipsed a little further into the underbrush, determined to keep out of earshot of the others, and... waited. He was nauseous, yes, but not nearly to the degree that he had been when he was sitting in the back of the cart.

Come on, puke already, he thought. Absentmindedly, he reached underneath his shirt to rub his stomach, the taut skin hot with fever under his palm. Almost immediately, a gurgling burp shot up his throat, and he leaned forward expectantly.

Saliva flooded into his mouth, and Molly spit onto the dirt, throat tightening in a gag. A sick belch brought up a thin mouthful of foamy bile, and he retched again and again as the liquid pattered onto the dirt.

He didn't bring anything else up, though he remained bent over at the waist. Molly knew he couldn't stay here forever – he was already pushing the limits of what the others would believe, had his excuse of needing privacy to relieve himself been true. Anyways, his stomach felt... not good, not even better, but he wasn't on the verge of puking anymore. Maybe he could make it 'till nightfall.

As he traipsed back towards the cart, he suddenly realized why nobody had gone looking for him, why his absence had gone unnoticed. Standing in a circle around Fjord and Nott were a group of bandits, weapons drawn. Molly was too far away to tell, but by their gestures, he would have bet that they were demanding the cart, and everything on it.

Sighing, he drew his swords. It was going to be a long day.

They made quick work of the bandits, dispatching their leader and sending the others running into the woods, pursued by a few of Nott's arrows. It had been a good thing that Molly hadn't asked Jester for a healing spell earlier, though, because Fjord had taken a heavy blow to the chest, and Jester used almost all of her spell slots healing him.

And so they were back on their way, with Molly perched at the front of the cart, acting as lookout. The crisp air was helping a bit – he felt less foggy, like his head wasn't quite so stuffed with cotton. His stomach, however...

Right on cue, his stomach gurgled, and Molly winced, pressing a hand to his midsection. He could feel it bubbling under his skin, everything he'd eaten churning around in there.

Oh. Oh no. A cold sweat washed over his body, and Molly swallowed back the taste of bile.

"Beau?" he asked, swallowing back a belch.

"Yeah?" She wasn't even looking at him, so he allowed himself to press three fingers to his mouth, muffling another queasy burp.

"Would you mind stopping for a moment? I need to, ah – you know, relieve myself."

"Again? We just fucking stopped," Beau grumbled, but she dutifully pulled the horses over to the side of the road anyways, and Molly gratefully slid off of the cart, walking into the treeline as fast as his queasy belly would allow him.

He was gagging before he even came to a stop, a thin trickle of vomit splashing onto the leaves at his feet. He belched up a thick mouthful of undigested food, and then he couldn't stop burping, the sight of his pale vomit on the dark leaves making him more and more nauseous.

Calm down, Molly willed his stomach. He needed to stop puking, he needed to get his churning guts under control and –

Another sickly gag, and Molly managed a mouthful of watery puke. He hovered there for almost a full minute, mouth slightly open, too queasy to even wipe away the thick ropes of saliva trickling from his lips to the ground.

Was that it? He didn't feel done. If anything, his stomach was more bloated than ever, and he didn't feel any less nauseous, but, yet again, he couldn't stay here.

"Done?" Beau asked, hopping back up onto the cart as he approached. Molly took a more careful method, gingerly leveraging himself up so that he wouldn't have to bend over, keeping one hand under the small bloat of his gurgling stomach. It didn't do much, but the illusion of supporting his belly, keeping it from being jostled – it almost convinced him to feel less queasy.

"My apologies," he said simply, muffling a nauseous burp into his fist.

Beau looked at him strangely but only shook her head, taking the reins in hand. "Let's get this show on the fuckin' road!"

He had made a mistake. Molly knew this from the moment the cart jolted to life. Not only was he not done being sick, but the motion was too much to handle. A gag rose up in his throat, and he risked the motion of pressing the back of his hand to his lips as he rode it out. His mouth filled with vomit, and he swallowed it back with effort, and then kept swallowing, throat hitching in an attempt to heave.

Molly sat as still as possible, arms wrapped around his stomach, not even trusting himself to raise his head. The cart hit a particularly bad dip in the road, and his tongue arched in a gag, and he could taste bile on his tongue, and –

"Shit, Beau, pull over," he managed tightly, his throat closing in on a gag. She protested, probably about to make a terrible joke, and then he retched, and she looked over at him in alarm.

She'd yanked the horses over to the side of the road, but he was vomiting over the side of cart before it even came to a stop. He tried to climb down, but it was more of an undignified scramble as he gagged again, adding to the puddle in the grass.

By this point, the others had taken notice, and he was surrounded by a blurry semicircle of his friends as he fell to a crouching position, gagging again and again until he belched up a torrent of puke that splashed everywhere.

He was crying, Molly realized. His face was a mess of tears and snot, thick ropes of spit dangling from his mouth. It felt as if the nausea was never going to go away. He remained there on his hands and knees, panting and belching for what felt like an eternity, until he felt strong arms under his that pulled him to his feet.

Fjord had pulled him up, and was still supporting most of Molly's weight as Jester bounced into his hazy field of view.

"You're sick! Why didn't you tell us?" she demanded, pressing a hand to his forehead. He tried to answer, but couldn't open his mouth for fear of gagging. "Oh, Mol-ly," Jester said in her lilting accent, voice light and almost... teasing? "You have a fever."

"I know that," he managed. "You n – urrp!" He burped into his fist, trying to fight back the wave of nausea that was coming on strongly now. "You need your spells."

"Well, I have one left, so you should have told me," Jester said, voice still light as she fished the Traveler's symbol out from her cloak and pressed it to his belly. "I am going to cast Cure Illness and then you are going to feel better, all right?"

Molly nodded, and the symbol began to glow as Jester concentrated. All at once, a feeling of wrongness washed over him, the nausea surging back tenfold, and he pitched over and vomited on Jester's shoes.

"I really do apologize," Molly said miserably for what might have been the tenth time. "I wasn't aiming for you at all."

"My shoes can be cleaned!" Jester said brightly, crouching barefoot in the grass next to him. "You really do need to keep drinking, though."

After Jester's spell had failed and his stomach had calmed somewhat, they'd half-dragged, half-carried him a good bit away from the puddle he'd left on the ground. Fjord had handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with ("Please, keep it.") and Caleb had fished a handful of dry, bland crackers out of his pocket, instructing Molly that he needed to both drink to avoid dehydration, and fill his stomach with something inoffensive if he could.

More like something stale, Molly thought, nibbling on the edge of a cracker. Thinking about how long they'd been in Caleb's pockets made his gorge rise, but before he could ruminate on the thought for too long and make himself sick, Beau walked over from where she'd been huddled with Caleb, Fjord, and Nott.

"Alright, here's the plan," she announced, map in hand. "We obviously can't camp here, so we're gonna get'cha back in the cart and find somewhere where we can settle down for the night, take it nice and slow. There're some towns we could make it to before sundown, but we'd have to go at a pretty fast clip, and I really do not want you puking over all of my things."

"That is very agreeable to me," Molly said, placing a hand on his sour stomach. At Jester's urging, he ate a few more of the crackers and drank deeply from the waterskin as everyone else worked out the logistics of their new plan.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, followed by a chill traveling down his spine, and Molly put his head between his knees, breathing deeply. He could do this. Now that he'd vomited, he would feel better any minute now –

"Molly? Do you think you can stand on your own, or should I be helping you?" Jester asked.

"Thanks for the offer, but I can stand," he said, pulling himself to his feet. His belly felt awful, all the water he'd drank churning in a way that really didn't feel good. He could actually hear his guts sloshing as he heaved himself back up onto the cart.

Jester frowned as he put a hand on the bloat of his still-tender stomach. "Are you feeling bad again? Do you need to vomit?"

"Yes, and maybe," Molly said, swallowing thickly. "Not right now. Probably soon."

"Get him set up in the back of the cart," Beau suggested dryly. "If he's gotta puke, he can do it over the edge. If we stay here any longer, it’s gonna get dark."

"That's a good idea!" Jester exclaimed. As Molly shivered with fever, she collected his blankets and bedroll, setting them in the back of the cart, close enough that he would only need to turn his head to vomit over the side. He gratefully settled into the little nest she'd built for him, arms wrapped around his protesting stomach now that he didn't have to hide his illness. Jester sat next to him, humming as she pulled out her sketchbook.

The cart jolted back to life, and Molly swallowed back a sour belch. His stomach was cramping again, and he screwed his eyes shut, tongue rising in a silent gag. He slipped his hand under his shirt to rub his stomach, only to feel a small hand on his wrist.

"Oh! This looks very painful," Jester said, scooting closer to place her hand on the swell of his stomach. "Does it hurt to touch?"

Molly shook his head. "Just hurts in general. Cramps, I'm..." He trailed off as the cart hit a pothole on the road, causing him to burp lightly into his fist. "I'm feeling a bit queasy right now, to be honest."

"Would it help if I rubbed your stomach?" Jester asked, already untucking the loose fabric of his shirt from his pants and rucking it up to his chest.

"Normally, I'd ask you to buy me dinner first, but..." The suggestive joke was lost as Jester poked experimentally at his stomach. Even if he'd wanted to, Molly couldn't fake being healthy now with his flushed, swollen belly on display, gurgling and churning audibly. Her touch ushered up a soft burp, and he blushed a bit, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of sickness, of vulnerability he was showing.

"Did that feel good? I bet it did!" Jester said, continuing to gently skim her hand over his stomach.

He had to give it to her, Jester was good with her hands. She rubbed his stomach in widening circles, slowly increasing the pressure as she went, switching to kneading the sides of his bloated belly every so often, pressing in with her thumbs as she did so. It seemed as if she knew just when to push in deeply, releasing a pocket of air that had been trapped, finally letting him burp it up.

As they bounced around, Molly's burps became more frequent and more queasy. At some point, he had to ask Jester to stop so he could fish out Fjord's handkerchief, and he pressed that against his mouth now, muffling increasingly wet belches.

"I hate to ask, but –" He gagged, mouth closed. "Jes, do you have any healing spells left?"

Molly's stomach gave a particularly loud gurgle, and Jester pressed in hard, dragging her hand along where it was bubbling the most. "I'm sorry, that was my last one! I won't have any more until tomorrow".

"Okay," he choked out, fighting back another gag. "I'm going to vomit again."

He turned his head and did just that, retching harshly over the side of the cart. A series of burps brought up small mouthfuls of water and undigested crackers. He gagged and belched over and over, only aware of the sensation of Jester's cool hands on his stomach, soothing away cramps and then pressing in each time he heaved.

The next thing he knew, Beau was supporting his back, trying to get him to sit up, and Jester was wiping his face with a cool rag. "Not done –" he tried to croak, but retched dryly before he could even finish the sentence.

"It's okay, go ahead and puke!" Jester said brightly, folding the cloth and cupping it under his mouth.

Molly shook his head, lips pressed tightly shut. He was gonna make a mess, he needed to turn back over the side – but Jester held his chin steadily, keeping his head over her cupped hands, and he retched again and again, bringing up more than a mouthful of stringy bile that was easily absorbed by the cloth.

"Think you're empty, dude," Beau said after a few minutes of fruitless gagging. Molly shook his head, one hand pressed to his aching chest. "Look, okay, I'm gonna teach you some monk shit, right?"

"'Kay," Molly managed, immediately choking on a retch.

"This breathing shit, it's supposed to keep you centered, or something like that? I dunno. Anyways. You're gonna breathe in through your nose for eight counts –" She counted him up, and Molly shakily inhaled, fighting back gags all the while. "–And then out through your mouth for another eight."

On five, Molly gagged, slapping his hand across his mouth even though he knew he had nothing left to lose.

"You gotta keep doing it, okay? Don't stop fucking breathing. It helps me when I'm motion sick; you'll feel better soon."

He hoped so. Molly leaned back, listening to the quiet count of eight-seven-six-five-four... He breathed in. He breathed out.

By nightfall, they'd found a small clearing with enough room to pull over the cart and horses and lay out bedrolls. Molly mostly dozed through the process, lying in his nest of blankets in the back of the cart, watching proceedings through half-lidded eyes.

"Molly should be nearest to the fire!" Jester insisted. "Look at him, he's shaking!"

"Don't think that you're supposed to let someone with a fever get any hotter," Fjord drawled. "Maybe we oughta help him cool down first."

The cart rocked a bit as Beau clambered up, sitting cross-legged next to Molly. "Hey," she said. "I'm supposed to make sure that you're drinking water. Are you?"

Molly made a face. He'd been trying to, really, but it just didn't feel good.

"Shit," Beau said. "You gonna puke again?"

"No, it's more like..." He grimaced again, waving a hand in the general direction of his stomach. "Cramps. Hurts."

"Puking all day really took it out of you, huh?"

Molly nodded. His stomach muscles were just sore. Even sitting up hurt; he really didn't want to have to puke again. Just for Beau, he took a small sip of water.

"Excuse me," Caleb said, appearing on Molly's right like a ghost. "I could not help but overhear you say that you were experiencing, ah..." He tried a few words in Zemnian before landing on, "Pain, soreness, in the stomach?"

"Yeah," Beau said, and Molly flashed her a grateful smile. His throat was raw from stomach bile, and talking hurt. "Probably from puking too much. Y'know, if you keep that up, I bet you could get a fucking amazing set of abs," she said, elbowing Molly.

"What makes you think mine aren't already stunning?" he retorted.

"I do not think Molly wishes to repeat such... an intense performance," Caleb said, already flipping through one of his books. "Can I have... yes, that, give me that."

Beau tossed him one of the blankets that had been cast aside, and Caleb caught it in one hand, deftly folding it into a compact square and working some sort of magic on it, something that made both his hands and the blanket glow.

"Here," he said at last. "It is enchanted to stay warm for at least a few hours. Not as good as a heating pack, but, under these circumstances..."

"Thank you, Caleb," Molly rasped, nodding his head in gratitude. The folded blanket was warm to the touch, and he peeled off the other blankets to set it on his stomach, the tension instantly draining out of him as warmth spread through his body. The effect was like taking a hot bath after an intense fight – not completely relieving his aches and pains, but making them much more bearable.

Eventually, Molly was able to stand as Beau and Jester moved his bedroll over to the fire, but he gratefully sank back into the blankets as soon as possible. Even with his makeshift heating pad, he was left trembling with both cold and exhaustion, his energy sapped by just a few simple movements.

"You need to eat, Molly!" Jester exclaimed. "It will make you stronger, you know?"

"I'm good, thanks," Molly said, and then, at her intensifying glare, added, "Really, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Well, Fjord is making soup, so! You should eat it anyways."

"'S less of a soup and more of... I dunno. Leftover meat in water?"

"Hot water," Molly said. He was feeling well enough to joke with the others, at least.

He thought to close his eyes and get some rest, but an insistent poking at his shoulder startled Molly out of any chance at sleep, and he turned his head to see Nott crouched next to him, holding a vial in one green hand.

"Here!" she said, pushing the vial into his own hand and closing his fingers around it when he just stared. "You have to drink it!"

"What is this?" Molly asked, holding the vial up to the light. The glass was dirty, nearly opaque, but the liquid inside seemed to be thick and viscous, a texture that made his gorge rise. "Medicine?"

"Yes! Sort of! It will help settle your stomach, make it hurt less. Probably!"

"Nott," Molly said slowly, "did you make this yourself?" She had the chemistry kit, yes, but from the amount of times he had seen her make acid with it, he didn't want to drink anything that came from one of her vials.

"Yeees," she said slowly, stretching the word out. "But it works!" At Molly's doubtful look, she added, "I drank it before, several times! When I had too much to drink, or when I was hungover, or..."

"All right, I get it, thank you," Molly said. "I appreciate the thought."

He uncorked the vial and peered inside. The liquid was a muddy brown, and grit rose to the top as he swirled it. Well, what did he have to lose, besides his lunch? He tipped the contents into his mouth, gagging on the texture but forcing it down in one swallow. The aftertaste was absolutely vile, and he lurched forward, clapping a hand against his mouth as his stomach threatened to revolt.

"You gotta keep it down!" Nott exclaimed. "Otherwise, it doesn't work."

Molly hummed, rocking back and forth as he tried to swallow back the bile that was creeping up his throat. A muffled gag sent the potion flooding into his mouth, filling his cheeks out, and if was only by sheer willpower that he swallowed it down again.

"Ugh," Molly said when the nausea had passed. "You have a stronger stomach than I do, my friend."

Nott beamed at him with a mouthful of sharp teeth, and Molly found the strength to laugh.

After another few minutes of quiet chatter, it became evident that the potion had worked, at least in some capacity. Molly's stomach felt more sure, like that tight queasiness had abated somewhat, and he was able to entertain the thought of food without gagging. Maybe he really was on the mend.

"You know what?" he asked. "Maybe I'll try some of that soup after all."

Molly woke up shaking, drenched in sweat, and with a growing sense of queasiness in his belly. He tried to ignore the latter – he had been feeling a bit better, just weak, and he didn't want to get up – but the churning and bubbling under his hand wasn't going away, and he didn't enjoy the thought of soiling the campgrounds.

With a muffled groan, he rolled over, his stomach protesting every move as he stood. It was bloated again, he noticed, far more than last time. Clearly, the soup he'd eaten wasn't sitting well at all.

"You are awake," Caleb observed from his post as watchman. "What are you doing?"

"Need some privacy," Molly said quietly, giving him a small half-smile. He didn't want to wake anyone else, didn't want the attention –

"Are you going to vomit?"

"That too," he muttered.

"I will come with you," Caleb announced. "You are ill, and I would feel – badly, if anything happened to you."

"You don't have to," Molly said, pressing his hand against his sour stomach. His nausea was mounting quickly, a sure sign that he needed to leave before he redecorated the campsite. "You're on watch duty, besides."

"I have this." Caleb gestured to the silver thread wound 'round the perimeter. "I will know if anything happens while we are gone."

"As you wish." Molly pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, burping quietly. He traipsed into the woods yet again, Caleb at his heels. When the dying light of the campfire was no longer visible, he allowed himself to stop, stretching out one arm to lean on a nearby tree and breathing heavily.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he focused on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Beau's exercises didn't make him any less nauseous, but his heart wasn't beating quite so fast, and it helped him breathe through some of the worst cramps.

"Are you still going to vomit?" Molly jumped, nearly forgetting that Caleb was with him. The other man stood a few feet away, head tilted curiously to the side. "I thought you said you were nauseous."

"I will, eventually." Another cramp seized his middle, and Molly winced, bending forward and clamping his hand down on his stomach. The movement jarred a long, deep belch up his throat, and he stayed there for a moment, the taste of acid on the back of his tongue. "It's coming up, just – I'm waiting."

"I see."

Saliva was beginning to collect in Molly's mouth, and he parted his lips, allowed it to fall to the forest floor. No point in holding it back now. "You should head back now, if you don't want to be disgusted. It's not – uuuurp–gh!" A deep, rumbling burp turned into a gag, and Molly clapped his hand against his mouth as he spoke, voice muffled by his fingers. "It's not pretty."

"I am not disgusted," Caleb said, his clipped accent making the words sharper, somehow. "It is merely a function of the body, no more or no less. You are ill, ja? Let your body do what it needs to."

"Mmm." Molly gagged audibly, spitting a glob of thick saliva onto the ground. He felt awful, sick and dizzy again, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

"Beau said earlier that rubbing your stomach helped, yes? Would you like me to... shall we say, get things started for you?"

"Please," Molly practically begged, shaking with nausea. Caleb silently walked behind him, wrapping his arms around Molly, fingers resting on the base of his stomach. "I can't believe you're not absolutely grossed out by this."

"Like I said, I would like to be of help."

Unlike Jester, Caleb's hands were warm, almost hot to the touch, and Molly wondered if he was doing that with magic. He didn't waste any time, just waited until Molly's stomach cramped and then pushed in, hard.

Molly immediately belched up a hot torrent of vomit, the soup he'd consumed earlier splattering at his feet in a foamy mess. Caleb didn't let up, keeping up a steady pattern of squeezing and then letting go, ushering up wet burps alternating with splashes of thick vomit. Nott's potion, he recognized with disgust. It tasted even worse coming up.

When he was belching emptily, Caleb released his stomach, turning Molly to face him.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm – urp! – waiting on the next round," Molly said. Caleb held out a waterskin, and Molly shook his head queasily.

"You know, vomiting on an empty stomach is never much fun," Caleb insisted quietly.

Molly got a few swallows down before he gagged directly into the waterskin, spraying watery puke onto his hand and arm and down his chest, soaking his nightshirt. He choked on it, coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of water and bile, gulping down gags and trying his best to catch his breath.

When the coughing fit stopped, though, his stomach had stopped churning. The cooling vomit on his shirt and beads of sweat on his forehead let him know that his fever had broken, too.

"That was absolutely vile, but I feel – better," he said under Caleb's questioning gaze. "I didn't catch you in any of that, did I?"

"Oh!" Caleb said, as if he had never even considered the possibility. "No, I believe that my clothing is... unscathed, for now. Are you finished?"

Molly wiped his mouth on his sleeve, making a face. "For now. I'll probably have to puke again later, but I don't enjoy the idea of sitting out here and waiting for it."

"If it would help," Caleb offered, "you might sit with me while you wait for your stomach to settle."

Molly smiled, despite himself. "I just might take you up on that, my friend."

#emetophilia #emeto #do NOT @ me about characterization or anything please... i am new here!#ironically molly is one of the hardest characters for me to get a grasp on so i hope i did him justice!#(rip. i know.)#is caleb into it (tm)? Maybe A Little. but that's just headcanon it's not canon in the fic #supersecretsick #my fic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Crucible (part nine)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Word count: 10,088

TW: Blood and gore

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-Alma Mater-

“We found these in the dumpster behind what’s left of the gym.”

Bessie recoiled so sharply in disgust she nearly fell backwards out of her chair when Mulaney dumped several pieces of paper onto the table in front of her. She looked at the pile as if it were made of actual human hearts, wrinkling up her nose.

“I can’t believe you touched those!” She exclaimed in an almost humorously repulsed way. “They’re probably swimming with diseases.”

“Recognize them?” Mulaney asked, sitting across from her.

“They’re prom ballots,” Bessie said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m the one who Xeroxed them.”

“According to these, Ruby and Leila won prom king and queen.”

Bessie blinked at Mulaney in shock, as if he had just told her the secrets of the universe. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish caught on a hook, then she sputtered out, “I-I counted those ballots myself. Principal Holbein checked my work! You can ask him...yourself…” She trailed off with a grimace, hunching her shoulders in and looking away. For a moment, she looked a lot younger, and a lot more shaken than she thought she was.

“Anna and Joan won fair and square.” She finally spoke up again, although there was a not-so-subtle shakiness to her voice. Madeline gave her a sympathetic look.

“I’m guessing by a landslide?” Mulaney asked.

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

“I just thought they were pity votes.” Bessie said, shrugging.

“They weren’t pity votes, Elizabeth.” Mulaney told her grimly. “Someone switched the ballots.”

------

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Bessie called jovially from the stage. The mic she was using gave a few abrupt screeches of feedback, so she tapped it with a manicured finger. In the fairy lights, her dress glistened in shimmering waves of purple and made her look like a walking amethyst. “Can I have your attention, please!”

The DJ cut the music off hastily. Everyone inside the gym quieted down one by one and turned their heads to the stage. Bessie’s hair was blindingly white in the light.

“Thank you,” She said, then raised her voice excitedly, “We will now be voting for this year’s prom king and queen!”

“This contest insults women!” Margery Horsman shouted from near the globe tree. There were a few scattered applause and one loud, whooping cheer from a girl who must have been her friend.

“It insults men, too!” Francis Dereham piped up mockingly. Laughter followed, along with several eye rolls.

“Take your seats, please!” Bessie went on loudly. “Time to vote!”

Everyone began to swarm back to their respective table as Maggie and two other girls started to pass out prom ballots and small pencils. Anna, Joan, George, and Jane were already sitting, recovering from their intense dance session and playing Spoons with a deck of cards George had brought in (“I still cannot believe you brought cards to prom.” “I never leave home without ‘em! You know that, Anna!”). As far as games being played at a school party went, it definitely wasn’t the lamest option they could have gone with.

“Aha!” Jane exclaimed, seizing one of the three plastic spoons on the table after she got a match of four aces. George looked up at her lovingly. “I have totally figured out this game! I am the new Spoons champion!”

“Ow!!” Anna yelped. “You SCRATCHED me!” She had been trying to grab one of the other spoons when Jane’s fingernails raked viciously over her hand. She rubbed the scraped skin tenderly, giving Jane a playful pout.

“This is a very violent game,” Joan observed. When someone got a match of four cards, they were supposed to grab a spoon as quick as they could, prompting everyone else to do the same, which resulted in some mayhem. Especially because there were four players and only three spoons, so clawing and yanking and merciless tug-of-war would sometimes happen as a result. There was even a moment where they all lurched forward at the same time and bonked their heads together.

“What can I say?” Jane said with a shrug, flicking her spoon back and forth. “I play to win.”

At that moment, Maggie came around with ballots, setting four papers and four pencils on the table for them. Before she whisked away, she declared a louder-than-necessary, “GOOD LUCK!” into Joan’s ear. Joan rubbed her ear uncomfortably as Anna and Jane both glowered after Maggie, then examined the ballot in front of her. Her mouth dropped open.

“Anna,” She whispered shakily, grabbing onto Anna’s arm tightly. “W-we’re on here!”

“I saw that,” Anna said.

“Woah! Congrats!” George beamed.

“Can we decline?” Joan asked anxiously.

“Hell no!” Anna said, laughing slightly. “If you win, all you do is sit up there on those thrones for the school song, wave some scepter around, and look like a jackass.”

“Oh, and then you get your picture taken for the yearbook so everyone could see that you looked like a jackass.” George added. He, Jane, and Anna laugh lightly. “You also get to lead a dance! So that’s pretty cool.”

“Well...who do we vote for?” Joan asked Anna. “They’re more your crowd than mine. I don’t really have a crowd.”

“Ourselves, duh!” Anna said.

“Isn’t voting for yourself like voting for Ralph Nader?” George asked.

“Who’s Ralph Nader?”

“Well, I’m voting for you.” Jane said to Joan. She smiled and checked off Joan and Anna’s names.

“Thanks,” Joan whispered, ducking her head shyly. She glanced over at the thrones on the stage and couldn’t help but be enamored by them. They were so sparkly and pretty. “They are beautiful…”

“You’re beautiful.” Anna grinned, taking Joan by surprise. She would never get over the shock of hearing someone say that to her. “To the devil with false modesty.”

Joan smiled. “To the devil,” She said, and checked off her and Anna’s names.

------

“Look at how she’s smiling. Stupid little cow.”

Cathy peered over the shrouded edge of the catwalk they were hiding on. She could see Joan Seymour, the poor bitch this prank was on, playing cards at one of the tables with Anne’s younger brother, his girlfriend, and Anna von Cleves. Her dress was beautiful, Cathy had to admit, and she looked so happy.

It was such a shame it was all about to be ruined.

The buckets were poised and ready.

“God, and my stupid brother.” Anne rolled her eyes. “I should have known he would befriend the resident freak.” She shook her head and turned to Cathy, smiling again. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cathy mumbled, feeling ill.

“Oh, cheer up.” Anne nudged her. “We’re just playing a little joke! Nobody is getting hurt!”

“Anne, this is--this is sick. Really, really sick.” Cathy said. “If we get caught--”

“We aren’t going to get caught.” Anne said firmly. “Calm down, will you? It’s not that bad. We’re just gonna give her a little scare, that’s all.”

Cathy shook her head and cast a dark look at the two metal buckets. She could still smell the contents from her spot, the scent of three-day-old pig blood and guts wafting heavily in the air. It was a miracle nobody else on the stage had smelled it yet.

“Do you really think they’ll vote for them?” She finally spoke up again, glancing at her girlfriend. In the dim light, only half of Anne’s face could be seen, and there was madness reaching out of that amber eye.

“Of course,” Anne answered her. “I set it up. Nobody else will even be close.” She smiled wickedly. “Do you want to pull the rope?”

------

Katherine was restless. It was starting to worry her sister, she knew. She kept getting up in the middle of the movie they were watching and would pace around the living room like a lion in a circus cage. She couldn’t help it- something felt off.

“Kit?” Isabel called. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Katherine replied, shaking out her wrists as if they were crawling with caterpillars. “Just a little anxious, that’s all.”

Isabel paused the movie and turned to her completely. “About the prom?” She asked.

“What else?” Katherine sighed. “I texted Anna and she said everything was going fine, but still… I’m worried about Joan. I hope she’s having a good time.”

“I’m sure she is,” Isabel said. “You’re letting your Mum Friend status get to you too much.”

Katherine managed to laugh. “Maybe.”

She took out her phone and checked it for what felt like the tenth time that evening. Just like last time, there were no new messages. Just her reply from Anna after she reacted to the picture that was sent, which was marked as “read.” Anna must have been too busy having a good time to text back, which was good. She was giving Joan her full attention. But what if she wasn’t answering for a different reason…?

“Ugh--” Katherine collapsed down on the couch next to Isabel, who looked quite amused. “Anxiety SUCKS ASS.”

“Preach it, sister.” Isabel laughed. She patter her shoulder with a tender smile. “It’s going to be okay, Kat. I’m sure everything is just fine.”

But she was wrong.

------

“You really make all your own clothes?” George was asking with great interest. After Maggie had come around again and picked up the marked prom ballots, the group decided to take a small break from Spoons to let their maimed hands rest and stop burning. Now, they were just chatting idly, talking about random things as they waited for the score to be tallied up.

“Yeah, most of them,” Joan answered, nodding.

“That’s so convenient.”

Joan smiled shyly. “Yeah. Sorry I’m not better at conversations. I don’t have a lot of interesting stories.”

“No worries!” George said dismissively. “You’re much better company than most of the people here. Some of them don’t know how to keep a secret.” Then, he turned his head and shot an irritated look at a boy in a dark navy blue suit at a navy table. “And SOME OF THEM think very HIGHLY of themselves.”

The boy in navy blue whipped his gaze around and narrowed his eyes at George.

“I can HEAR you!” He shouted.

“We all can!” Piped up someone else.

“I KNOW.” George shouted back. “We’re in a GYM! But I’m having a PRIVATE CONVERSATION, so stick your nose somewhere else!”

“Then why did you look at me?!” The boy in navy blue cried.

“Because I was MAKING a POINT to my FRIENDS!” George snapped.

“You WISH you had friends!”

“Go suck a LIME!”

“Now, now,” A teacher chaperone said in a bored voice. “Settle down.”

George turned his head back to the table and smiled. “Anyway,” He said, his voice all sweetness again, “Where were we?”

The other three burst into laughter.

And then, silence was called over the gym.

“Attention, everyone!” Bessie said into the mic. “It’s time to announce the elected prom king and queen!”

There was a drumroll as Bessie excitedly pulled out a slip of paper from an envelope. Everyone held their breath in anticipation.

“ANNA VON CLEVES AND JOAN SEYMOUR!!!”

Anna, who had been mindlessly taking a sip from her cup, not thinking much of the election, spit her drink out in George’s face. Joan froze, her eyes opening wider than possible. All heads turned to her table. Gasps and murmurs whisked through the crowd. The gym went very quiet.

And then, there was a huge, booming, explosive eruption of applause that seemed to shake the walls like thunder. Everyone began to clap and cheer loudly, roaring into one big celebratory mass of noise. One person even yelled, “Yeah, go Anna! Go, Joan!”

Two student body members dressed in (school appropriate) togas, a boy and a girl, walked over to the table, smiling. Anna laughed and stood up with her arms spread in a queenly gesture of sorts, and the crowd went wild, shrieking their support. George, who quickly recovered from being sprayed with mouth soda, was beaming in pride for his friend and Jane looked both a little stunned and absolutely thrilled. Anna nudged Joan’s side and then extended her elbow for them to lock arms, but Joan did not get up. She was far too starstruck to stand at the moment, lost in the whirling of the radiant, overwhelming glee rocketing through her. She had never been clapped for before like this, nor had she ever been so joyful in her entire life.

Prom Queen. Her. Joan Seymour. She was Prom Queen. A queen. Royalty. Important. Her.

It was a dream come true.

Anna gently grabbed Joan by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, effectively snapping Joan out of her daze. She still remained breathless and dazzled, however, as the entire prom screeched for her when she finally got to her feet. She nearly fainted from joy right then and there, but managed to cling to her consciousness. She grappled onto Anna’s arm, a smile coming to her lips that she knew would not be leaving for a while.

The two of them, escorted by the toga-clad student body duo, began to stride through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea when they passed. The band boomed and swelled into a loud, upbeat melody. The audience continued to applaud and scream and cheer. Any sarcasm was lost to its cacophony; this was honest and deep and genuinely happy for the elected pair. Someone whistled. Someone else patted Joan’s bare shoulder as she passed by. Miss Aragon, at the edge of the trench of students, looked so proud.

Tears were welling up in Joan’s eyes. Her mouth was starting to hurt from smiling so widely. Has she ever smiled for this long before? She doesn’t think so. She hoped she wasn’t hurting Anna, she was hanging onto her arm really tightly. Anna didn’t seem to mind, though. The older girl was practically glowing in the fairy lights, like a goddess of sorts.

They reached the short flight of stairs to the stage, where Bessie and Principal Holbein were waiting. The thrones were pushed up to the front arches of the decorative Parthenon, glistening in the spotlights poised on the apron. They were inlaid with gold and fake jewels and were so much more breathtaking up close.

“Come on up, you guys!” Bessie shouted over all the noise. She beamed at Joan as Anna helped her up the steps, then turned to shake hands with Principal Holbein. “You look so beautiful! Congratulations!”

Joan couldn’t possibly must up a reply with all these endorphins sprinting through her, so she just smiled even wider, if that were even possible at that point.

She and Anna were whisked over to the thrones (but not without Bessie launching herself into Anna and hugging her very tightly). A silver scepter was thrust into Anna’s hands by the boy student body member in the toga, while the girl swept a furry velvet and sunflower yellow cloak with a puffy collar around Joan’s shoulders. They sat in the thrones and another ear-splitting bout of applause broke out.

Joan was glad to be sitting. Her legs were shaking and her knees felt weak. She was dizzy from shock and bliss and excitement.

(look at me Mama look at me)

(i made it)

(i did it)

The crowns were taken out on big wine red pillows. Both were encrusted with surprisingly realistic looking diamonds and glittered like captured rainbows in the light. Joan nearly sobbed when her tiara was set on her head and she reached up to touch it instantly, just to make sure it was there and real. And it was. The jewels were smooth and bumpy beneath her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna grinning at her affectionately.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bessie said energetically into the mic, “your king and queen on senior prom! Anna von CLEVES and Joan SEYMOUR!”

The audience howled. Anna laughed. She stood up and thrust her scepter into the air.

“Long live King Anna!!!” Someone yelled.

“SPEECH!!!” Someone else, George from back at the table, cried out.

Anna grinned brightly in his direction.

The band cracked and rose into a fever pitch as the school song was played. The audience began to sing along to the music, their hundreds of mixing voices spiraling into a cloud of haunting sound. Anna basked in it, her chest puffed out with pride, then turned and gently gathered Joan to her feet so she could bathe in the glory with her. Joan probably would have crumpled right to the floor if Anna hadn't helped her up.

It was such a dizzying feeling, being the center of so much positive attention when it was usually all so negative. All these people were cheering for her, Joan Seymour. And they didn’t look to be doing it mockingly at all. They liked her. They really, really liked her!

(i told you Mama i told you)

“Long live Queen Joan!!” Shouted the person from before.

“Queen Joan!!!” Someone else whooped gleefully.

Joan was shaking all over. She knew everyone could see that she was, but it wasn’t deterring their applause. They just kept clapping and cheering and singing, even as she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.

But unbeknownst to her, among the crowd, Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee were smirking rather than smiling. Maggie kept glancing up every few seconds, which caught the attention of Jane, who began to sidle over slowly to see what she was looking at.

Bessie waved her arms and all the noise began to diminish. She turned to Anna and Joan, still grinning her head off.

“Your Highnesses,” She said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Like that, the cheering started up again.

The toga boy took Anna’s staff from her, but Joan’s cloak was left on. Anna extended a hand and Joan took it as the lights around them faded to soft blue and light purple. They walked slowly down the steps and onto the center of the gym floor, where they pressed against each other and began to dance in long, graceful movements. The band played an airy melody of violins and flutes, which Joan didn’t even realize they had, but she could hardly care. She was too wrapped up in dancing with Anna to care about anything at this point.

Her legs trembled, unsteady, unpracticed, fawn-like. Her head spins and her vision blurs with the opposite of vertigo. Her hands clasp tightly at Anna’s and her shoulder, like the older girl was an island out in a raging black ocean. Moats of silver dust float like moths in the rays of light beaming from the spotlight, and she had never been more awash in radiance.

Anna’s hand is warm on her waist and she looked up at her, dry lips parting with a slight pop. Anna tilted her head at her and smiled, the corners of her mouth held aloft by the spotlights. Her fingertips trail over Joan’s veins, bluer than hers, rivers snaking beneath her skin and crisscrossing the imperfect planet of her body.

But Anna doesn’t care.

Each sweeping step they take gave Joan more confidence and made the world come a little more into focus. This was all Joan has ever wanted- being held so gently, being loved despite her flaws, being wanted and needed and swayed like she is. Anna doesn’t care that she’s touching her, Anna doesn’t care about the roughness of her scarred palms, Anna doesn’t care that she wasn’t at prom with her girlfriend.

Anna cared about her and her alone. Nothing else in the entire universe mattered to her. And that was a dream come true.

Anna coaxed her closer in that honeyed voice of hers that makes Joan feel all fluttery inside, whispered that she wanted to show off to all these loons, and Joan does as she's told, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, searching for stable ground as they whisked in loops inside the circle of students crowded around them.

“Anna?” Joan whispered.

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her, still smiling with so much affection for her.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Joan.”

Joan was still shaky but that’s okay. If she fell, Anna would surely catch her.

There was a blooming warmth on Joan’s hand and she looked at it, and that’s when everything fell to pieces. Shafts of burgeoning gold cut through soft silver and burst outwards, filling the gym in blinding yellow waves. Violin and flutes were replaced with a marching drumbeat. Silence turned to an uproar of cheering and clapping. The dance floor melted away and the stage rose up beneath Joan’s feet. And there was Bessie and the band and the two student body members in togas and Anna, now up there with her again. And there was blood. On her hand.

“Your Highnesses,” Bessie said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Joan does not hear her. She can’t even move.

Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

Her blood?

Was it happening again?

Anna looked at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Joan?” She whispered. ��Everything okay?”

Joan does not reply.

Like how Anna does not see the blood.

It was the size of a nickel American tourists would sometimes accidentally drop on the streets. Bright red against her pale white skin, like a ruby buried in fresh snow. Completely odorless in such a small quantity.

Blood.

Where did it come from?

Joan looked up shakily and time seemed to slow down so she, and everyone else in the gym, could watch as two buckets full of blood poured out in an unhurried manner to fall, splash, splash, splash, right over Joan’s head.

------

“Hail, Alma Mater,”

The singing of the crowd mixed with the band and all the cheering was a mess of noise in Anne’s ears. She grit her teeth in rage and glared down at the thrones, where the pig herself, Joan Seymour, was being crowned Prom Queen. With her tiara.

“Why are they still clapping?” Anne hissed.

“I don’t know, babe.” Cathy said uselessly. “Don’t ask me.”

Anne growled lowly in her throat and gripped the rope in her hands tightly. The smell of the blood wafting from the buckets was intoxicating.

“Oh, Mother, we salute you,”

“Are you going to pull it?” Cathy asked. “They’re there. The song is playing. Get it over with already.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Anne snapped.

“We proclaim out devotion,”

Anne’s hands were starting to shake. Her chest burned as she held her breath.

“I’m not pulling it for you.” Cathy said. “That thing can sit up there ‘till hell freezes over.”

Anne elbowed her hard in the stomach and her girlfriend reeled backwards in pain.

“As we set our dreams into motion!”

“Your Highnesses,” Bessie said from below after the school anthem ended, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Anne leaned forward and yanked the cord with both hands.

For a moment, there was slack, making her think Cathy fucked up the set up to get back at her, that the rope was attached to nothing but thin air, that Joan fucking Seymour was actually going to get away clean.

But then, it snagged and jerked away from her grasp, leaving a thin rope burn across her palms. The buckets tipped and glorious red fell free. She peeked over the edge to watch, then turned to Cathy, smirking widely in victory.

In the darkness, Cathy looked horrified.

And in the light of the stage, someone screamed.

------

Two weeks after the Black Prom, Elizabeth “Bessie” Blount, would write this for the detectives,

“I had been looking at the crowd when the buckets came, but I turned fast enough to see a majority of it. It got EVERYWHERE. Joan got the most of it. She looked like she had just been dragged out of a river of blood. There were barely any spots of pink left on her dress. But us onstage got some of it, too. Anna was wearing a white tux. She got splattered. She looked like she was in a murder scene. I got splattered, too. My dress and my chest and my face. And for a moment, when my mind flashed back to the showers on Friday, I wondered if this was period blood. It was clearly a prank of sorts, so did whoever planned this (which I now know was Anne), get a bunch of girls to squat over some buckets and bleed into them just to dump it out on this one chick?

But then I realized that it didn’t smell like period blood.

I don’t think any of you or anyone else who wasn’t there really understand the smell. It wasn’t just an awful sight--it smelled, too. Like--like...it’s so hard to explain. It smelled like blood, but blood that has been left out in the sun for a week. Like rotten meat. Have you ever smelled rotten meat? It was like that.

And it also wasn’t just blood. There were organs and pieces of organs, too. I don’t even know what it was, but there was a strip of /something/ on my face. But Joan was covered in guts. Intestines hanging from her shoulders, mushy livers and kidneys caught against her dress, a stomach snagged on her crown. There were even testicles. One missed her, but the other hit her in her head and then bounced off.

Joan was still for a very long time. She had been looking up, so her face was dripping and her eyes were closed. Then, she opened them and things all went to hell from there.

I look back on this a lot. I know it wasn’t that long ago, but it’s always so fresh in my mind. I got my period two days ago and I /cried/ when I saw the blood. Because I wonder, if I had been a little bit nicer, would it have never happened? I know that’s wishful thinking, but I still wonder about it all the time. I do that a lot, now. I just think about what happened. And it gets worse each time.

I wish about a lot, but I never wish to stop the Black Prom. I just wish I had died in there with everyone else. I could kill myself, but it wouldn’t be the same, you know? I was left alive for a reason, I think. It’s a punishment. Unless Joan thought I was innocent enough to let go. But I don’t think so. So now I have to live with what I did and what happened because of it.

I would like to see Anna again, though. I wish I got to say goodbye to her.”

------

She was covered in it.

Blood.

Whose blood?

(my blood)

The smell was overwhelming. Like rotten meat left out in the summer heat for several months. The taste was worse. She didn’t want to describe it. This blood did not have the same metallic tang of normal blood. There was something very, very wrong with it.

The blood was thick, half a liquid, half a solid. It was coagulated and clotted, thick chunks caught in her hair and eyelashes and dress. It drooled down her chest, between her breasts, and over the flat expanse of her stomach.

Everywhere. It was everywhere.

In her ears and her nose and her eyes and her mouth.

Blood.

Something else splattered down against her, too. It made a loud slapping sound when it hit her head and made her tiara crooked when it snagged on the points. Something long and squishy draped over her shoulder while something else went down the back of her dress and fell out the bottom with a wet /plop/. They all had a very rank, ripe scent.

Joan’s eyes were closed. She had been looking up, so her face was completely drenched. Her dress was ruined, dyed to a deep scarlet instead of a pale flamingo pink. Her hair was soaked and dripping and red, retaining no hints of the original platinum white-blonde. The cloak around her neck looked like a freshly gutted dog, and it fell heavily to the ground at her feet. Rivulets of red ran down her arms, oozing off her fingers and into the crimson lake all around her.

One by one, the clapping stopped, the cheering died off, and the smiles fell until the only sound was the creak of the two ropes the buckets were attached to and the splattering of blood on the floor. Nobody moved, nobody breathed, nobody spoke a word.

And then, Joan’s eyes opened.

Something was glowing behind those twin orbs of grey-blue.

Joan slowly raised her hands and stared at them, watching tiny rivers of blood snake down the palms. Her breathing picked up slowly, faster and faster and faster, until her body was heaving with the weight of her panting. Her eyes darted around- at Anna, spattered in red beside her; at Bessie, wide-eyed and bloody; at George and Jane, horrified; at Miss Aragon, with her mouth hanging open; at Principal Holbein, shocked into stillness; at the audience, silent. She looked down and saw the blood, then the guts.

She was covered in guts.

Intestines hung from her shoulders, several pieces of pruney and wrinkled pink tissue clung to her dress, a stomach was caught on her crown.

Guts.

Someone spilled guts on her.

Blood and guts.

Something itched in Joan’s throat, and when she opened her mouth, a whimper came out.

And then a cry.

And then a scream.

She screamed a horrible, nightmare-haunting scream that reverberated throughout the auditorium and jammed itself into the ears of the audience. It cut off after a moment and she stared at her hands again in horror, hoping they would be clean, but the red still remained. She tried to scrub at her arms, but the blood only smeared and coated her skin even further. She whimpered and keened loudly, scratching and clawing desperately. Someone in the audience snorted.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Anna roared in fury. She was the first to snap out of the terror-stricken trance, and now all she felt was outrage. “WHO DID THIS?”

No answer. Someone snorted again. A few people murmured. Heads whipped around frantically.

“WHO DID THIS?!” Anna screeched again. She looked around and spotted something in the wings- Anne and Cathy. She snarled lowly, like a dog about to bite, then took off after them when they fled.

Like that, with Anna’s jarring sprint into motion, the trance that had descended over the gym was broken. People began to exclaim in shock and whisper to one another. A few took out their phones to take pictures. Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee snorted and then burst into howls of laughter.

And people joined in.

They were laughing at her.

(Mama was right)

Joan felt her body start to seize. She went hot and then cold and then hot again until she was freezing. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, racing faster and faster and faster until she thought it would burst apart.

“Pig, pig, pig, pig!” Anthony bellowed through bouts of laughter. “Sweet pig, pig, pig!”

(Mama was right they’re laughing)

(they always laugh)

“Freak! Freak!!” Maggie shrieked in giggles.

Everything was starting to bleed together. A blur of black and silver marched through the crowd below; Jane Parker slapped Anthony hard across the face.

Joan gasped.

Miss Aragon and Principal Holbein rush up to the stage, along with George Boleyn and Jane Parker. The whispers are swelling into a full thunderstorm of murmurs, but she can’t make them out. Her ears were too clogged with blood to really hear.

“Joan?” Jane called out, and her voice was but a distant echo. “Joan, can you hear me?” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Miss Aragon gently touched Joan’s shoulder, brushed away the tangle of intestines caught against it. Her nose was twitching; she could smell the overwhelming stench of the rancid blood and guts, too.

“Joan? Joan, sweetie, talk to me. It’s Miss Aragon.” The coach said.

But Joan does not awaken from the strange state she’s slipped into.

The adrenaline is making the strain on her body bearable, all the beautiful chemicals coursing through her veins as she flexed her powers.

That, and the anger.

It all made her so angry. Her mother. Her treatment at school. Her life. Who she was.

Fifteen long years of being the good Christian girl. Of turning the other cheek. Of enduring and bearing. Of being patient and understanding and letting things go, always letting things go.

It gets old. So fucking old.

She was tired of it.

The pillars of the Parthenon began to quake. The decorative spires and sculptures on the gym floor soon followed. Joan sent her powers through their mass and ripped them into chunks. The pieces locked together in the air like a growing puzzle until a long body was created. Wings from the ripped mural canvases, a tail of ice and marble, curved claws chipped from stone, sharp spikes torn out of chair legs, and a piece of the fire alarm and DJ booth attached to the back of the throat.

Everyone stepped away and stared in horror as the dragon thumped to the ground on its back haunches and let out an ear-piercing roar.

“Say. Hello.” It spoke in a gargled voice. “Everybody. Say. Hello.”

And then, a pipe from up above was ripped free and sailed straight into Maria de Salinas’s heart.

August had thought they had been scared when the buckets dropped, but not even that fear could rival the absolute terror pumping through them as they stared at the bleeding corpse just a few feet away. Several people were starting to run, but they couldn’t move. It wouldn’t matter anyway; all the doors were locked. They could hear students shouting over it in a panic all around them, through the screaming.

They looked up at Joan Seymour’s bloody form and realization dawned on them with a jarring shock.

She’s going to kill us all.

The pipe pulled loose from Maria’s heart with a spurt of blood. Joan peered at it curiously, as if it were a new pet. A moment later, it flew around and jammed itself through the spot that connected the second victim’s jaw to her neck. It went all the way through and left her nearly decapitated, spasming wildly on the ground before death overcame her and she stilled. Then, the pipe spun and sailed straight through a boy’s stomach.

By this point, full pandemonium had erupted throughout the entire theater. Everyone was running around screaming, panicking, crying. They’re trampling over each other like caged cattle—and they very well may have been, because they were all going to burn like the filthy cows they all were.

This is our punishment, August realized. For bullying her. We did this.

They looked up with tears in their eyes. The head of the conjured dragon turned to them slowly and creaked open its jaw.

“Repent, repent, repent, repent.” It said, and then smashed its talons over August’s head.

Nicola couldn’t even scream when August was crushed right before her eyes. Their body crumpled like a compressed can; she could hear their bones snap and break beneath the heavy weight of the strange monster’s talons. When the claws were raised, there was a huge splattering of blood and mushed organs, which oozed slowly off stone nails in droplets of liquid ruby and rose quartz.

August was dead.

Joan was not done killing yet.

Nicola dove behind an upturned table and tried to steady her ragged breathing. She yelped when someone collapsed down in front of her.

“Ari!” She cried.

Ari, shell shocked, but uninjured, scrambled beside her, ducking low for cover. Their eyes were wide and mortified.

“What--what the fuck is going on?” They whispered. Each word sounded like it took great effort to speak through heaving breaths. “What--is--happening?!”

“I-I don’t know!” Nicola replied.

Near the buffet temples, the flying pipe stabbed through a girl’s neck. Nicola shuddered and hugged her knees.

“She’s killing us,” She whispered. “She’s killing us all.”

“Oh god,” Ari muttered in horror. They pressed a hand to their forehead. “You know what, Nicola? I-I don’t want to die!” They laughed shakily, tears brimming in their eyes.

“Shh. You’re not allowed to die.” Nicola said, and Ari managed a tight smile.

And then, the pipe flew by and put itself directly between Ari’s eyes.

The table tipped backward, along with Ari’s body. The pipe pulled out with a squelch and squirt of blood, leaving a gaping hole all the way through Ari’s head. Nicola vomited, she couldn’t help it.

“Monster,” She whispered raggedly She glared at the stage through tears. “You’re a monster!”

Joan twitched, but didn’t look at her. Nicola braced herself and prepared for the pipe to come around and take her life, but it didn’t. It was currently embedded in the stomachs of two students at once. No, instead, her executioner was a snake that rose up from one of the candles.

Nicola’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the flaming serpent coil out from the candle. It was huge, with bright golden eyes and a tongue that spewed embers when it flicked out at her. Then, it opened its wide jaws and came at her faster than lightning.

Pain. Blinding pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

She was on fire.

Her dress exploded into golden plumes almost instantly, with her hair following shortly after. She could feel the fabric of her gown fusing with her flesh as it dripped off her body like wax. She screamed and flailed helplessly, but it did nothing to help her. The serpent consumed her.

A thick shoulder smashed Violet into a rigid back. Boots stamped down on one of her feet. She heard a screech of pain that sounded like someone from her Economics class. She caught a glimpse of Principal Holbein trying desperately to calm everyone down. Someone grabbed her forearm, and she turned to see Lara, staring at a raging snake made of fire.

“Oh god,” She whispered. “What do we do?”

“I-I don’t know!” Violet said. “We can’t escape. The doors are locked!”

“There has to be another way!” Lara cried. “D-don’t say that! There has to be!”

Nearby, a kid burst into flames when the snake coiled around him. The dragon jumped into the fray, shaking the entire gym when it leapt to the ground. It lashed its huge tail, connecting with a large panicking group of students and sending them sprawling with an awful symphony of breaking bones and splitting skin. It trampled over kids as it made its way to the tree and climbed to the top.

“Respect me. Respect me. Respect me.” It said over and over again, flaring out its wings. Its mouth did not move when it spoke, rather just hung open like a snake spraying venom.

Violet and Lara backed away, getting pushed and shoved and nearly separated in the process. They clasped their hands together and watched as fire began to spread through the ripped murals against the wall.

This place was going to burn to the ground.

“JOAN!!”

The pipe, which had taken lodging in the back of a blonde girl’s skull, flashed through the air and cleaved into its next victim’s stomach, silencing them.

Lara gasped and buried her face in her talons.

“Oh no,” Violet whispered. “Oh no, no, no…!”

Anna coughed and was startled to taste blood. She touched her lips and her fingers came back red. Then, slowly, her hands slid down to her stomach, where an even bigger patch of red was spreading across her tux.

There was a pipe in her stomach.

Her vision blurred and she collapsed to her side, gargling on her blood.

“Anna!!”

Joan was there, even bloodier than her, grey-blue eyes wide. Her hands hovered around the pipe, then pulled it out, sending sharp bolts of pain through Anna’s entire being.

“Anna, Anna, no--” Joan stammered. Tears flooded down her face. “Anna, no--”

“J-Joan--” Anna coughed. She raised a bloody hand and Joan clasped it in her own.

“Anna, I’m so sorry!” Joan said. “I-I didn’t mean to…” She glanced at the gaping red horror in Anna’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Anna said. “I-I know you...you didn’t…” Everything was starting to blur together.

“No, Anna, don’t die!” Joan begged. “Don’t die! You can’t die!”

“Think...think I still have a shot at being a singer?” Anna choked out a laugh that was thick with blood.

Joan sniffled and nodded tearfully. “Y-yeah, of course.” She said. “Y-you’d be the best!”

Anna smiled weakly up at her. Her brain felt very fuzzy all of a sudden. The pain was getting worse.

No. No. She cannot die, not now, not after all she’s done. Surely she won’t—the wound is likely not nearly as terrible as it felt, or this is some nightmare and she’ll wake up any moment, and there will be no more blood and George and Jane and Joan will be teasing her for falling asleep at prom and then they’ll go to the Blazer.

She doesn’t wake up.

And now she can’t breathe--her chest heaved and she gasped and coughed, and suddenly her throat felt very hot and full and it’s terribly uncomfortable.

She doesn’t want to die. But it hurt too much.

“Joan--” She rasped. “I-I can’t--”

“No.” Joan said through gritted teeth. Then, she softly pushed Anna’s head up to look at her. The spotlights glowed around her and made her look like a blood soaked angel. “You‘re not dying today. Not here.” She sniffled. “Not in my arms, Anna.”

Anna frowned and parted her lips, gasping for air so loud Joan’s own air almost got pulled out of her lungs.

“Please.” She begged quietly. “You have to--”

The rest of the words didn't come out, but Joan’s face paled and she understood.

“No, Anna,” She whispered. “No. Not after I--”

“I-it hurts, Joan.” Anna said.

“I-I can fix you!” Joan said, shaking her head. Blood from her hair splatter everywhere. “I-I can sew your wound! I-it’s gonna be okay!”

Anna shook her head sluggishly. “Joan,” She whispered firmly. “You can’t. You know that.” She lifted a quaking hand and wiped away one of Joan’s tears, smearing the blood already on her face. “Don’t--don’t be--sad.”

“W-we were supposed to w-watch that movie together,” Joan whimpered. “And have a party. You can’t die, Anna.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna breathed out. Then, quietly, she said, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Joan said back

Anna’s face lit up, regardless of the pain. “You’re incredible,” She said.

Joan cried harder.

“Don’t let--don't let this--w-world tell you--otherwise, mh?” She said. “Don’t let it--it ruin--you.”

“Anna, please.” Joan sobbed. “Please, please don't go. I-I need you. You--you brought me back to life.”

“And I’d do that again--and again..and again--”

Anna was delirious. She caressed Joan’s cheeks with her thumbs, and Joan leaned her forehead against hers. Joan let the silence between them fill the void she started feeling inside of her for a few seconds, but her sobs soon came back, filling the stage’s space. All around them in the gym, the panic of students and teacher chaperones was unified into stillness. They were all watching transfixed in shock and despair.

“Thank you,” Anna whispered.

“F-for what?” Joan asked.

Anna smiled. “For giving me the best night of my life.”

Anna’s neck snapped. Joan knew where to send her powers into her spinal cord to make her stop crying. Hurting.

To make it all stop.

If someone had asked her to do this, she would’ve killed herself. She would kill herself for Anna a thousand times. Over and over. She would let anyone torture her, use her, hurt her, however whenever wherever they would like to. But Anna asking her to end her suffering… She could not bear this. She could not bear her pain...not this one.

Not like this.

The one person who ever truly cared about her. The one person who genuinely wanted to be around her… She killed her.

Joan let out a long, keening whimper and began to rock back and forth, cradling Anna’s upper body against her chest.

If they only could’ve had more time. If they only could’ve had some more time to spend together, some more time to share, some more time to be friends. In such a short period of time, Anna had turned into the big sister she never knew she wanted or ever had. She wanted to be next to Anna forever and always. She wanted to be with her and her friends and even Katherine.

But it didn’t matter now. Anna was dead. And no amount of power was going to bring her back.

Joan cried for several long moments, clutching Anna’s corpse. Fresh blood mingled with the blood coating her entire being. Warmth was slowly draining out of Anna’s body.

And then, something itched in her throat and, holding Anna closer, she tipped her head back.

The thing that overcame the silence was just a noise, one that had been boiling up in Joan’s chest for hours; long before she had gotten blood dumped over her head, or walked into prom, or even got invited to prom at all.

Joan didn’t yell a whole lot, never had. She’d always had the tendency to quietly brood when her temper ran high or her spirits low, something that had helped facilitate her transformation over the years of torment and torture. So in reality, the noise that was escaping her right now was one she’d been holding back for a very long time.

It sounded stupid. But it felt good.

So she kept doing it. Screaming. Over and over again until it just turned into one long roar of agony and fury and anguish.

Intimidating or not, effective or not, when a sound was being uttered over and over by a teenage girl who’s been living the closest thing to Hell that could exist on God’s green earth, a teenage girl covered in blood with wild eyes, a mangy body, and a lifetime worth of pain...

It was a goddamn battle-cry.

Joan gently placed her flower crown on Anna’s chest, situating her limp hands to where they were holding on it, then stood very, very slowly as if she were underwater, or her muscles were buckled into place. Her movements weren’t right- they were too twitchy and abrupt like a robot with rusted limbs. And her eyes—god, her eyes… They were wider than humanly possible.

She stood, dripping with blood, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and stared out at the audience.

(i’m going to kill you all)

Someone should tell the Devil she was going to room with him because she was about to turn this place into a living Hell.

Grace period ended with the striking of the flaming snake. A poor boy in a dark purple tux burst into flames, and screaming erupted all around him once again.

“Oh fuck! Oh god!”

“We’re all going to die!”

“Open the door!”

“Somebody call 999!!”

“HELP!!!!”

Madness. It was pure madness.

(nobody will EVER laugh at me again)

She imagined storming into the school and screaming her head off at the inconsiderate teachers, the rude students. She’s a smart kid, dammit! She’s been in school as long as everyone else, and she’s very good at it. No more questioning her, no more arguing or trying to make her look foolish, no more bullying.

And then, it happened. Within the space of the gym, it happened. Absolute mayhem.

She imagined setting fire to the entire school, not caring about how much money it would cost to fix it. Just to hear the crackles of flames, just to watch the people scramble, just to be the chaos instead of the shield against it.

Roaring flames tore along the walls of the gym, thanks to Judgement. Her dragon at the top of the tree helped by fanning the fire with its giant wings, throwing embers all throughout the room. Students squealed when they were burned, music to Joan’s ears. Someone crumpled to the ground, charred as black as night. Someone else with their tux on fire was screaming for help. Several burned corpses lay half in, half out of the firestorm, so melted and disfigured that their gender could barely be made out.

She imagined stalking into her classes, kicking the door open like she would sometimes try to do with the prayer closet. She would watch class jump in surprise and fear, not just staring at her like she’s her mother’s trained puppy.

Her fingers clenched and someone’s head popped like a balloon, splattering bits of brain and bone all over the faces of the people around them. They all shrieked in horror. Someone else yelled in a higher register, and Joan realized it was some guy coming at her with a knife he must have snuck into the party. She couldn’t touch it, but she could feel her power surging through her fingers and she leaned into it, snatching the knife right out of the boy’s hands and making it cut murderously across his throat like the widest, most bloody smile in the world.

She imagined punching Anne in the face, hearing the crack of her nose. Better than any of the bullshit Christian music her mother makes her listen to.

And then, relishing it, she imagined dunking her into water until she couldn’t breathe, she imagined stealing Bessie’s clothes and leaving her stranded naked in a bathroom stall for hours, she imagined tripping Maria in the hallway and having her break her jaw on the way down, she imagined putting a snake in Maggie’s shoe and watching her howl and foam at the mouth when it pumped her full of venom.

Who’s the boss now? Who’s the tough one, who doesn’t take shit, who doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want, ever?

She imagined growling into all of their ears as she tore into all of them and didn’t care how much of a devil it made her.

How do you like me now?

Being strong, and bold, and standing up, taking what she wants when she wants it, for the first time in her goddamn life. Because, before this, she would have never done any of that stuff she imagines.

She never did that.

She never defended herself or stood up for herself or fought back.

She only endured and endured and endured like a good little girl, like Mama wanted, like how Mama made her.

It's what's best for her. What's best for everyone.

But not anymore.

Never again.

Joan reached out her powers and found Maggie among the panic.

(never again Maggie never again)

(you will never hurt anyone else ever again)

She coiled her powers around Maggie’s shoulders and clenched down. When the grasp was tight enough, she began telekinetically pulling away from Maggie’s body. Instantly, Maggie was alerted that something was very wrong when her arms raised outwards against her will. She fought against Joan’s power, but was much too weak, and began to scream loudly at the strain on her flesh.

“Maggie!” Anthony yelled in shock. “What’s wr--”

Joan halted his sentence. She didn’t want him speaking anymore.

She found his organs after a quick moment of searching and vacuumed them upwards. Anthony gagged loudly and clutched at his stomach. His throat bulged like an anaconda was trying to slither out of his body, and then his guts came pouring out of his mouth.

Everyone shrieked much louder than they were before, or at least those not completely panicking. Anthony’s stomach splattered to the ground first, then his kidneys and liver, large intestines, and then his small intestines, which didn’t make it all the way out and dangled from his mouth like a half eaten snake. He collapsed into the pool of his own insides, empty and very much dead.

“Anthony!!” Maggie shrieked, tears pouring out of her eyes. A moment later, her arms ripped off of her body and began spewing blood everywhere. Delicate bones poked out like stars on a dark night from the fresh openings against her shoulders. She would bleed to death quickly, and Joan left her to die on the floor, hoping it would be painful.

She looked around, noting how many people were still left alive. She watched Judgement corral three students, one of which fainted from terror. He set them all on fire and then whisked off for new prey. The girl who fainted woke up screaming, but the screams didn’t last very long.

Where was Anne?

(she ran)

(coward coward coward)

She had to go after Anne.

Joan got into the sprinklers overhead and activated them. The spray of water felt amazing over her tingling skin. The blood, mostly dried, began to run in red trails, but she knew it would do little to really clean her the way she wanted it to.

(i’m coming Anne)

But first, she had to finish what she started.

Violet took one step too close to the white tree where the watching dragon was perched. Having spotted her, the dragon roared a challenge, extending its wings in a brilliant display of dominance.

The roar it made was earth shattering.

Violet was still recovering from the roar when the dragon jumped down and its spiked forearm slammed into her chest, catapulting her backwards. It went after her, crushing several students into nothing beneath its talons, then pierced her with its tail, leaving her dangling several feet from the ground. Rich, ruby red blood drizzled from the razor sharp point.

She felt faint, the pain radiating through her like a dull ache as the dragon slowly brought her around, its beady white glass eyes fixed on her. She tried to wriggle free, but the sharp edge of the tail tearing into her unresisting flesh caused her to slide further down the blood-streaked appendage. The tail grated through her organs, cutting clean through them. She coughed blood and moaned weakly. Everything was starting to spin.

“Violet!!” Lara cried from down below.

Violet coughed blood again. The dragon lashed its tail and sent her flying free. She hit the floor roughly, hearing several bones snap, and then went very still. The last thing she ever heard was the sound of Lara’s skeleton being crushed in the jaws of the dragon.

Aragon was rarely ever scared, but the mayhem that had erupted throughout the gym nearly had her paralyzed with fear. For a moment, as she watched the destruction break out, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, especially when she saw Anthony Lee spill his guts from his mouth, but when the sprinklers kicked on overhead, she put her head back on her shoulders.

She had to get out.

Amid the chaos, she saw a flash of white and purple- Bessie. She hurried over to the bleach-haired student, who was in the middle of a pretty bad panic attack, and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Bessie! Bessie? Bessie, listen to me!” She shook her shoulders. “Come with me, alright?”

Bessie, unable to muster up any comprehensible reply, nodded. Aragon took her hand and began guiding her to a set of side doors that weren’t as blocked off as the rest of the exits. However, they were just as jammed as all the others.

“Fuck!” Aragon hissed, yanking on the handle.

“Wh-what do we do, Miss Aragon?!” Bessie whimpered, shivering.

Aragon looked around desperately, then located a vent up near the ceiling nearby.

“Get a chair!”

Bessie obeyed and grabbed the closest, most stable chair she could find. Aragon stood on it and ripped off the vent cover, then hopped back down. She had to let her kids go first.

“Go!” She shouted over the pandemonium. “Hurry! Get in!”

Bessie didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her heels and stood up on the chair, scrambling into the vent as quick as she could. Several other students who were smart enough to come over followed her in. By the time it was her turn to climb in, the sprinklers had cut off and the ground was covered in a layer of water.

Joan stepped off of the stage slowly. With every step she took, the water around her spread away so she would be walking on dry ground. Above her, the electrical equipment holding up the spotlights crackled, and Aragon realized what was about to happen.

“EVERYBODY, GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!” She screamed.

Aragon leapt up onto the chair and flung her arms inside the vent. As she was pulling herself up, the chair flipped and she was left dangling above the ground. And, at the same time, the electrical equipment exploded into sparks and fell to the floor.

It was horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. She watched her students spasm as they were electrocuted and then drop to the ground like birds with broken wings. Hundreds must have died, and she would soon join them. Any second now, her arms would give out and she’d plummet into the electrically charged water, joining the kids as a corpse inside the gym.

Her life began to flash before her eyes, surely thinking she was about to die. But then, a strange, unseen force began to lift her up and tuck her gently into the vent. When she turned her head, she saw Joan looking at her with shining eyes.

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lunawings · 4 years ago

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This is something I wrote a couple months ago one night when I couldn’t sleep.

I’m probably going to delete it, but something inside me thinks it’s important for me to get it out in the world before I open my ask box again and whatnot.

So I mentioned in a previous post something like “a chain of events from spring 2019″ made me realize that I needed to leave Japan. A significant part of that was actually... Aqours 5th Love Live.

Of course this had nothing to do with the girls or the concert itself. Seeing Aqours really was a dream come true and I wouldn’t give up that experience for anything. It had to do with... other people.

I’ve mentioned before that the men at Love Live events usually treat me like a ghost. This is not unusual or unexpected. Not only am I an outsider there because of my gender, but the grand majority of Japanese people often avoid foreigners when they can anyway. There’s that “oh lord what does she want I can’t speak English” look of fear and/or annoyance they get on their face even before I open my mouth. There’s the seats left open next to me on trains.

However, this was life. Generally speaking, strangers in Japan don’t really interact with each other in public anyway, and I was used to it.

But then there was Day 2 of Aqours 5th Love Live. Day 2 was the day I cheated myself into an amazing arena seat via the foreigner hotel plan that I technically wasn’t supposed to be eligible for. Thus, I was also seated in a row of other foreigners in what would otherwise be a sea of Japanese people.

The difference was... astounding.

People acknowledged each other when they sat down. They made friendly and welcoming small talk. Complete strangers who had never met before. What. What is this!? I was actually too scared to talk to anyone because I felt guilty about taking a space in the foreigner hotel plan and didn’t want my secret to get out. Instead, I just kinda sat there bewildered, soaking it all in.

After the concert, most of the row I was sitting in got on the hotel plan shuttle bus to go back to the hotels. I didn’t go for that option because it was expensive, and I figured it was unnecessary since I can take the train back to Tokyo by myself just fine. So instead I headed down to the train station like all the regular folk. But since the entire Saitama Arena was flooding the same train station at the same time, as you can imagine it was even worse than the worst of Tokyo rush hour. However, this was Day 2, so I knew the drill and I waited for a train to leave and then stood first in line to make sure I got a seat on the next train even though I would have to wait a bit longer. The train came and I zipped on it and sat down. Nobody sat next to me. More and more people got on, until the train was too squished for anyone to move. Still, nobody sat next to me. It was one of the most crowded trains I had ever been on in Japan, and nobody sat next to me.

None of the Japanese Love Liver boys could bring themselves to sit next to the gross Love Liver white girl.

And as I sat there awkwardly, I couldn’t help but think of the friendliness of the foreign fans. I wished I had talked to them. I really REALLY wish I had just talked to them. I thought about all the similar events I had been to in the past in which I had talked to no one and no one talked to me. I thought about how different my experience would have been if I had been going to events in America this whole time instead of Japan. I thought about how many years of socialization I’d lost and how deep the hole I had dug myself into had become.

Japan is both the best and worst country to live in if you have social anxiety. You really don’t have to talk to people in public almost ever. Strangers do not interact. Everyone has their own bubble around them. Even when you go to restaurants you can order by just buying a ticket from a machine or pointing to a picture on a menu. Heaven. Or so I thought. The longer I stayed, the more I let myself get used to it. A bit too used to it.

The day after the concert I decided to swing by Numazu on my long journey home. While I was sitting at a train station waiting for a transfer with a bunch of my Love Live gear on, a dude came up to me and asked me in English if I knew how to get to Numazu. He was one of the people from the foreigner hotel plan. Cool. But when he first called out to me, not only did I nearly jump out of my skin, I was actually pretty rude to him in my response.

But why did I act that way?

Why?

Maybe I could have even made a friend.

But I didn’t.

This was something I thought about for hours. And I realized something. The reason I acted the way that I did was because in Japan strange men never approach me in public. And when they do, it’s usually sexual harassment. So when this guy came up to me, my subconscious must have automatically labeled him a threat. It took me over a full minute after I had already raised all my shields and entered full bitch mode to realize he just wanted a friendly conversation and directions to Numazu. He had no ill intentions at all. In fact he was incredibly nice and I was a total jerk for no reason.

I didn’t use to be this way. I didn’t use to be this way at all. I had plenty of male friends in high school and college. What happened. What happened to me.

I didn’t like this cold, anxious, closed-off person that I had become. I wanted to learn to talk to people again. To be open and friendly. And I didn’t want to admit it yet, but I knew that probably the only way to make things better and to get myself out of this hole was to just leave Japan and start over.

And besides, I’d just seen Aqours, FROM THE FRONT OF THE ARENA which was such a HUGE dream come true. I’ve also been going to Tales of Festival for almost a decade. I’ve seen the King of Prism boys multiple times. And countless other things. The only other thing on my mind I really wanted to do was go to the Nebuta festival again, and to a few other things up north like Hakodate. And I did that over the summer. What’s left to do when you’ve already lived all your dreams? Rearrange your priorities, was the answer I came to.

Coming back to the states was really refreshing at first. It’s so bizarre to be out in public and have people actually start conversations and be friendly and expect me to know the language and treat me... normal. And I am getting better... kinda... or at least I was.

That was of course... before things started shutting down for coronavirus. Things have gone backwards and now I have basically been living more or less the same secluded life I had in Japan, except worse since I haven’t had a steady job. (And PriChan was just replaced with SIFAS.)

But what’s really awful is... I don’t particularly want it to end. Can’t they just keep streaming all events online forever? Can’t I just stay here playing SIFAS/LLSIF and not have to deal with the world?

How terrible of a person am I for feeling a little bit of joy when things I couldn’t go to anyway get cancelled...

I really don’t know what I want anymore. I just don’t want to deal.

#replies are off for non-mutuals sorry #please don't reblog

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johnny-and-dora · 5 years ago

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we can stay here (and laugh away the fear)

93. “i believe in you” requested by no-one i just really wanted to do this one in which amy's confidence takes a knock and jake whips out the official jake peralta fiancé experience guide to help her out. (pre 5x15)

read on ao3 -

Something is bothering Amy.

Jake goes over the facts one more time in his head, sneaking a furtive glance at his fiancée over the top of his computer screen – his first clue was when she came out of Holt’s office twenty minutes ago with a slight slump in her shoulders, a blatant violation of the “Posture” section of her mentorship binder.

She’s taking twice as long as usual to do her paperwork and it doesn’t even look like she’s enjoying it. Her brows are furrowed and her lips pursed in this totally adorable yet slightly worrying way and she’s tapping absentmindedly on her desk in thirty-second increments, meaning she’s desperate for a shame cigarette. Conclusive evidence that something is stressing her out.

(The thing that’s stressing her out might be him seeing as he’s been bragging about a major drug bust he just pulled off for most of the morning; but he also brought her coffee and did the dishes last night and laundry mountain is now more of a laundry molehill, so he’s pretty sure he’s in the clear.)

They don’t call him Jacob Sherlock Peralta for nothing (no-one calls him that, but he’s still confident it’ll catch on eventually). And though he can’t figure out what it is just yet, he’s determined to solve the case of why the love of his life can’t even enjoy her paperwork.

To: Amy Santiago, 12:23 u ok? need a break???

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible but can’t bring himself to miss the tiny smile that flickers on her face upon seeing the text. He pretends to be absorbed in the criminal database he’s scouring while he waits for his phone to buzz.

From: Amy Santiago, 12:24 I’m fine.

He shoots her an overdramatic disbelieving look over his monitor and she rolls her eyes.

From: Amy Santiago, 12:24 Okay, maybe not totally fine. Can we talk? x

To: Amy Santiago, 12:25 meet me in evidence lockup 5 mins x

She’s there when he quietly closes the door behind him a few minutes later; it causes such a strong swell of deja vu, memories of so, a lot of change around here and more recently Jake Peralta, I will marry you that it almost overwhelms him. So he does what he always does.

“Thought I might find you in here.” He jokes – she laughs a little but her body language is so tightly wound that he moves almost on pure instinct to give her a hug. The way the tension instantly disappears from her frame as she buries her face in his shirt tells him he must be doing something right.

“You okay?” He says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead; she looks up at him, hands still snaked neatly around his waist, and he’d let all the criminals in holding walk free if it would make her feel better.

(Not that it would – he’s never been that good with metaphors, but the sentiment remains.)

“Fine. Really, I just…I needed this.”

“You sure?” He asks, and he can tell when he only gets a sigh in response that he’s going to have to break out the Official Jake Peralta Fiancé Experience Guide to Comforting Amy Santiago, The Greatest Woman In The Universe. (The title still needs some work.)

“It’s just…the results of the sergeant’s exam come out this week. Holt just told me.”

“Oh.” He says, trying to connect the dots. “That’s a good thing, though, right? You’ve been waiting for ages - and you totally aced that test, Ames.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I just can’t help thinking – what if I don’t get it?” He prepares a reprisal of the speech he made that day on the roof, but she continues. “And what if I do, and I can’t handle it? What if it’s way too much work or my squad doesn’t respect me or I get transferred or…“ It’s a spiral, he realises – a knock to her confidence that breaks his heart a little.

Fortunately, it’s also something he knows exactly how to handle, and it involves one of his top five favourite activities.

“Have I ever told you,” Jake says as he takes her hands in his, “that you are perfect?”

Amy predictably rolls her eyes at his blatant cheesiness, but the hint of a smile that appears on her face is more than enough fuel for him to keep going.

“Well, you are. Perfect! Perfecter than perfect.”

“It’s more perfect, babe.” She says, and a million years ago in 2013 he’s wearing ill-fitting sandals and Captain Holt is disappointed in him and Jake just wants to find a way to rip through the very fabric of space and time, grab his past self by the shoulders and tell him that using correct grammar is going to get him some of the best sex in his life in the future so he better start learning now.

(And also, as an afterthought, that everything is going to be okay.)

“Actually, no.” He grins, shit-eating Peralta special. “Because in the language that I just made up, perfecter is actually more perfect that more perfect. Perfecter than perfect is a special term invented for the light of my life, the most amazing woman in the history of the universe, Amy Santiago.”

She prods him lightly in the shoulder, now completely failing to tamper down a warm smile. “Dork.”

“Queen of the cosmos. The one true love of my life. Divine goddess of wisdom and beauty.” He punctuates every new fancy title he gives her with a kiss – one to her neck, one to her jaw, one to her cheek, and gains a great sense of satisfaction from the way she melts into him, humming in content.

He initially thinks he’s won this round, but she still looks way too stressed out, exercising a relatively new nervous habit that makes his heart stutter – twisting the engagement ring on her finger.

“You don’t believe me.” He pouts and she sighs, briefly retreating someplace he can’t follow her. When she finally returns his gaze she’s all dark doe eyes and he’s sure there’s space somewhere in his Addams Family themed wedding vow rap for one more promise; a commitment to convincing her she’s more than enough for the rest of his life.

“Nobody’s perfect, Jake.”

“Yeah, no doy. That’s why you’re perfecter than perfect, obviously.”

“I just…I worry, you know? I feel like I need to prove myself.”

“I know. But Ames, you have proven yourself a billion trillion times over. I told you when I proposed, you’re the best detective I know…and there’s no-one else that deserves this more and no-one else that is going to be a better sergeant than you are.”

“Thank you for being perfect.”

“I am flawless, yes.” He grins, but it soon turns into something softer. “I believe in you 100%, okay, babe? You’re going to be an amazing leader.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too. I also feel like the word perfect is beginning to lose all meaning.”

“Oh, there’s a name for that!” She pauses, lost in thought, and sometimes he wishes you could take package holidays in other people’s brains just because he’d love to walk among the endless bookshelves of infinite knowledge in hers, and sometimes he just gets lost in endless endearment for how much of a nerd his fiancée is. This time is definitely the latter.

She snaps her fingers after a moment, eyes bright – “Semantic satiation!”

“That’s so hot.” He smirks, and he’s only half joking. They share a chaste, probably work-appropriate kiss – Jake’s tempted to deepen it, but also not totally convinced that the ghost of Dozerman isn’t frowning down upon them right now so decides to keep it PG. It doesn’t matter anyway – they’re soon rudely interrupted by a loud rap on the door which makes them both jump apart.

“You two horndogs finished being gross in there? I need a case file.”

They both answer with similar cries of indignation and disgust, which just elicits a sharp laugh from Rosa.

“Whatever. Just tell me when you’re done.” She walks away, and Jake laughs at the shade of red Amy has turned, earning him a well-deserved punch in the shoulder.

“So, you wanna get lunch? I happen to know a polish place recommended by a pretty dope soon-to-be sergeant.” Her face lights up and in just a few short months they’re going to be married and Jake has never been more excited for the rest of his life to start.

“Sounds perfect.”

#b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #my writing #it's been years and i still don't know how to spell sergeant #enjoy the last of these 'i love you' prompts (for now)!#sometimes we all just need a bit of vicarious comforting from our favourite fictional character #<3 #shut up sian

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punchholesinthesky · 5 years ago

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I didn't know you could just be a boy

I was listening to a podcast today, about a girl who stood up to her parents at the tender age of four and told them that she was a girl and that she'd chosen a name. I'm in awe of this little girl being so damn sure of herself. I got super emotional listening to it and it got me thinking about my own childhood. It was NPR’s radio ambulante, the episode called “yo nena”.

I knew I was different from a young age but I didnt know how.

I just felt it. And probably cause I visited a lot of doctors and i guess most kids don't do that?

I learned that my brain was different but not the details. I had some vague notion of being adhd. I would not learn it until much later by googling different developmental disorders and learning about being neurodivergent and autistic.

I would later on go on to learn I was queer too, and though I had read the word genderqueer once and thought it fit, I hadn't given it much thought.

I was assigned female at birth, and though I have never liked it, I thought I was stuck with it, that I just had to make the best of it.

I remember wishing to be a boy so many times. Identifiying with male characters, creating ocs and alter-egos, acting the male parts (it was an all-girls school, someone had to), and begging mum to let me cut my hair short, and being so happy when people thought I was a boy.

I never liked traditionally female things, never had a barbie, hated dresses (there's still a photo of a tiny grumpy me being forced into a dress one of my grandmas gave me) and my school uniform was trousers 99% of the time. The other 1% was like official acts, maybe the first and last day of school, stuff like that. I hated it, but at an all-girls catholic school I had much biggers issues that complaining about wearing a skirt a few days out of the year. I remember the gym uniform being a problem. Not sure what the problem was. Something about tights maybe?

I never felt like a girl. But it wasn't something I could properly explain so when I tried to talk about it, with my parents or friends what they usually got out of it was the usual self-steem issues of any girl. Mum tried to help by helping me choose new clothes, telling me how good I looked. And trying to get me to be more feminine, teaching me about 'girly stuff',

But that wasn't it. I understand it better now .

See, it's not that I have self-steem issues about my appearance. I know I'm conventionally good

looking. And if I gave 1/10 of a fuck I can be a very hot girl. I have photos of pasts attempts to prove it. But it never felt right. It never felt like me.

I can put on a bikini and I'm young, thin, fit, I'll look good. But that doesn't mean I'll like what I see in the mirror. I don't feel uncomfortable because I think the person in the mirror looks bad but because I don't know who that is.

I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Bikinis are uncomfortable by design, meant to exploit feminine bodies and for someone who's already uncomfortable having one? A bloody nightmare.

And there's a lot of understand. Why the hell am I being punished for the crime of having a female body by being constantly uncomfortable ? Why are clothes so terrible? Why is so hard to find something basic and decent? Why are bras the worst?? On and on and on. questions I never got the answer to. So much confusion about girl stuff that every other girl i knew seemed capable of navigating.

For a long time I blamed it on me being weird (ie, neurodivergent)

Like, all my friends started caring about boys, parties, romance, alcohol and drugs.

I'd always struggle in school and one year I got literally left behind.

I struggled with depression. I tried hard to fit in and be like them. I tried to be normal, followed their strange rituals. I let my hair grow out, i went on dates with boys, I drank too much and made out with strangers. I got into trouble. I wore a dress to my graduation and invited a boy I'd been talking to.

It was one of the few times I wore a dress voluntarily. Another one was a christmas dinner. And a new year's party. I also wore a skirt to dress up as kate bishop. That's about all I recall. I did buy a dress to cosplay clara oswald but never did it.

I wonder, what if I had told my parents I was a boy and I wanted to be treated like one before? How would they have reacted ?

Laughed it off probably. As they did when I pretended to be a boy for a game as I often did.

I can't imagine them taking it seriously, even now.

I don't know when I found out trans people existed, or who was the first one I heard about.

But I do know I thought it meant you like hated your body or yourself and wanted to be totally different.

And that didnt fit me. I had never hated myself. I hated how the world treated me. I hated arbitrary rules based on gender.

My scout group was mixed-gender, but we were divided in troops and these were single-gender and divided by age.

But we all learned the same things. Whether it was building a fire, tracking, or cooking, we got the same lessons. Sometimes we competed and we slept/bathed separately.

In TECHO it was all mixed-gender. Well, except bathing, but often we'd shared the same bathroom. We slept, cooked, and worked together.

And nobody ever looked down on girls as 'the weaker sex'

That was cool.

My actual education was the opposite. Academically, it is better for a school to be all-girls, at least for girls. But socially, not so much.

As a teenager, I hadn't quite forgotten how much I wanted to be a boy as a kid, but idk I thought I had left it behind me. That what I craved was freedom, independence, the benefits of being a boy, not actually being one.

Later I would discover terms like 'internalized misogyny' and think that was the problem. Cause I liked Lucy and Arya, not Susan and Sansa.

Yet here I stand, years later. Having done a lot of work. Recognising the value of Susan and Sansa. Appreciating Peggy Carter, in a gay and feminist way, and still not wanting to be a girl.

It just doesn't fit me. It's not a rejection.

I'm a feminist. I think women are great.

I understand there are many ways to be one.

That I don't have to be feminine to be one.

And yet, it just doesn't feel right.

After I learned of what 'gender dysphoria' was I though, 'oh I can't be trans I don't have that'

And then, I learned about 'gender euphoria'

And that finally opened my eyes

Trying to be a girl always felt like an ill-fitting costume, no matter how hard I tried. Like I was playing a part and didn't know my lines.

I remember cutting my hair short, like kstew, and going WOW upon seeing my reflection.. I looked more like myself than I had in ages.

I bought different clothes. Boy's clothes. I'm too small for men's clothes but I can fit just fine in clothes meant for 12 years old boys.

I cut my hair, put on new clothes, bought tight sport bras, and when I looked in the mirror, I wasn't sure who the person staring back was but I really liked how he looked.

My parents, for ages, tried to get me to 'dress nicer' to 'act like a lady' and so on. I cared enough to shower and put on clean clothes. I bought a lot of nerdy shirts which I at least liked. Did some experiments. Occasionally I'd make an effort but otherwise I was pretty basic. Loose-fitting jeans and hoodies.

Family kept gifting me nicer girly things I'd wear once and often ignored later.

It wasn't till I gave myself permission to truly dress how I wanted, and yes to shop in the boy's/men's section that I started to actually care about how I looked and putting more effort in.

I never thought I could be a boy, because I didn't know that was a thing you could do.

if I had been like that little girl and said 'i'm a boy' I think they'd havebeen at a total loss.

would they have asked my shrink? What would he have said?? It felt as though they were always on my case to be more lady-like but I know that's unfair. They were generally pretty okay with me being a tomboy, at least until puberty. And even then it was never that huge a thing. More of a constant annoying issue. There were many more pressing ones.

It's 2019, and I bet most parents would still be at a loss. There's not exactly a lot of rep or info.

I'm a lot happier with how I look now, but I still haven't found the right words to explain myself to my parents. I know I have to eventually, I want to stop hiding, to be visible, to change my name.

#Gender euphoria #trans guy #Text ramblings #Trans rights #Representation matters #Coming out #My face #Trans masc

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basicbrittiknow · 4 years ago

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Advice To My Younger Self

Hey guys!! I hope everyone had a marvelous week and an even better weekend!!

Last week, I got some homework done, Friday I went to the drive-in with one of my best friends, to see Grease, which was such a cute time, and such an awesome way to get me out of the house!!

Today is Monday, August 17, 2020 and the topic of “things I would tell my younger self” popped into my brain on Friday, so I not only want to share some things I would’ve told myself when I was younger but I want to hear from you!! Please, share with me some things you would have told your younger self.

I am 25, but I, by no means, know everything!! I have so much life left to live and so much more to learn. But that’s what this blog is all about right? Living, learning and growing together!!

So let’s dive in, shall we?!

First order of business, school, or specifically, college. I don’t know about you, but college has always been apart of the plan for me. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t include college in my post high school plans. However, the plans I had for myself and the plans life had for me were two different things. When I graduated high school, I did go to college, but it wasn’t the college that I so excitedly looked forward to it was community college. *SIDE NOTE* There is absolutely nothing wrong with community college!! In fact, looking back, I wasn’t ready, in the slightest, to attend a University!! I was right where I needed to be!! And if I could go back in time, I would have done everything the exact same way. Because my time at community college allowed me to grow as a person and student, it gave me the time to become a more independent and responsible young adult, and it showed me that my future really is up to me, whether or not I sink or swim, is up to me

So what would I tell my younger self about school? I would tell myself to work hard and stay focused, because everything works out the way it’s supposed to and in it’s own time. I would tell my younger self not to worry so much about what comes next, because everything will be just fine!!

Next up, let’s talk about relationships!! Relationships come in all types of forms: familial, platonic, professional, and of course, romantic. While different elements make up the different types of relationships, I have the same message for all of them, and that is, if the relationship doesn’t POSITIVELY affect you, let it go!! I’m not saying that if things aren’t always smooth sailing, never without a problem, walk away, because in that case, you may find yourself alone majority of the time. But I am saying that if a relationship of any kind leaves you upset, emotionally drained, fearful and unsure of yourself, walk away!! You’ll thank yourself later!! Trust me, I know it’s a lot easier said than done, but please!! Find it in yourself to leave alone those people who bring uncertainty, toxicity (yes, family can be toxic too) and unhappiness to you. I promise, there are better days and better people ahead.

I would have told my younger self all of these things regarding relationships, but I would have included “speak up for yourself”, which is something that I still struggle with!!But it is also something that has led to so many fall outs. If someone has a problem with you speaking up for yourself. for defending yourself, for being strong for yourself, for being yourself, those people are not meant to be in your life, and unworthy to do so. LET THEM GO!! You’ll be so much happier in the long run ;)

Next, goals/aspirations. When I was 18 and graduating high school, even beyond that age, well into my early twenties, nothing made me happier, more excited, than the thought of being young, rich and famous!! I wanted to be a super famous singer and tour with One Direction (they were so in at the time), and I was certain that that would be how Harry Styles and I would meet, fall in love and live happily ever after. *SIDE NOTE* If fame and fortune is your dream, YOU GO GIRL/BOY!! Chase that dream and work hard for it, and I know you can achieve it!! However, if you’re like me, and your dreams/goals/ambitions change every day, that’s okay too!!

Ever heard that saying “A dream is a wish your heart makes.” by the famous Cinderella? That wish that your heart is making could be for the near or even distant future. Meaning between now and the time your wish comes true, it is perfectly fine to have a change of heart, to change up your plans!!

My advice to my younger self, and my advice to you, reading this, is to pursue whatever it is that sets your soul on fire in the best way. Pursue what makes you happy, pursue whatever it is that makes you excited to get out of bed in the morning!!

It is a little scary and unnerving not having every little detail of your life figured out, at least for me it is, but the truth is, nobody has all of the answers, nobody has it all figured out, and that’s okay!!

Now, let’s talk about sex baby!! Freshman, 15 year old Brittany swore up and down she had met the one. I just knew I had met the boy I would marry, have a family with and share all the special firsts everyone experiences. I knew all of this at 15 and I was so wrong at 15!! Fast forward, 10 years later, and there have been at least 3 or 4 or 5 more guys (I’ve been a little less focused on the important stuff in the past) who I thought the same thing of. And guess what, I was wrong EVERY SINGLE TIME!! So here we are, age 25, still single, still waiting to experience all the special things with my very own special person, but I’m okay!!

The thought of being 25 and single with not even ONE prospect, at 15, made me cringe!! There was NO WAY!! It just wasn’t going to be, at least not for 15 year old me.

While my journey to loving and embracing all the lessons and freedoms of single life hasn’t been smooth, fun, quick or consistent, RIGHT NOW, I’m very clear headed and I view the “single journey” if you will as such a magnificent, at times lonely, but overall wonderful time of self-discovery!! I learn something new about myself, and about life everyday, and I’m having so much fun!!

I say all of this to say, if I could talk t my younger self, knowing what I know now, I would tell myself to embrace every experience you have as a single person, learn all that you can while you can, and as far as sex? Wait until you meet the person that looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, like you’re the most important person in the room. Wait until you meet the person you KNOW will be there in the morning, not the one you HOPE will be there in the morning. Wait until you’ve found the person who is every cheesy but lovely cliche you can think of. WAIT!! It may not be easy, it may not be fun, but 25 year old Brittany promises, it ill be soooooo worth it. I don’t know everything, but the whole point of this blog is to live, learn and grow together, right? So that’s that on that!! MOVING ON!!

FEARS... fears have been something that I’ve come to be extremely familiar with since 2013, the year I graduated high school. From what class to take next, to what job to apply for and accept, to what purchase to make with this week’s paycheck, I live very cautiously, I must admit!! But living cautiously and living fearfully are two different things!! Being afraid is totally normal, everyone has fears. HOWEVER, in the words of the late great Babe Ruth, “Don’t let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”

My life has been nothing short of beautiful, oozing with small victories, *Humble brag* and I refuse to believe it will be any less beautiful in the years to come. Life hasn’t always dealt me the best cards, but my life has been so amazing and beautiful because I never let fear control me and my decisions; even if I failed, I still took a chance, I didn’t let fear prevent me from at least cracking the door of opportunity.

So in knowing all that I do not, I would tell my younger self to be afraid, cry and even hesitate if you want, but when you’re done freaking out, do what scares you anyway!! Because you never know what excitement lies on the other side of fear.

And finally, the future!! To sit here and say that the thought of the future, with all of it’s uncertainty and inevitable change, doesn’t cause alarm in me from time to time, would be a lie. It’s August; who would have thought that back in March, I’d still be unemployed, 5 months later, due to the pandemic? Had you told me that this was what would happen I would have started job hunting THEN!!

My point is, none of us know what the near and/or distant future holds for us. So live for right now, as cheesy, cliche and played out as that sounds!! Putting my own twist on it... “Live for right now, but also live for the person you’ll be in 5, 15, 20 years. Make good, fun decisions and memories that future you will be proud of and even benefit from. I’m only just now learning that, but if I could tell my younger self anything regarding the future, it would be this. Live every day so that in years to come, you can look back and smile proudly!!

#advice tomyyoungerself

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

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can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 10

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 4,286 for this chapter (45,795 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Daniel?"

Dan blinks. He blinks again, zoning back into the conversation he's supposed to be a part of.

"Er," he says, sheepish. "What was the question?"

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Daniel?" the woman asks - the interviewer asks, fuck, this is like the sixth time he's asked her to repeat herself. "I heard you were ill yesterday, weren't you?"

He wasn't. But that is what Jaime and Patrick had sworn up and down to anyone who asked, because they're good partners in crime like that. They look like they regret it now.

"Yeah, Daniel," Jaime says, stressing his name in a way that makes Dan think she's one more fuckup from smacking him in the back of the head. He'd probably deserve it, at this point. He can't remember being this scatterbrained in his whole life, and that's saying something. "You sure you're okay being out of bed?"

The word 'bed' gets stressed too, just a bit, and Dan feels a flush creeping up his neck.

It's honestly unreasonable how he can't seem to focus on the task at hand, which is answering softball questions about the show he's worked on for three years, because his mind keeps drifting back to Phil.

Phil, who he'd left in bed with Thor, all sleepy noises and grumpiness at Dan needing to leave. Phil, who has the day off and might still be mostly naked and lazy while he waits for Dan to come back. Phil, who he only has three days left with.

Three more days in London. Two sleeps. And Dan has shit to do every single goddamn day of it.

This is a work trip, technically. They've got a handful of interviews the next two days that couldn't be scheduled for their first London stretch, and then they're going to France. That's exciting, it is, a mark of success that Dan never expected for himself, but right now he's frustrated by anything that cuts into the time he could be using to kiss Phil.

Dan is so busy remembering how Phil's mouth had felt against his that he forgets to answer the question. He can practically feel his eyes glaze over.

"Daniel," Patrick says, audibly exasperated.

It takes a lot to get Patrick to that point, so Dan ducks his head and mumbles another apology.

"He's fine," Jaime tells the very nice and concerned interviewer whose name Dan has long forgotten. "He's just got a lot on his mind right now and he's really shit at multitasking."

"Hey," says Dan. It's a weak protest.

The interviewer is a tall woman with kind eyes that crinkle into laughter lines when she smiles at him. She's dressed casually, has a denim jacket with patches and pins all over it, and Dan feels his eyes linger at the rainbow on her pocket.

What is that like? To be so certain and so confident that you can wear it on your sleeve even in a professional environment? Dan doesn't know that he'll be able to get there.

He wants to compliment her on it. It's the same urge he had in the restaurant with Phil's family, vocalizing that he wishes he could wear more nail polish. The same swirling anxiety of being judged for it follows quickly, but this time it's amplified by the recording device in the interviewer's hand, the knowledge that anything he says right now will be analyzed to death later.

Dan wants to live authentically, and he wants to get to a place where he doesn't need to hide, but he's frustrated by the reality of how much progress that's going to take. It's not going to be easy, it already hasn't been, and it's never going to stop.

Even with making a name for himself and having an audience, Dan knows that coming out publicly still won't stop strangers from making assumptions about him or demanding an explanation for the women he's been seen with. He'll have to come out over and over and - it's scary. It's really scary.

The compliment catches in his throat. He can't say it to someone recording him, no matter how kind her eyes are. He hasn't even told his grandma yet.

"I like your jacket," he says instead. He feels like a coward for it.

"Thanks," the woman says brightly, looking down at herself and tapping one of her bigger patches. "Customized it myself, obviously. It's a wee bit more colourful than you like to be seen in, right?"

The casual chirping helps Dan relax, reminds him that this is a laid-back interview with easy questions. Nobody is shining a heat lamp on him and asking for an expose on how he spent part of last night inside of another man.

He grins and shrugs. "Yeah, alright, I wear a lot of black. Sue me. I can still think colours look nice on some people."

Great. Now he's thinking about Phil again.

"Like Jaime," Patrick offers, tugging at one of Jaime's bubblegum braids. Dan still can't tell if it's a wig or not, but she smacks Patrick's hand away like it's her own hair.

"That's true," says Dan. "Jaime wears as much black as I do, though, I dunno that she's the best example."

Patrick nods, solemn. "At least her hair is interesting."

"Oi, fuck you. Sorry," Dan adds sheepishly. Even though this is an online print interview, he still feels a little bit of shame whenever he slips up and curses during an interview.

The woman - Cara? Catherine? Camilla? Ca-something? - just laughs and waves his apology off.

With an ease that Dan can't help but notice isn't quite as practised as Phil's, the interviewer moves on to questions about their other cast members. While they don't have any trouble making fun of each other, it's even more fun to exaggerate stories of people who aren't here to defend themselves.

Dan tries so hard to participate. He does. He laughs in all the right places and gives Jaime grief for not remembering something right, because he's given this poor interviewer nothing of substance. The thing is that Jaime is better at telling stories and Patrick is so dry and stoic with interrupting jokes that Dan knows he isn't needed for this. He lets them bicker over a story detail that he's long forgotten and feels himself start to zone back out.

He listens to Patrick's slow timbre, Jaime's trill of a laugh, and lets his mind drift back to where it wants to be.

Even though it's tempting, Dan isn't stupid enough to text Phil in the middle of doing his fucking job. He has to resort to checking his phone between interviews and pictures, getting more and more pouty about the lack of response to the things he's sending throughout the morning. Phil must be having a lie-in, because it takes him a couple of hours to even see Dan's texts.

ugh i should have just stayed in bed

pls send thor pics

and you pics but like give me a heads up if your dick is out im at work

i dropped my coffee on jaimes lap fml shes gonna kill me

im just so distracted lmaooo

canft believe youre just asleep thats so rude

Oh nooooooo. I always cry over spilt coffee :( you want me to bring you one? I can come hang out for lunch!

The sweet text is accompanied by a photo of Thor asleep on the sofa, his little head pillowed on Phil's knee. Phil is wearing Dan's pyjama pants and - it's hard to tell for sure, with the way the photo is angled, but Dan thinks he's got the Friends shirt on. Frankly, that should be gross. Dan wore that shirt for way too long for it not to smell like, well, his sweat, and that is objectively not sexy.

Dan feels gooey warmth spread from his stomach outwards, anyway. Maybe it is gross, but it makes him happy to think about Phil's shirt smelling like him the way that his own Yeezy shirt still faintly smells like Phil. He covers his mouth with a hand so nobody milling around will see him grinning like an idiot.

thats ok, Dan texts back one-handed. yall look comfy you should stay. i'll b back for dinner and snuggles ok?

Ok! ^_^

God, but Dan wants to be there now. He wants to be the one cuddled up with his head in Phil's lap. He recognises that it's very stupid to be jealous of a dog, but he isn't going to let that stop him.

"Hey, Howell." Patrick's voice interrupts the daydream of slender fingers carding through Dan's hair.

Dan blinks. He blinks again, looks up.

"I didn't even see you sit down," Dan tells him, bemused. They're sharing a bench in the building's lobby, not wanting to go too far in case they need to go back upstairs for more photos during the short break in their day.

"Yeah, you're on another planet," says Patrick. Dan wishes he could argue that fact. "Things went well with your whole Love Actually emergency, then?"

The reference pulls Dan up short. He feels his brow furrow as he walks through the entire film in his head. "What are you talking about? None of this happened in Love Actually."

"It's British, isn't it," Patrick says nonsensically.

"I don't," Dan starts, but then he gives up. He and Patrick are close as coworkers - friends, even - but Dan never quite understands the links that Patrick's brain makes. "It went well. It went really well. I don't know if Jaime told you everything I texted her, but I like... fully ended up meeting the family."

Patrick's eyebrows raise slightly. That's quite a reaction, from him. "You met the parents? Bro. You just started dating."

They're not in an overly crowded area, but people keep waking by them on their way in or out of the building, so Dan is pleasantly surprised to discover that Patrick can play the pronoun game, too.

"Yeah," says Dan. He doesn't want to get into the mix-up right now. He's sure that Patrick will have another incomprehensible reference when he hears about it. "But it just feels... I dunno. Right? In a way other people haven't? Maybe that's obvious."

"It's not obvious," says Patrick. He's snapping a hair elastic around his wrist idly, the gesture something Dan had thought was an expression of annoyance or frustration when they first met. Dan knows now that it means Patrick is tired, that he wants to shove his hair off his shoulders and stop it from tickling his neck. They're only halfway through their day, though, still a couple of photoshoots to get through, so he can't put his hair up just yet.

Dan knows so much about these people. He's learned it all from such close proximity for the past three years, but he also genuinely likes spending time with them. He feels, suddenly, very guilty for wishing cancellation on this thing they've all worked so hard for.

"Sorry," Dan says.

"For what?"

He doesn't really know how to voice it. He shrugs. "For being a shit coworker right now."

Patrick gives him an indecipherable look and shakes his head. "Daniel," he says, "you're not being a shit coworker."

"I kind of am, though," says Dan. "Like I can't focus at all, I'm missing interviews, and I... I don't know how much I want to go back to Atlanta. Is that bad?"

"Why would that be bad?" Patrick hums. "This is your home."

Home isn't an easy concept for Dan to wrap his head around. He hadn't had a happy one for most of his life, hadn't been able to find somewhere that felt quite right ever since he escaped that. So it's a little disconcerting when Patrick's words settle into his chest and feel like indisputable truth.

"London is home," Dan echoes, wondering it it feels just as right coming out of his own mouth. It does. His head is spinning, a bit.

"Yeah," Patrick says, like it's that easy.

Dan gives himself a little shake back into the present. He smiles, wry. "Still, I probably shouldn't be crossing my fingers under tables for the producers to shut us down."

For a moment, Patrick looks confused. Dan is all ready to apologise again, shove those feelings down, but Patrick just says, "So negotiate your contract. You know that you aren't required by law to see the show through to the end, right? You can just not come back for season four, or only come back for a couple episodes instead of a full season."

They're sat in a fairly public area, with other people walking about, but Dan could hear a pin drop in the shattering silence that rings in his ears at Patrick's use of logic.

"I," says Dan, "did not think of that."

Patrick nods. "You kind of tunnel-vision sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?"

By the time Dan returns to Phil's building, he's talked himself into and back out of quitting his job a dozen times. It's a dumb decision, but not much dumber than simply waiting for someone else to make the decision for him.

He decides to call Amy when he's in France and talk the options through with her. She's already looking for potential gigs in the UK for him, so hopefully the conversation isn't going to come as much of a surprise to her. The last thing he needs is for his agent to get upset with him over making changes in his life.

Dan's head is buzzing with it, loud enough to give him a headache. He texts Phil that he's outside and waits to be let in. He gets an intrusive domestic fantasy of letting himself in with his own key, and reminds himself to rein in this U-Haul bullshit.

"Hey!" Phil beams as he opens the door and steps back for Dan to come in. Other people live on the other floors, but Phil still leans in for a long kiss the moment the door closes behind Dan.

It sends sparks up Dan's spine and quiets some of the unending noise in his head. He sighs, leans into the kiss, wraps his arms around Phil's waist to pull him even closer.

He's cognizant of where they are, though, so he pulls back to rest their foreheads together after a moment. "Hey yourself."

"Did you have a good day?" Phil asks, his tri-coloured eyes bright and unguarded.

"Yeah, but it's better now," says Dan. He's parroting what Phil said to him yesterday, and he can tell that Phil recognises it from the little smile on his face. "You look nice. You showered just for me?"

Phil laughs and tugs at Dan's wrist, pulling him down the stairs. They've got four left feet between them, honestly, so it's a miracle nobody takes a nosedive.

"Yeah," he says as they narrowly avoid any number of broken bones. He presses Dan against the wall next to his front door and grins at him. "But it was also for the judgey moms at the dog park. You look nicer, you didn't take the makeup off?"

To be honest, Dan had forgotten it was even on his face. He settles his hands on Phil's hips and smiles. "They made me look like the best version of me, why would I erase all their hard work?"

"Mm, you do look pretty," Phil says, and Dan is lucky to have his back against a wall. His knees might have actually buckled at the praise if he was unsupported.

"Pretty, huh?" Dan asks. He tries to keep his tone dry, like it's a big joke, but Phil's big eyes just see too much.

"Very pretty," says Phil. Dan doesn't know how to handle being complimented by Phil's deep, sincere voice, but he isn't given much of a chance to react before Phil is speaking again. "But I don't know that I'd call this the best version of you. You looked really nice when you came, y'know."

"Fuck, Phil," Dan laughs, a little breathless. "I was literally gone for ten hours."

"Ten hours too many," Phil grumbles.

Dan laughs again, but he has to admit that Phil has a point. The day had absolutely dragged on with the knowledge that his probably-boyfriend was waiting for him.

"You wanna go inside, then?" Dan suggests, running his thumbs just under the hem of Phil's clean shirt. "I'll do a lot of things, but this floor is cement, mate. I'm not blowing you out here."

The giggle that's surprised out of Phil makes Dan smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. He smacks the center of Dan's chest lightly and steps back to let them both into his flat. "I was thinking we could, like, order dinner first or whatever, but I'm not going to complain if you want to switch up the itinerary."

"The itinerary," Dan mocks, looking around for a ball of fluff running directly at them as he struggles with his shoes. "Uh, where's Thor?"

"Uh," says Phil. There's colour high in his cheeks that he tries to hide by flopping onto the sofa. The sweats he stole off of Dan don't really leave much to the imagination at all, not when he's sitting like that, and Dan almost loses his balance when he stands up straight. The pink doesn't leave Phil's face, but a knowing smirk joins it. "He's in the bathroom."

Dan's heart skips like an old CD player and he laughs to mask just how fond he is. "Uh huh, and here you are acting like you were really ordering food first."

"Well," Phil says, his smirk growing, "we could still order first, it'd be at least twenty."

"Sounds like a challenge," Dan hums, coming around the sofa to sit on the other end and lean forward, kissing the sliver of skin where Phil's shirt is riding up. "Why don't you do that, and I'll go get a bloody condom."

Phil blushes, proper blushes, and pulls a packet out of his pocket. "Ta-da," he jokes, weakly. "For my next trick -"

"If you say you're going to make your penis disappear," Dan says, flat, "then I'm walking out."

They just look at each other for a long moment, like a staring contest neither of them initiated, and then Phil snorts. That sets them both off and soon enough they're laughing, Dan's nose tucked against Phil's hipbone and Phil's hand over his mouth.

"I wasn't going to say that," Phil insists, still giggling. "I wasn't."

"Sure you weren't." Dan grins up at him and slides up his body, a little less graceful than he'd imagined it in his head. He presses their smiles together and licks into Phil's mouth. A little noise passes between them when Phil's hands find their way into Dan's hair, but Dan isn't sure which of them it comes from.

The giddy feeling of laughter doesn't leave Dan's chest. He lets it make a home there as he trails kisses all over Phil's long, pale neck. He doesn't need to guess when Phil likes something - he squirms and makes these little huffs of noises, grip on Dan's curls tightening just a bit before it loosens again. It feels impossibly powerful to learn how to take Phil apart like this, like they're teenagers snogging on the sofa in their first relationship.

It's strange that this does feel like a first relationship for Dan, in a lot of ways. He loved his first girlfriend and cared about other women he's dated, but it's not the same at all.

Finally, Dan is allowed to feel all the things he's supposed to have felt when he was younger. He's allowed to let budding affection and lust and friendship all wrap up in one person.

"So, the piercings," Dan murmurs, letting his hand slide up Phil's shirt to toy with one of them.

"What about them?" Phil asks. He already sounds impatient and needy, like he had last night, and the sound of it goes straight to Dan's dick.

Dan laughs and sits up, helping Phil get his shirt off over his head. "I mean, do they do things for you? Do they feel good when I touch them? How do you want me to touch them to make them feel good?"

"Do you always ask this many questions during sex?" Phil asks, dry.

There's no point in lying. "Yeah, I tend to babble." Dan gives him a winning smile and taps at Phil's hips, a silent request for him to lift up. Phil does happily, arching up for Dan and letting his stolen sweats get tugged off. "Guess you'll have to shut me up somehow."

Phil laughs, muffling the sound of it with his palm, and shakes his head. He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, giggly and naked and starting to get hard against his thigh. Dan has no idea how he got this lucky.

"That's such a terrible line," Phil informs him, grinning wide. He doesn't seem bothered by Dan being dressed when he isn't. He just settles back against the cushions and wiggles a bit, either trying to get comfortable or just teasing Dan. Either is possible at this point.

"It's not a line," Dan protests, shrugging his jacket off and settling back between Phil's legs. He presses his mouth to Phil's soft tummy and, unable to help himself, blows a raspberry.

Phil kicks out at him, instinctive, and his tongue is trapped between his teeth as he tries to hold back giggles.

"My nipples aren't sensitive," Phil tells him, voice wavering with some combination of amusement and arousal. He drops a hand to wrap around his own cock, thumbing at the metal on the tip of it. "This is. It, like, tugs. It's nice."

Biting back a groan at the sight, Dan digs around for the condom. He impatiently knocks Phil's hand out of the way to get him hard enough that he can roll it on. The piercing just above his balls settles nicely at the bottom of the latex, almost like it's holding it in place. Dan rolls it between his fingers, watches Phil's eyes flutter closed. "And this one?"

"Not as much. Still good, though." Phil's tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Dan grins at the unconscious reminder of what he's meant to be doing.

It's not the most comfortable for them to be laid out on the sofa like this, lanky as they are, but Dan isn't nineteen anymore. His knees do not hold up the way they used to. He wraps his hand around the base of Phil's cock and lets the tips of his fingers idly play with the metal bar as he finally gets his mouth on Phil.

Dan isn't used to the taste of latex accompanying a blowjob, but it isn't unpleasant. He gives Phil a couple of long licks and then sucks lightly at the head, not sure how much pressure Phil likes yet.

That's something he thinks he'd love to learn. He wants to know everything about Phil's body, wants to make him tremble with it.

Dan is extremely offended when he glances up and sees that Phil is tapping something on his phone, but the offense settles when Phil huffs a laugh and says, "Put in for takeaway. All yours, now."

The phone gets put down and Dan tongues at the bump of Phil's Prince Albert ring through the condom. That makes Phil's breath hitch, his hips jerk just a bit.

It's been years since Dan has had a cock in his mouth, but he likes to think it's like riding a bike. He takes Phil deep, hollows out his cheeks, repeats any motion that makes Phil let out soft groans. He forgot how much he likes this, fuck.

Much like everything else, it's somehow impossibly better with Phil.

Phil keeps a hand in Dan's hair and braces the other on the back of the sofa, breathing hard, and Dan doesn't want to close his eyes and miss a fucking moment of this.

"Fuck," Phil breathes, and Dan responds with an answering moan around his dick. "Yeah, alright, that's - fuck, Dan, you feel so good, look so pretty like that."

The praise still makes Dan shudder. He sucks Phil harder, feeling the weight of Phil's cock on his tongue as he speeds up his movements.

Dan remembers blowjobs to be pretty fast. He also never gave one to a man older than twenty, though, and his jaw starts to ache once he realises that Phil isn't going to be pushed over the edge as quickly as he's used to.

He pulls off to give his jaw a break, stroking Phil and pressing his open mouth along the side of him.

"You think I feel nice?" Dan laughs, pleased by the way the gust of air makes Phil's cock twitch. "Fucking, forgot how good this feels."

"Yeah?" Phil prompts, his voice deep and breathy and so, so nice to listen to. No wonder he's so successful on the radio. "You like sucking cock?"

Dan shivers. "Yeah," he says. He's unashamed, because he feels safe here with Phil. He can admit to liking a cock in his mouth, a hand in his hair, being called pretty. "Yours specifically, though."

Phil laughs. "That's good. I like specifically your cock, too." He looks over at his kitchen for a moment and raises his eyebrows. "I'll get dressed and answer the door when the pizza gets here if you can make me come in the next five minutes."

Well. Never let it be said that Dan Howell backs down from a challenge.

#phanfic #phan #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve

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swampgallows · 5 years ago

Note

Kinda random and if you're not comfortable answering it's totally fine, but since you've mentioned your own "journey" with discovering you're asexual lately in some posts, could I ask for few more details on that? If it's not too personal? Like, were you generally off-put by intimacy or more a case of "it's okay I guess, it has to be done, but I'd be happy without"? Again, if not too personal

hey first thanks for understanding the very sensitive nature of this question. but it is an important one, and i want to do whatever i can to increase awareness about the diversity of the asexual experience. A lot of stories regarding the asexual “awakening” are usually people saying “Well, I was never interested, and then I learned it had a name.” For me, that wasn’t the case.

There’s some TMI below, including mentions of CSA, rape, abuse, sexual activity, and masturbation.

***

Accepting asexuality was difficult at first because I was always under the impression that I couldn’t be asexual if I fell in love with people. When it came to actual sex, though, I had always viewed it as this faraway “maybe” that Future Me had to deal with, rather than something I actively pursued or desired. My romantic partners did, however, so I was forced to confront the subject.

In high school, my peers were more comfortable with me being a closet pervert than having no sexual attraction whatsoever. This resulted in me faking or exaggerating attraction, usually to fictional characters, to seem more ‘normal’. By feigning that I had very picky or even impossible standards, I could imitate sexual attraction without having to be sexually active. Once I started dating and sex became an actual possibility, I found myself dreading it more and more. I “gave” as often as I could—anything to stave off “receiving”/penetration as long as possible. Throughout my teens and twenties I ran the gamut of kink and fetish and whatever, trying to figure out if maybe I just hadn’t found my “thing” yet, until I realized I was only doing it to conform and to please my partners.

I don’t know exactly when I started learning more about asexuality, but it was definitely through tumblr, which led me to AVEN. I actually have my sort-of “liveblogged” reading of the FAQ here, back in 2012 (age 22). Unfortunately a lot of my first exposure on tumblr came from skeptical LGBTQ bloggers and/or radfems, so I got a lot of misinformation and hatred at first. But I started following ace-specific blogs, learning about awareness and aphobia, and through further self-analysis began identifying as asexual.

I’m unfortunately also a CSA and abuse survivor, so that’s skewed a lot of my perception of what a healthy sexual identity or relationship looks like. Even up until my mid-twenties, fully embracing my asexual identity, I was still self-harming with sex. So if anyone says “Oh, you’re just asexual because you’re traumatized”, nah. I’m not asexual because sex was bad and traumatizing; sex was bad and traumatizing because I am asexual. All sex was sex I didn’t want to have, but I had it because I thought I had to do so in order to be loved. Now I’m further along in my healing that I don’t feel pressured to prove that I’m asexual “but not broken, and I can still have sex!” anymore.

An asexual identity gave me greater agency because I realized I was never obligated to have or enjoy sex. EVER. And so, if there is ever a time in which I feel like I might want to try it out again (for instance, should I ever be in a romantic relationship again) I can engage in the act without feeling incomplete or broken waiting for some epiphany that will never come. And since I was no longer pressured to feel sexual attraction toward anyone, I was later able to accept and identify as bi-ace, or biromantic asexual. There’s probably a “gray” thrown in there somewhere too, but I’ll figure that one out eventually.

***

Learning about asexuality also helped me more confidently maintain my sexual health. I became more open to things like masturbation because I didn’t feel like it had to be “preparation” for “the real thing”, as one of my doctors had put it. It can begin and end with masturbation, and I’m never obligated to do it, and I don’t have to do it for anybody but myself. Sex always felt like a performance for me, one that resulted in affection being taken away if i wasn’t “providing” for my partner.

I didn’t really feel an active desire to masturbate up until a few years ago too, so if you’re under 25, asexual, and feel like something’s wrong with you because you’re not masturbating or don’t like it, don’t worry about it. I used to be really uncomfortable with masturbation, even scared of it, and for a long time it felt wrong. A huge reason why I didn’t want to do it was because everybody told me I was fucked up for not already wanting it, or that I was in denial of my womanhood or some shit like that. On top of that, my partners pressured me to masturbate “for them” so often that it never felt like something for my own enjoyment; it was about proving to them that I wasn’t broken, or proving that I actually could orgasm, or that I was woman enough, or that I knew my body, or what the fuck ever. It was never about me having a good time, not really. It was about seguing to “well, if you can masturbate, then you can have sex.”

Masturbation is supposed to feel good. You have nothing to prove to anybody. If you don’t wanna do it, you don’t ever have to do it. If you feel like you “should” be doing it “by now”, don’t worry about it. Nobody’s keeping score. If you wanna try it out, go ahead! For a long time I was also scared about doing it alone, partially because I felt embarrassed and stupid but mostly because I felt like I was “wasting a performance” (due to trauma, internalized misogyny, etc.). These pressures have been so strong that up until recently, I struggled to “finish” because I felt forced, even within my own brain where nobody can see, to think of socially-approved sexual thoughts. When I thought instead about intimate things that made me happy, regardless of whether or not they might be “sexy” to some imaginary partner, I felt much more comfortable and fulfilled.

I’m kinda getting off-track with the masturbation talk but I’m just mentioning it because it’s a perspective that I wish somebody had offered me instead of just pitying me (or offering to help… YUCK!). When you don’t experience sexual attraction on top of having trauma, satiating bodily urges can be a challenge.

Ultimately… I love intimacy, and I crave physical closeness. I’m quite a cuddlebug with the people I love and trust, but that intimacy has been earned and cultivated over years and years of proven safety and understanding. I am hypervigilant about any of my actions being interpreted as sexual (or even romantic, which is another can of worms), which makes me a bit bitchy and cold at times. But until the world understands and accepts asexuality better, I have to be my own bulwark. I also have a lot of trauma and mental illness to learn to deal with, and I’m trudging along trying to get therapy in the meantime.

That’s the journey so far, I guess.

#asexuality #anon #ask #rape tw /#csa tw /#abuse cw /#tmi

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years ago

Text

Silence Screaming Over Your Words (part one)

tiny kat! she’s back! we love the baby! but she is in for a world of trouble in this installment haha @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i totally haven’t been waiting to post this. the fourth installments are always unlucky huh...

warnings for this story: very blunt conversations of death, but also just death

[Part 1: I Never Did You Right]

things become mostly settled in the seymour household after the intensity of the past few months. katherine is mostly a well-behaved little girl and the household staff dote on her, and jane would be lying if she said she didn’t spoil her daughter just a little bit, meaning katherine tends to get away with most things.

one day, however, katherine disappears. jane searches all over the house, calling katherine’s name and becoming increasingly concerned at the lack of response.

“kitty-kat?” she calls for the hundredth time, grinding her teeth as the headache she already had intensifies more. “where are you, love?”

there’s no response and she continues her third search of the house.

she’s just reached the top of the stairs again, when the door opens and swiftly closes, and there stands katherine, red-faced and panting but still smiling.

relief floods through jane at the sight of katherine, but the overprotective maternal side of her is still in panic mode.

“where have you been?” she gasps, making her way down the stairs as quickly as she can. katherine gives her a confused look.

“playing in the woods.”

“and you went without telling anyone?” jane’s voice is stricter than normal in her concern and katherine looks taken aback.

"i didn't think it was that big of a deal," katherine says, voice small, then she turns confused. "am i not allowed to play in the woods?"

"of course you are," jane says, head pounding incessantly, "but you can't go without telling anyone, especially not at night!"

katherine looks up at jane, who seems far too angry over something so small, and crosses her arms defiantly. "i'm a big girl, i can handle myself."

“katherine seymour,” jane says evenly, and the full name really lets katherine know that she’s in serious trouble. “you can’t go running off like that! remember what happened with spain? i thought something like that had happened to you again. i’ve told you before to always ask me or your nurse before leaving the garden!”

katherine flinches at the reminder of her time in spain. then she looks defiant. “it was just the woods! i was fine!”

“well i didn’t know that!” jane fires back.

“you’re making a big deal out of nothing!” katherine shouts, hands balled into fists. she stomps a foot and looks at jane to yell the worst thing she can think of. “you’re not even my mum!”

she shoves past jane and goes up to her room, slamming the door as hard as she can.

jane can’t help but feel a chill at katherine’s words, even though she knows the little girl is only acting out because she’s frustrated. the insecurities about being a mother still grip jane even several months into her guardianship of katherine, and she’d be lying if katherine’s words didn’t hit close to home.

she shivers again as her mind wanders into what-ifs and upsetting potential futures and she sighs, resting a hand on the railing of the staircase.

a third chill runs down her spine, her headache nearly splitting now, as katherine’s words echo in her skull again.

she starts up the stairs to talk to katherine and makes barely a few steps up when she suddenly feels very weak, very tired.

the world blurs before her eyes and she feels herself falling back down, colliding with the floor and shivering madly. the only thing she can feel is cold, like someone has replaced her blood with ice.

she’s barely aware of a door opening and one of the household staff gasping and dropping a tray, and she can hardly even feel the hands on her as she’s lifted and carried up to her bedroom and placed on her bed.

if she was more lucid she’d have heard the panic amongst the staff, maybe even heard the butler set off on horseback to fetch a physician from a nearby village. but she isn’t, and all she can feel is the grip of cold creeping over her, and then suddenly a wave of heat hits her all at once.

it feels like she’s suffocating.

the room is so hot, she feels she’s burning. even in her delirium, hands shaking, she rips at the collar of her dress, desperately searching for release from the heat, which comes when one of her maids loosens the stays on her dress.

it isn’t enough, and very quickly her entire face is damp with sweat.

katherine hears the commotion in the hallway and pokes her head out of her room, confusion crossing her features.

“what’s happening?” she asks with a tilt of her head, but everyone is too busy to answer her. the door to jane’s bedroom is open, however, and katherine can see jane on her bed and she frowns. she heads towards the room but katherine’s nurse steps in the doorway and gently stops her, hands on her shoulders.

“let’s get you ready for bed, katherine,” she says softly but firmly.

katherine cranes her neck and gasps. she sees jane on the bed, writhing and gasping for breath, and suddenly all anger she has been feeling up until that moment disappears.

“mama!” she squeaks and makes for the bed, but the nurse stops her again.

“you mustn’t go close to her, katherine,” the woman says softly.

“why not?” katherine protests, trying to push her way into the room. “what’s wrong?”

her nurse steers her back by her shoulders, her firm grip more powerful than the eleven-year-old.

“lady jane has taken ill, and we don’t want you getting ill too. everything will be okay in the morning, so let’s just get you ready for bed now.”

“ill?!” katherine nearly shrieks. she tries once again to force her way into the room, but to no avail.

“she’ll be okay in the morning,” her nurse repeats softly, and the quiet sureness in her voice melts katherine’s resolve. with one last glance at her mother, katherine allows herself to be led to her room.

the physician arrives not that much later, and he gives the house staff the news they had been dreading. “she has the sweat.”

there’s a miserable silence that radiates through the house. jane is well liked, and nobody would wish sweating sickness even on their worst enemy. within twenty-four hours jane could be dead, and katherine would lose her second mother.

“no one tells katherine until morning,” the girl’s nurse declares. “she must sleep tonight.”

the nurse, head of the household, and butler all look at each other. “all of you,” the butler says, “get some rest. it will be a long day tomorrow.”

he, the nurse, and the head of household linger behind as everyone shuffles towards their respective chambers, mumbling quiet well-wishing sentiments as they leave.

the butler looks over at the other two with a grave expression. “i suppose we should prepare to inform lady jane’s brothers, if the worst happens.”

“we should not think of such matters,” the nurse begins, but the butler shakes his head.

“you know how quickly the sweating can kill a person.” he swallows roughly and glances over towards the door to jane’s room.

“that may be so,” the nurse concedes. “but there are also cases of people surviving the sweat.”

“but many don’t,” the butler fires back.

“he is right about that,” the head of household agrees. “we should put word out to her brothers that lady jane might pass in the night.”

“mama might die?”

all three turn, and standing in her doorway, shaking and very pale in fear, is katherine.

“katherine!” her nurse says immediately, concern in her voice. “what are you doing out of bed?”

katherine doesn’t pay any attention to her words, her attention still fixed on the head of household.

“is mama going to die?” she whimpers, tears already welling in her eyes.

the physician, who was just about to take his leave, kneels before katherine. “your mother is a strong woman, little one,” he says gently. “if anyone could pull through, it would be her.” he sighs, looks down, then back up. “but it is possible she won’t. the sweating sickness is very strong and swift.” he lowers his voice. “it is possible.”

this was not the answer katherine wanted to hear, and she immediately runs to her nurse for comfort. the woman opens her arms to katherine and holds her tightly as the little girl sobs against her.

“mama can’t die,” she chokes out, clinging to her nurse as if she were jane herself.

“shh,” the nurse tries to hush her. “she’ll fight for you. i know she is fighting for you. she won’t ever leave you.”

katherine makes a small whimper and clings tighter.

“but i don’t think she’d want you up all night worrying,” the nurse says, pulling away just slightly.

“i won’t be able to sleep!” katherine protests, still crying.

“it’s better to try, katherine,” her nurse tries to soothe. “i’ll stay with you.” she manages to pick up the girl and balance her on her hip as if she were much younger than she actually is, even as katherine protests and sobs. “your mama would want you to get some rest, and i think you know that, sweet.”

katherine does her best to fight back, but exhaustion and panic set in at oddly the same time, and suddenly she feels very, very sleepy.

her nurse helps her back into bed and sits down in the armchair jane often occupied to help katherine sleep.

"it's gonna be alright," she whispers, hoping she's not spreading false promises. "we'll be here when you wake up in the morning, sweetheart."

katherine wants to fight, wants to get up and run to jane in the other room regardless of what her nurse and the others say, but she’s struck with exhaustion and can’t bring herself to climb out of the bed. she sobs a little more and clutches her pillow close.

“mama,” she half-whimpers and her nurse reaches out, tracing katherine’s hairline with her index finger.

“it’s going to be alright,” she repeats. “your mama will pull through.”

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy@justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify

#six the musical #six musical #katherine howard #jane seymour #julie and jess write #silence screaming over your words #flipping through my life turning pages

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polygamyff · 5 years ago

Text

25. Part 2

It’s like he was never ill, the very man I love awake and so full of life. Maurice looks like a deer caught in headlights seeing me, I feel so emotional again but I’m not about to cry right now. Clearing my throat “it’s ok, he won’t be going anywhere, can you give us a moment please. I can assure you he won’t be moving” I said to the nurse, I have no idea who she is “I think the doctor should be around soon, but I will give you a heads up when he does ok?” Damon said to me, smiling at him “thank you, I do appreciate that. Thank you for everything” he’s been the best “it’s ok, I can see the happeniness in your eyes” I grinned “thank you” Damon drew the curtains around me “you don’t see anything to be honest, you can sniff around somewhere else” Maurice is totally better “ignore him, I will be doing that soon. Bye” smiling at Damon, Maurice is really back and already annoying people. Sighing out heavily looking ahead of me, he is really giving me puppy dog eyes. Maurice put his head down, then looked up with his puppy dog eyes. I don’t know how to feel, I’m just speechless, the battles I had while he was not here “I’m sorry” he said in a whisper “sorry isn’t really going to fix my pussy coming apart” Maurice lifted his head back, confusion all over his face “I want to hate you” I openly admitted “love me first” Maurice was quick to say to me “love you first when I could have lose you? You was dying in my arms” looking away from him, This is painful “I don’t know what happened, that is the honest truth. The last I remember is sleeping, you told me to go to bed and I did but that was it. I knew I was in pain but I didn’t think that would have happened” he is lucky he didn’t get to witness what I did “but you did Maurice, you already had one transfusion so you was fully aware. Don’t lie to me” he is still doesn’t care, he doesn’t think it was serious and I hate that “you really don’t love me or your daughter, you wouldn’t sit in that bed and be the way you are, my daughter was so close to being fatherless and she didn’t even get to call you dad and you think that is anything to be ok about, you played with your life when you have so much to love for” the curtain behind me opened “still can’t rid of you, what I tell you about this not being your department” I laughed ever so fake “can’t keep away” Damon was supposed to tell “I can tell, you have certainly kept this one at bay. From the get go, he was ready to leave” moving to the side so the doctor could come in “I am Dominik, I have been looking after you” I really shouldn’t be here but oh fucking well.

Dominik sat down next to Maurice’ bed “so, we have your lady in power here. What do you think happened?” he is asking that to Maurice that doesn’t even fucking care, he is so rude “clearly having a crisis” Maurice said it and he knew “very life threatening, I was reading your notes. You haven’t requested new medication in two months? You need this medication, it is so important. It stops this, still right now. You have to stay, you had a transfusion and we still need to clean out the bad blood, Mr Davenport this was touch and go. You probably feel weird, you are missing a few days, you are safe to move you into your own room but we will talk more. Get your head around what has happened is, that ok with you?” Maurice got his hand out “thank you” Maurice and the doctor shook hands “the porters will be along, I will give you his things to keep safe? Is that ok?” Dominik said to me “that is fine, thank you. You did so well, you made him better” even though I was in the way with things and didn’t approve of most things he was doing “that is fine” be back” he walked off “how is Reign?” Maurice asked “she is thinking where her parents are, she is ok. At my parent’ home, she wore her first dress today. But she is ok” I am really not about to stress Maurice out about the things that has been happening but I may tell him about his dad once they move him “I am sorry” that is the only thing he can say.

Maurice knows he has fucked up, I didn’t expect me to be mad at him already but I am “I love you Bonita, you know I do” I felt my heart literally miss a beat which hurt, those words that was nearly taken away from me. My eyes started to fill with tears, looking up at him “the man that loves Bonita would have told her this, you don’t remember anything but I do. You try and give CPR to the person you love, every last breath I gave to you because you wasn’t about to leave me here in this hell where everyone wants piece of you while I push them away, you wasn’t about to leave me. You died in my hands” I choked out “nobody will ever understand the feeling, having to push down at your chest, every second slipping away. I would have given you my last breath so I can hear you say Bonita, I nearly lost the man I love” placing my hands over my face as I cried into my hands, it hurts. I am still so scarred from it, it makes me sick to my stomach “what the fuck, why is something in my dick!” moving my hands away from my face “what you doing? Like seriously? Lay back down” wiping the tears that fell, Maurice just froze “someone touch my dick?” walking closer to the bed “how else you going to pee? Just don’t move, you won’t feel it” Maurice looks so upset about this “lay back down” fixing the covers on Maurice “I wanted to come to you” using the controls to lay him down “wait, Robyn. Before the whole dick thing, I didn’t know? I don’t know anything, I am so sorry that happened to you but you saved my life, you have given me the chance to actually not fuck up, to make you happy. I am so sorry please believe me” Maurice face planted right on my boob “thank you for that” I mumbled “love me please” he whined out “I will make it up to you, just let me get my head around everything. I just feel very weird about everything” he moved his head away from my breasts, placing my hands at the side of his face “just to see you looking into my eyes, this is all I wanted” I got my baby back.

Maurice is a pain, I wish he was asleep now “I would like to know who touched my dick? Like who had the right?” he won’t drop it, like there is worse things. We have so much to talk about, he just seems so blind sided with what actually happened, he won’t talk to me in way of like how he felt, what was happening to him. Did he he not feel himself dying, maybe he’s ignoring it “well it wasn’t myself, I am not sure who” I wish they put that oxygen mask over his mouth “I hope it wasn’t male because that is gay” smiling at the nurse, she is fixing his bed “well it doesn’t matter who did, we just want you better. Comfortable? Are you happy with the room?” she ain’t going to deal with Maurice and his stupidity “yes I am, but can you take this out of my dick?” the nurse walked off not answering the same question “Maurice, you know why. You’re still getting better, I am happy you have your own room now” I am just not getting him right now, I’ve really not expressed how I felt with things.

I am not going to tell Maurice about things just yet but just his dad, I am going to be with Reign because clearly he is fine and also his family want to see him but it’s my duty to tell him “anyways, before I go and see to Reign” I need to just leave, breathe a little “do I see her?” he asked “it’s about your dad, he took it rather bad you was here” I am not going to tell him just yet how mean he was to me “he uhm, he had a heart-attack Maurice. I think it was caused by stress and worry, maybe all the deceit but he is also here. But he is ok, don’t worry” the look on his face, he was more sad to hear this then to even hear what happened to me with him “my dad really had that? No way, I want to see him” shaking my head “please, just stay in bed. Get better so you can come home” to be just a family, that is all I want from him.

My dad is in hospital and I can’t even see him, this hurts so much. My dad is here, he could have died, I could have died. Resting my head back on the pillow, swallowing hard. I feel the pain in my heart and I am so sorry for what happened, I maybe did know it would happen but not like that, I didn’t want to die. Robyn does kind of hate me but then wants to love me, I deserve it and now I’m peeing in a bag, I am just so lost right now, I don’t know what to say or even do, only thing I can do is lay here. Lifting my arm up, the pain I felt has disappeared which is a blessing. I didn’t want to die at all, I have a daughter to think of but I knew shit like this could have happened. I am upset about my dad though, he for real had a heart attack, he’s a strong guy so I am shocked. Robyn did say it could be stress and heartbreak, I stressed everyone out so much “Maurice!” Hearing my mom’ voice lifting my head up seeing my mom rushing in “mom” my mom didn’t hold back, she grabbed my face and started kissing my face “how dare you let this happen” too many crying women in my life “you killed yourself! You realise this don’t you? I could have lost you Maurice” my mom crying her heart out, I feel so bad “you know how much I love you, how I told you I do love you kids. Why don’t any of you listen to me, I came here to you! Not your father, I always told you that you all mean so much to me. To stare into your eyes again” my mom kissed my cheek “my baby boy” I swallowed hard, I feel so bad but it happened and there was no way of me stopping the process “I am sorry mom, I do honestly feel bad” my mom walked away so Nalah could see me “you good idiot?” I smiled, Nalah kissed my cheek “I’m ok thanks” last time I was in hospital nobody was feeling this “Malik” dapping him “you scared me bro” I must have.

I am just in my own thoughts, I am trying to catch up with what the fuck even happened to me. Maybe I don’t care enough for my life but maybe I should, I do have a daughter to think of, I also have Robyn. This is just a mess “Maurice, you seem very quiet. What’s up?” Malik asked me “just thinking Malik, I have a lot on my mind. I’m always going to be stressed so I can never stop that can I?” Malik put his head down “where is Robyn?” He asked “she is also angry with me, she has gone to see Reign. I don’t know if she is going to bring her to see me though” rubbing my face “you need to man the fuck up” Nalah spoke up “Nalah!” My mom spat “you’re self loathing, you know how much shit you caused. Dad and you could have been dead! You did it to yourself and I bet you any money dad wouldn’t be where he is either. He is there because of you, your daughter is not able to bond with her father because of you, Robyn being ill is because of you and you want to lay here and be like sad and shit. Man up Maurice! This could have all been avoided, I don’t get your issue here. If I was Robyn I would leave your ass” mean mugging Nalah “don’t say that to him, he does so much for us, the best we can do is support him. Stop it now” my mom said “least dad wasn’t selfish and got himself ill. He was actually there for us all, especially you, he did everything. He fixed you! Just because Ally couldn’t wipe your ass you did this, you don’t know the shit that went on, you dragged our family through shit. You know how much it hurt to have people wait for you to die? It fucking hurt” Nalah got up from the chair to storm out.

I think it may have been a better solution if I did just die, I didn’t mean any of this to happen at all “my granddaughter, when will I see her? She was here but she wouldn’t let us see her, she refused. That is my blood too, why am I getting punished?” Sighing heavily “I don’t know mom, I can’t say. How is dad? What is he doing? Why is nobody with him?” My mom is ready to rip another asshole “I gave birth to you, I went through a terrible birth to have you. You think I will be sat with a man that gives me grief? I am here with you. He blamed me, blamed Malik for you. So no Maurice let him sit on his own and think about how nasty he has been with us. You don’t listen to me at all, all of you kids say the same things. Why am I not with Marquis, sniff around him for money? Is that what you all think of me” I groaned out “why didn’t god take me? Why are you all just talking shit” my mom stood up “take you!? For what? Your sister is right, your father is fine, and so his prodigy” frowning at my mom, she really called me that “say another word Maurice” she knew I was going too.

Shaking my head “another one bites the dust, the fuck is wrong with people? I’m here not well, I have just woke up from being nearly fucking dead, what I do wrong?” I asked Malik “for nearly dying bro, that’s what they mad at. It’s called care, shit nigga. You scared me, I thought you was sleeping. Only thing I am saying is I am not sure how long you wasn’t breathing for, I dragged you up and I didn’t know what to do. You don’t get it because you don’t see it but I ain’t like the females, I am here still for you. I am just sad about you getting ill and then dad. We been through a lot, it’s supposed to be a good time. I got a niece but instead we here, I think you need to just relax and just think a little” I hate thinking, thinking just makes me depressed “just relax bro” nodding my head, nobody wants to know now that I am awake.

#chrianna #chrianna ff #fanfic #fanfiction

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