#last time I had a full panic attack/meltdown because of how scared I was that I had completely messed up and hadn't realized at all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Text

Touch

CW: Consensual spice (PG-13 at most, totally safe for work), trauma response, PTSD panic attack, meltdown, internalized victim-blaming, internalized ableism, head banging, negative stimming leading to self-injury (there is also positive stim in this piece), references to past conditioning, references to past noncon. This is a heavy one. Stay safe.

TIMELINE: Post-Chris moving into college, after Oliver Branch’s trial. Happens during Chris’s freshman year at college. He is 22.

Tagging Chris’s crew: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

It begins, and ends, with touch.

It’s not that Chris is afraid of any of it - he likes the way Marissa hugs him when they meet up or they split to go their separate ways or just whenever the urge to hug strikes her. He likes the sensation of warm arms around him that never come with an ulterior motive. He likes the way it feels when he and Dylan curl up on Dylan’s bed to watch TV, the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder with touch all the way down their legs, perfectly normal, like he’s always been a part of the world where these things happen without the prickle of fear or shame underneath them.

But the way Laken hugs him… feels different, and Laken is always hugging him or putting an arm around his waist or nuzzling playfully against his face. There’s always touch and he loves it, the simple reassuring weight of a hand on his back by his shoulder blades comes now with an electricity that sparks like static between them, but it doesn’t fade when they leave. He feels their touch for hours after, thinks of them in his sleep, stares at the bottle of cheap shampoo in the shower he shares with Dylan and the boys who live on the other side of the bathroom and wonders if Laken likes the way his shampoo smells or not.

Laken is like a lightning bolt wrapped in black in Chris’s life, there and gone in half-seconds of time, a flash of a smile in a warm brown face. The brush of roughly textured black hair that falls in curls long along the top and back when they lean over to point out something in the textbook they’re studying from, and Chris feels the place their hair touched him for hours afterward, like a lingering kiss, like a burn.

Laken laughs and tells him to find out for himself when he asks what hair that short feels like. Chis’s nerves spark when he runs his palms over the short buzz cut sides and he can’t explain why his mouth feels dry and his heart beats rabbit-fast inside his chest.

He feels like an idiot whenever he speaks, his words stumble and trip over each other out of his mouth, but Laken doesn’t seem to mind. Like Jake, they don’t interrupt him, they let him find his way to the end of the sentence no matter how long it takes. Like, Jake, their smile doesn’t falter when they watch him fiddle with the feather he is always wearing, with the bracelet, or if he taps on himself or the wall or the bed.

But they’re not like Jake at all, are they?

They ask, once, what he’s doing when he taps. He uses the words that Nat gave him when he was scared, the name for what he does. Words are a kind of power, in many ways, Nat had explained gently. That’s why the company gives you so many things they force you to remember while they make you forget the rest. Language creates thought.

Chris had been caught tapping the wall. He’d been terrified and held his hands out for discipline and Nat had folded his fingers back up over his palm, one by one, held them briefly in her warm, firm grip before giving his hands back to him. The glimmer in her eyes caught his, and held it. You were forced to forget the words, and give up the power, but you can have it back, sweetheart. There’s a word for what you do, and a reason you do it, and you deserve your hands, you deserve the mind that moves them. You deserve to move, Chris.

He tells Laken the name for it, the words that Nat gave him - I’m, it’s called, um, stimming, it means self-soothing stimulatory be, be, behavior and it helps, helps me calm down and and and and focus, Ben, um, Ben knows, Ben’s little brother does it, you should, should should should ask Ben, should ask him- and understands what Nat meant about power, then. Because Laken just nods, says cool in their deep husky voice, and Chris feels a kind of rush inside himself greater than any he’s ever felt.

Laken Mamani is beautiful, and handsome, and everything in between, and Chris doesn’t know why he feels like a fucking idiot whenever he’s around them but he thinks Dylan does. His roommate gives him a weird, knowing smile whenever he sees them together. Makes jokes about things that make Chris turn bright red and hide under his pillow.

Everyone knows that Chris didn’t grow up the way they did - he doesn’t tell them that maybe he did, he just doesn’t remember it. Everyone thinks he grew up in a sheltered religious family. Laken suggests maybe he grew up in a cult.

Chris doesn’t argue. The lie is easier to believe than telling them the truth ever could be, and much, much safer.

He and Laken don’t do anything special. Just hang out in Laken’s room mostly since their roommate goes out every single night and sees her boyfriend on the weekends. They just watch movies Chris hasn’t seen that everyone else is always quoting, they just sit on Laken’s bed and sometimes Laken has to reach over Chris to grab at their drink or their bag of chips and Chris feels his breath catch and thinks, maybe they’ll stay there and it feels like something he wants and something he doesn’t, both at once.

Tonight, there’s something even more electric between them than there ever has been before. Laken keeps glancing over, and every look seems weighted with meaning Chris doesn’t understand and couldn’t begin to explain to himself.

The movie isn’t any different than the movies always are. They have their Chemistry book open between them - they share two different classes together - but neither of them is looking at it, not even a little.

Everything is normal, but something is different.

Chris is sitting back against the wall, with one of Laken’s pillows - the thick one with those little arms - against his back, his eyes on the tiny TV but he has no idea what they’re watching, some Netflix show that Laken put on. He doesn’t think Laken is paying attention, either.

Laken has their phone out, fiddling with it idly, and they look at Chris sidelong and then back down before they put it down, leaning forward to catch his eyes. “Hey, Chris. Can I ask you something?”

Chris looks over, and Laken is closer than he thought. He licks at his lips - they feel suddenly chapped and dry - and slowly nods. “Um, yeah, sure, sure you, you, you-you can,” He said, softly. He already had one hand grasping onto his feather idly, and hopes it looks perfectly natural when his thumb moves to rub over the textured silicone. Not nervous at all, just absolutely one-hundred-percent normal.

“So… look, I figure it’s better to be super direct about this.” Laken swallows, and Chris realizes they’re nervous, too - and he didn’t know Laken got nervous, really, they’ve never acted the slightest bit nervous around Chris before.

“Um… okay.” Chris winces as soon as it’s out of his mouth - there has to have been a better, smoother way to respond, but he genuinely can’t think of anything else to say. His mind has gone totally, utterly blank.

“You’ve-... um, we’ve hung out a lot, the last few weeks,” Laken says, looking away from him and down at their bedspread, running a fingertip over the deep saturated orange-red paisley print there. It had surprised Chris to see their room the first time and realize that Laken - who alway wore black, who only wore black, had everything in their room a million bright colors.

A lot about Laken surprises Chris. Like unwrapping a gift, only the gift just keeps unwrapping and there’s always a new present to be found.

“Yeah, we, we have.”

Laken nods a little, as though Chris has asked a question, and then they take a deep breath and straighten their back, leaning over to look a little closer into Chris’s face. They have brown eyes, and this close Chris can see little flecks of green just around their pupil on the inside, a hint around the edges. “Chris, do you like me?”

Chris goes still, for just a second, before he rubs harder at the feather on his necklace and finds a kind of nervous smile, letting his hair fall alongside his face, taking comfort in the brush of sensation along his cheekbone. His heartbeat skips, stutters, stammers along with his voice. He’s on fire with fear and nerves and excitement. “Uh… um, I, I, I-I-I, I… yes. Yes, I, um, I-I like you.”

“Yeah, but… like for real, right? I’ve-... you know, I’ve fucked up noticing this kind of thing before, so I just want to check-”

Chris swallows around a lump in his throat - made of air? of words? of fear? - and nods, quickly, three or four times in succession. He’s going to throw up. He wants to throw up and sink into the floor and maybe drown somewhere else where this won’t have happened. But he wants it to happen.

And he doesn’t.

“Yeah, no, I, I, I do. I like you. Um, a lot, Laken.”

Laken gives another slow nod while they lick their lips in thought, and Chris’s eyes are caught there, on the full swell of the bottom lip, the flash of pink tongue against it, the slight dip in the middle of the top lip. The trace of a smile always present in one form or another. The way Laken glances up to catch Chris’s eyes on their face and grins at him, warm. He feels it like a spark catching dry grass at the end of summer.

How would he know what that looks like?

“Laken the lightning bolt,” Chris whispers, and doesn’t know he’s spoken out loud until Laken moves and their mouth is on his.

Chris makes a noise like a whine in his throat before he can catch it, pushes back the training that still lingers in his mind even four years later and focuses instead on how Laken’s mouth has the slightest pressure against his, their bottom lip caught just between his two, and the kiss ends too soon and takes so long, both at once.

Laken pulls back, takes a breath, and says, “Holy fuck, you’re a good kisser.”

I got good marks in that-

Chris drowns the voice by reaching out and pulling Laken back to him, hands to either side of their face, his thumbs resting on cheekbones that look like they could cut glass as he kisses Laken again.

Somehow he’s on his back on Laken’s bed with the soft puffy paisley comforter dipped slightly under his weight and Laken straddling him with their knees on either side. Mouths open, Chris can taste the cherry Coke that Laken is always drinking, thick and syrupy-sweet taste and he chases it with his tongue and Laken meets him with theirs, making a soft sound at the contact that sends a thrill right through Chris’s body, from the hairs on top of his head down to his toes.

His heart is beating so hard it might break out of him and be visible to Laken and show them everything he’s thinking. His heart is pounding and there’s a thin line between thrill and fear and Chris is standing between the two as he feels Laken’s weight settle over his hips, rolling just a little as they sit back up.

He breathes hard - there’s an ache in his chest, something odd but he doesn’t want to question it or think about why his hands are starting to tremble as he watches Laken sit back. Those deep brown eyes lock on his and Laken gives a half-cocked smile as they pull their T-shirt off over their head, the black fabric bunched around their neck and then gone, tossed to the side onto the floor on the little red shag rug that they brought with them from their home.

Chris has a moment, just a hint of thought, about how much he likes running his fingers over that rug, the shag like fur.

“I hope binders don’t bother you,” Laken says, with a carefree air to their voice but there’s a catch in it, and Chris thinks that Laken is serious, they’re actually worried that whatever a binder is will bother Chris.

“A, a, a-a wh-”

His eyes seem to come back into focus and he realizes Laken means the thing he’d thought was just a long sports bra or something, what looks like a form-fitting black tank top with thick shoulder straps they were wearing under their t-shirt and he blinks once, twice, three times.

“Uh… no, it, it, it doesn’t.”

“Good. ‘Cause… it stays on.” Laken gives them a small smile, a hint of vulnerability, and Chris has never seen Laken look like that before. “I’m just more comfortable that way. Is that cool?” Every other moment with them has been Laken’s effortless confidence compared to Chris’s nervous, excited attempts to be half as cool as they are.

But here it is. Just a little, just a bit - a moment where Laken wonders will he still like me if-

“Yeah… yeah, that’s, that’s, that’s-that’s-that’s cool.” Chris’s voice sounds ridiculous, airy and higher than he means it to sound, but Laken doesn’t seem to notice. They just breathe out a sigh of clear relief and lean back over him again.

Their hands on his face feel dry and warm, soft palms cupping his jaw on either side. His hands settling briefly at their lower back to feel the slight dip there. Then his fingers move up over the fabric of the binder, the curve of waist and ribs, and back down again.

Chris is strung between Laken’s mouth and their hands, moving down his neck and over him, sliding up under his shirt. He’s on fire and his body is singing at the kind of touch it has been so thoroughly denied after having been so thoroughly taught to need a long time ago.

There’s a point, somewhere between one touch and another, where something inside Chris cracks open. Maybe it’s the motion of a hand over his hip, or the way Laken starts to undo the button on his jeans. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

One moment, he’s on perfect fire. The next, he’s burning down.

His mind opens like Pandora’s Box, like he read about in class, only Chris isn’t full of things like sickness or death. Instead, with Laken’s hands sliding up his ribcage, Chris feels a terrifying helplessness pouring out of him from behind the dark wall he has built to separate the three lives he has lived in twenty-two years.

He cracks open, and Sir pours out.

Chris is fear and hurt and oil-slick smile and the voice and his pain and his pain and his pain-

The walls inside his mind can’t hold. The weight of it all is too great.

The cracks grow.

The dam breaks. The box opens. A voice whispers like fingertips that graze up the back of his neck, shouts like a hand gripped tight to his hair. A voice he has never forgotten, that he is never allowed to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

Be still, darlin’. This is what you were made for.

He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t have to anymore. He’s not made to do this, he’s not, and he doesn’t want to, and he never wanted to and they made him he never wanted this he never did they made him they made him they made him, rebuilt a boy that didn’t want to, he doesn’t want to do this-

He has spent four years learning to say no. He’s so good at it now. It’s just one word.

You don’t have the option of saying no. Not any longer.

“Chris?” Laken’s voice is low against his ear. Lips brush there and he shudders in disgust, he doesn’t want it to go this far, he doesn’t want it. There’s a vibration in his throat, he might have made a sound. He doesn’t know, he can’t hear it over the static noise beginning to blare inside his head.

I don’t want this.

What you want is irrelevant.

I have never once wanted to do this.

It has never mattered if I did.

What you want is irrelevant, it’s not an option, it doesn’t matter, you were made for this you’re made for this you’re not a person you’re lying they all know you’re lying they know they know they know they know

They know what you are they all know they all know they all know they all-

“Chris!” He jumps at Laken’s voice, his eyes rolling, white around the edges. He thinks they pull back from him but he can barely see, Laken is a blur of black binder and pants and brown skin and black hair.

Some part of him realizes they sound worried, not pleased, at his fear. They sound scared. No one ever sounded scared for him before. Chris’s eyebrows furrow in a vague confusion.

“Hey, are you okay? Oh, shit, are you okay? Hey, Chris, talk to me, you have to talk to me-… look, look at me, please look at me.” Laken pats the side of his face and Chris flinches, hands flying up to guard himself. He whimpers - he can’t remember how to beg not to be hit.

“Oh my God,” Laken whispers out loud. “Oh, shit. Chris… Chris, what’s wrong?”

When his mouth opens, nothing comes out at first. No sound. No air. How do you breathe? He used to know. It used to just happen - lungs expanding and contracting without his consent, he didn’t have to tell them, they just soaked up oxygen and fed it to his blood. Suddenly he understands that he can’t breathe unless he thinks about breathing and he gasps in air, a whine on the exhale, fear is burning him he is burning he is on fire.

It’s only after Laken has moved back that Chris looks up to see the open concern for him on their face. It’s only then that he remembers how to speak.

“I… I, I have to, to-… to, to to to go.”

“What? Hold on, no-”

Chris has already pushed them back and away, is already up and out of the bed, pulling his shirt back down. He forgets shoes exist in the moment, he’s running barefoot out into the dorm’s hallway with Laken’s voice at his back, reminding himself consciously inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale exhale inhale exhale inhaleexaleinhaleexhaleinhale-

There are people in the lobby who look up when Chris flies past, a blur of blue hair and bare feet slapping briefly against the tile floor before he hits carpet again. He doesn’t stop to see if he knows them. He doesn’t stop.

His brain breaks apart under the strain and everything crashes together. He can’t ever look at Laken again he can’t do this he doesn’t want to do this with anyone he never wanted to they just made him think he did even when he didn’t he just wanted to be with them but not like that and now everyone knows they know they know

The world is a cacophony of sound around him - music muffled behind dorm room doors and people talking and the crinkle of a bag of chips and someone shrieks, playful and harsh, and the sound grates in Chris’s ears. Back behind him he hears Laken call his name, but he barrels into the door to the stairwell - Chris lives on the fourteenth floor and he’s never seen anyone in the stairwell before and figures he won’t see anyone now

His brain is twisted in two directions - go up or go down, one or the other, he can’t decide, his thoughts go both ways and finally he runs down. His feet drag against rough strips laid to keep shoes from slipping on rainy wet days, the concrete stairs are freezing cold against his toes.

He can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe

There’s nowhere to run, trainee. Where would you go? How would you ever find your way out?

There’s no way out.

He collapses somewhere near the tenth floor, maybe. His foot skips a step and the world spins in a sick whirl around him. Chris slams down onto the landing, pain flaring up his arm and shoulder as he lands hard on his right side, crying out. His voice echoes in the stairwell but no one hears him.

The fluorescent lights are flat and eternal in the stairway, and Chris sobs, fingernails scrabbling at the ground just to remember that he’s lying on concrete and not white tiles. His arm hurts, a dull throbbing ache, and he winces as he moves it just to be sure it’s not broken.

The button on his jeans is still undone and he feels his pants shifting oddly on his hips without it fastened as he scrambles into the corner of the landing, curling himself into a tiny ball.

He’s going to have to drop out. They’ll know and they’ll tell the admissions people and they’ll make him drop out and it doesn’t matter, he can’t look anyone in the eye ever fucking again. He can’t look Laken in the eye. He can’t look at anyone. Ever.

Chris lets out a wail he can’t hear around the noise in his mind and slams his head back against the brick wall, trying to drown out the sound with sensation. It’s not enough so he hits his head again. And again. Again and again and again and again and again-

Oh, like that’s going to help. You’re a fucking piece of work, 223499.

His fingers are in his hair, gripped tight, pulling on it as hard as he can as he rocks back and forth, trying to stop the thoughts in his head the voice the hands the feeling that he doesn’t want, he’s never wanted, he never wanted this he never ever wanted this-

Oh, darlin’, my beautiful boy, you’ve made such a mess of yourself, haven’t you?

There’s an echoing voice in the stairwell, the sound of steps growing louder, but they seem like maybe they’re just in his head like Sir’s voice like the handler like his whole life is just something he’s lived inside his head and he’s not allowed to have these feelings anymore.

He’s not a person. Why did he think he could fake being a person? It was a stupid fucking mistake and he needs Jake to hold him and make him remember but Jake isn’t here and he was stupid to think he could go to college, he’s so stupid, he’s so fucking stupid to think he can be anything but what they made him, he’s so fucking stupid to think he gets to want things or not want things, it doesn’t matter what he wants it never mattered it’s never going to matter.

He can feel hair tearing free of his scalp and the pain is clean and the pain is pure and the pain is not the noise inside his mind and the world around him is too much. The brick wall is too red and the light is too white and the sound of footsteps bounces in his skull.

His heart beats too hard inside his chest, he’s a prison inside and out for himself.

Chris makes a strangled noise in his throat but he can’t make sounds and breathe at the same time.

He’s a wildfire burning down the forest, he’s the skeletons of trees and dead animals scorched and charred. He’s a ruined place where the ruins think they’re still buildings and don’t know any better than to wonder where all the people went.

He’s a dead tree that remembers the birds.

There are sounds nearby but he can’t hear them, there are people but he can’t see them. He can only rock - back and forth and back and forth, letting his head hit the wall behind him, tearing hair out with his hands.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

“-he is!”

Something trickles into his mind, some hint of sound, and a moment later there’s a face in front of his and Chris flinches back and away from it, letting out a shocked, terrified cry. “N-no, Sir, please!”

It takes whole seconds ticking by for him to realize it’s Dylan.

“Chris?” Dylan’s hair is in his eyes, still wet from a shower, and he’s wearing his pajama pants and no shirt, blinking. “Hey, man, what’s happening? Laken came and got us, they’re freaking out, man, what’s going on with you right now?”

Chris opens his mouth but nothing happens. The words are gone. Were there words? They know, they’ll all know. He can’t tell them. It doesn’t matter, they’ll know, anyway. They’ll know and someone will call the cops but he doesn’t have a barcode to be scanned, anymore, so-

It doesn’t matter. Sir is in jail. They won’t send you back to him, they’ll refurbish you, back to white walls back to white lights back to the pain and the fear and what you were made for-

Chris whines and covers his face with his arms, hands up in his hair, rocking and rocking and rocking to try and rock the thoughts out of his mind.

“He can’t talk right now,” Ben says from behind Dylan. Chris’s eyes dance up to his, peeking between his arms, and Ben looks back at him with a kind of calm on his face that Chris wants to grab and hold onto. “Back up a little, Dill, give him space.”

Dylan shuffles back a few steps but doesn’t stand up, resting his back against the central pillar where the stair railing attaches. “Got it. What the fuck’s happening right now, Ben? He looks like-”

“Yeah, describing what it looks like isn’t going to help it go away, dumbass.” Ben just gives a shrug and then turns, speaking over his shoulder at someone further up the stairs. “Run up and get a blanket, okay?”

A flash of something, black clothes and brown skin. Laken running back up the stairs. Heat flares in Chris’s face as he realizes they saw him rocking, saw him - how much did they see?

I wasn’t still. I should have been still. Just stayed still and let it happen, stayed still and been hurt because it’s what I’m made for, what I’m made for, all I am-

He starts rocking hard back into the wall again, but he sees Dylan flinch, and something in the movement stops him.

“We’re here, Chris,” Dylan says. His voice is gentler than Chris has ever heard it, calm and soft. He sounds like Nat. He sounds like Jake in the middle of the night when Chris calls because it’s storming and he needs someone to tell him a storm is just weather and it doesn’t mean fear anymore. “We’re right here. Take your time, we’re here.”

Ben shifts slightly into Chris’s field of vision more fully. “Chris, I’m going to talk to you right now, and you don’t need to talk back,” He says quietly. “I just want you to hear me, if you can. That is all we need from you right now, just to know if you are hearing me. Can you hear my words?”

Chris shudders and nods, trying to show he’s trying.

“Good. If you can, I need you to stop pulling on your hair. Can you hold your necklace instead, will that help you?”

“What are you doing, Ben?” Dylan asks, glancing up at Ben, whose expression hasn’t changed. “Why are you-”

“Redirection,” Ben interrupts, voice slightly flat.

Chris closes his eyes, puts all the strength in his body into pulling his fingers out of his hair. Strands of blue with strawberry blond roots drift towards the concrete, settle there. His arms move only with supreme effort but he finds the necklace still right there over his sternum, and he grips onto it with one hand as tightly as he can, rubs his thumb over the texture silicone plastic, a desperate push for texture. He takes a breath and taps his fingers against his leg, tap-tap-tap-tap against his thigh, rapid-fire, as quickly as he can. Lets the soothing rush of each sensation rock through him.

He stops rocking back into the wall.

“Okay.” Ben swallows, his eyes moving like he’s reading a book inside his mind. “Okay, Chris. I want you to breathe, okay? Just focus on breathing. You don’t need to do anything right now but breathe. Don’t think about trying to speak to us, just take your time. We just want to be here if you need us, okay?”

Chris manages a nod. He can do that. He can breathe.

He can remember how to breathe, and if he can remember how to make his lungs work without having to think about it, he can remember how to speak, too. He drops his eyes back to the ground, rocking a little but he can keep his hands busy with the feather and the tapping and push away everything else, the touches of Laken’s that had lit him up in good ways that were too close to the bad.

There’s silence from the two other boys, for a while. And in their presence - the visible, tangible reminder that his life is not what it used to be and it will never be that life again - Chris can feel his lungs start to work. The automatic reflex of breathing starts back up without his conscious input. His heartbeat starts to slow. He stops rocking.

More steps on the stairs and Chris looks up to see Laken holding their paisley comforter in their hands. Their shirt is back on but it’s backwards and inside out and they don’t seem to notice as they move over, glancing at Ben nervously. “I have a blanket. What now?”

“He’s overstimulated and the lights bother him. I noticed that before. Let’s cover him with the blanket.” Ben takes a corner of the blanket and Dylan takes a third and between them they pull the blanket open and taut and move to hold it over Chris’s head. The darkness descends on him like a comforting physical weight and Chris feels the prickles of the fluorescent lights on his skin suddenly stop.

They just… hold the blanket, there, for a while.

Chris feels his knees unbend, his legs slowly straightening. His shoulders lower and he looks at the three of them, seeing their legs showing before the darkness of the blanket covers up their top halves from his vision. Laken in their slightly faded black pants, Dylan in his pajamas, Ben still wearing paint-splattered jeans.

Circling him, but not as predators.

Close enough to touch, but nobody’s hand is out to grab.

“I…” His voice croaks at first, and he has to stop and clear his throat. How do you speak again? He shakes his head just to feel the brush of blue hair against his cheeks, to see the flash of it in the corner of his eyes. “I’m… better.”

“Are you sure?” It’s Ben, still. “Don’t try to be better if you’re not, you don’t have to do that for us.” Chris doesn’t know Ben that well but right now he wants to hold onto him and not let go. He’s a Jake, Chris realizes. Someone who wants to help people and knows how.

“Yes,” Chris says, softly. “Laken, I’m, I’m, I’m-I’m sorry, I’m so-so-so, so, so so so-... so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Shit happens.” The blanket-sky over his head is collapsed as they move to wrap it around his shoulders instead. He sees concern written over their faces, not derision. He expected disgust. He expected loathing.

Instead, Dylan drops next to him, holds out a hand, pulls back it. “Chris, can I-”

“Please, yes,” Chris whispers, and Dylan leans in to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into an awkward side-hug, pressing his face into Chris’s hair. Chris leans hard into it, but he keeps himself moving, tapping his leg, rubbing at his feather, lets his legs shift a little. The energy is twisting around inside him, it has to find somewhere to go.

“How did you know all of that would work?” Dylan asks Ben, still holding onto Chris. Laken moves to his other side, watching him with deep brown eyes that don’t see him any different than they did before.

“My brother.” Ben gives a shrug, casual as can be, but he’s watching Chris with careful consideration, eyes moving over his face, the way his hands are moving. “He was having a m-”

Chris meets Ben’s eyes. Something passes between them in a fraction of a second, and he knows Ben sees the way he is pleading without the words to know what he’s asking for.

“-a panic attack,” Ben finishes. “I’ve seen them before. It’s okay. He’ll be okay. We need to get him back up somewhere, though. Can we get you back to your room, Chris? Are you tired? Do you need sleep?”

Chris swallows and shakes his head. He can’t sit still in his room, not now. He can’t sleep. He’ll see Sir behind his eyes.

Will he see Sir forever?

Ben nods, lets out a breath, and his eyes move to the side, in thought. Staring at the stair railing.

“Outside,” Laken says suddenly. “I’ll… we can go for a walk. Down by the lake, it stays quiet over there. Yeah?” They look at Chris, and he wants to say no but he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to tell them why and he doesn’t want to. He can’t reconcile the two tracks, the trains of thought that run parallel in two entirely different directions.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. “Laken, I, I, I-I’m so sorry-”

“Fuck off, don’t be,” Laken says, and they smile at him. They smile, after everything he just did. “Shit happens, like I said. But would it help to get outside for a while? No pressure, I promise. Absolutely none. We’ll hit up the Student Center, get some coffee, walk over to the lake and around it. Yeah? No talking if you don’t want to.”

“No, I… I, I do want to. I, I do, I want-... I want to.” And… and he does. He does want to. He wants to walk around the lake with Laken, maybe even hold their hand, maybe hug them some more. He likes the hugging. He even liked the kissing. It was, was just-... it was just what came after the kissing that scared him.

“What if he has.. Um… Ben?” Dylan is gnawing on his fingernail, index finger. He does that when he’s nervous, and Chris wonders sometimes what the difference is between nervous habits and what he does, why there are different names for things that are sometimes the same. “What if he freaks out again?”

“He didn’t freak out, Dill. I’ll explain it later and show you what to do next time. Come on, Chris, let’s get you back upstairs so you can get some shoes on.” Ben gives him a smile and an offered hand, and it’s Ben’s hand that Chris takes, curves his fingers around, uses it to pull himself up.

Laken on one side, Dylan on the other, Ben in front of him.

“You’re okay, Chris,” Ben says, gently. “You’re okay.”

“We got you, man,” Dylan says, and squeezes him around the shoulders again. “If you need help, we got you.”

“I, I need… I, I need to, to to to call my, my brother,” Chris says, his voice low.

What you want is irrelevant-

“Your phone’s still in my room,” Laken says, and gives him a warm smile, a curve of those lips that were so soft and then so hard and always so perfect against his. “Okay? You can call him right away.”

“I want to talk to Jake,” Chris says, softly.

What would ever make you think anyone cares what you want, beautiful boy?

“Sure. Sure, Chris. Anything you want.”

Every step back up the four flights of stairs that will take him back to his floor is a calming, grounding motion. Foot on concrete, place and balance, step up to the next. One by one by one. And with each step, his friends are on either side of him. They fall into an easy conversation about something someone did last week during a co-op game they played and they don’t ask to explain himself or to justify his actions. They’re just… there.

Dylan keeps an arm around him, and Chris feels himself lean against it, chasing the kind of contact that feels safe and not dangerous. Laken brushes fingers against his hand, just a little, and gives him the softest smile that maybe says they’re still interested.

Ben stays just ahead, but looks back on occasion.

He’s the one Chris worries about. He’s the one with something brewing behind his eyes. He’s the one with the questions that Chris can’t answer, doesn’t want to, would rather choke on the words and die.

Or maybe not. Maybe he’s reading too much into the curiosity that Ben never quite hides behind his glasses.

Maybe.

“Hey, you don’t have to walk, by the way,” Laken says when they’ve made it back to his room. “If you want to go inside and just, like, chill and have a reset, you can do that. I can get your shoes and stuff back to you and you can just hang with Dill. It’s not a big deal. Okay?”

Chris shakes his head, a little too quickly, and he’s rewarded with the slight smile on Laken’s face in response, the barest flash of their teeth. It makes him think of their stomach, the way it had curved just a little, the softness he had, for just a second, wanted more than anything to touch.

“No, it’s-... I want to, to, to-to-to walk with you,” He says, shyly, his voice catching and coming out a little softer than he meant it to. “Just… not.. Um. Can we, um, can we not, not, not-not-not, um, can we not-”

“No more touching?” Laken asks, carefully neutral.

“No, not that, just-... just. Um. Can we not-... can we not talk about-”

“Yeah, Scout’s honor.” Laken crosses index finger over middle finger and gives him a grin. “I absolutely one hundred percent swear we will only talk about, like, nature and stuff. Sound good?”

Chris lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and he meets their smile with one of his own. “... yeah, that, that sounds great.”

“Good. Then I’ll get your phone so you can call your brother while you put your shoes on. I… I like you, Chris. I’m sorry if I pushed too fast.”

“I’m, I’m sorry if-”

Laken presses a finger to his lips and Chris feels the spark of it, the same way he felt before. A dull burn that he doesn’t want to feel any brighter or hotter than this. “Don’t be sorry,” Laken says. “Just go on a walk with me. We’ll figure shit out as we go, right?”

“Right.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back with your phone.” Laken pulls their hand back and moves away down the hall, back towards their room. Chris watches them go, gorgeous in their inside-out shirt.

Can you want to kiss someone if you don’t want to do anything else? Can you like someone if you can’t-... if you can’t be what I was? What if I don’t want to, ever? Is it Sir taking me over if I don’t want to?

But I didn’t want to, before, did I?

They made me.

Didn’t they?

“Hey,” Dylan says from inside. “You wanna change clothes first? You were pretty sweaty.”

Was he? Chris blinks and looks down at himself, realizing only now that he’s covered in a thin film of sweat drying sticky on his skin. And he’s going to go on a walk. Because he wants to go on a walk with Laken, in the dark, where nothing happens.

Where he isn’t afraid.

Where what he doesn’t want to do matters just as much as what he does.

Chris nods, slowly, steps back into his room, and shuts the door.

“Can I… hug you, man?” Dylan asks. “I mean, if you don’t-”

“I do,” Chris says, and Dylan’s arms are around him, strong and sure. He melts into the embrace and hugs back, dropping his forehead against Dylan’s shoulder, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “Dill, I, I just, I-”

“I know. You been through some shit, right? And it got to be too much?” Dylan snorts, but it’s a soft sound, a kind one. “I get that. It’s okay, Chris. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It begins and ends with touch.

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xaysnotebook · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1 - Behind Colored Eyes

“I told you it was pointless to even try to study for that test! It was made to screw over your final grade.”

“I know, but at least we got a passing grade, almost everyone failed besides us.” Alex replied, pacing unevenly. The psychology final was played as the hardest final outside of the math department, and they had been one of the few students to get a passing grade. The only cost of this is that they skipped out on work for a couple days and stayed awake for possibly a little too long.

“Well, I know you’re hungry, how about that new restaurant down by Semia’s house? It’s some Italian place I think.”

“I would love to, but you know I can't afford it, and I am not asking for money again.” Alex was already in debt because of college, they also had a personal debt to their parents for more than a month of rent and food bills.

“If you say so, you could always dip into your savings again. You need a little bit of a pick-me-up. You could always talk to Sandra.” That last comment made Alex stop in their tracks, their gray eyes almost glazing over with anger. “Alright, that was too far I already know. I’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

“Damn, Jason.” Alex thought out loud, earning him a questioning glance from a couple walking nearby. Jason was good to keep around for simple conversation, but he was definitely able to turn rude quickly. Alex started back towards the apartment, feeling slightly more lonely than before, but nothing they weren't used to. They were a generally lonely person for multiple reasons, but any time they got left, it felt a bit worse.

Alex was a scrawny but tall person, standing at about six foot two while actually standing up straight. They had a mess of blue hair that was starting to fade from being in the sun too often. With a smaller nose and piercing gray eyes, they had been compared to a blue raven before, actually being called Raven by some coworkers and friends. They were also born a male, but had chosen to live by the “they” pronouns when they were around seventeen, being easily passable for both genders and drifting around on what they felt like on a minute to minute basis. Now they were almost twenty-one, and already knew it was going to be another bland birthday, most likely spent with Tasha.

As they walked up to their apartment building, they heard the sound of loud music playing and quickly assumed it was Tasha. However there was a distinct feeling that they were being watched. After glancing about, they noticed a peculiar pair of yellow eyes staring through a set of blinds. For obvious reasons they were taken aback and quickly scurried to the front door of the apartment complex. After going inside, they made a wide path around the strange apartment and got to their own. From the door, it was clear that Tasha was blaring some assortment of rap music, and easily loud enough that they would get a noise complaint later for it. Pushing through the front, Alex found the living room in tatters, the dining room full and random cups leftover, and a clearly hung over Tasha sleeping on the kitchen floor. After turning off the music, Alex walked over to the fridge, nudging Tasha with their foot on the way only to hear a slight grunt. How anyone could sleep with that loud music playing, on a cold floor was beyond Alex, but they knew Tasha was used to it by now. She was in her last semester, graduating with two majors and a minor in only four years, something that would take most people at least eight.

Tasha was the type of person that was born hyper-intelligent, and hated every minute of it. As such, she rebelled by being a straight A student, with an insane party life. She was a chubby Native American girl with long black hair that was almost always braided, bright green eyes, and a large birthmark across her left eye. When Alex had first met her, they had seemed like polar opposites, and almost resented each other. Then they were put as roommates in their first year, and before Christmas break had become best friends, almost inseparable.

“Tasha, wake up, You need to eat something before noon.” Alex whispered as they bent over to shake her awake. “I ate before I drank. I think I’ll live, Alex.” Tasha muttered sleepily, trying to cover herself with aluminum foil.

“Yes, but you also have a test at three to finish your mathematics major, and you need to need to finish your project with Janet.” Janet had made extra sure to yell at Alex before they left campus.

“Ugh, fine,” Tasha said groggily as she rolled over to face Alex, her eyes still blurry from exhaustion, “but only if we can go to the coffee shop. I need my fix!”

“Then let’s go and get your drugs, but you’re buying this time!” Alex said, feeling that all too familiar shift in balance within themself, almost like a subtle knock on the back of their head.

“Two large chai lattes please!” Alex chimed to the barista.

“Seven thirty-four please.” She responded in a monotone manner, “Thank you, name?”

“Alex, and could you put a smiley face under it?” Alex responded hopefully.

“Sure, hon.” She said, a slight smile beginning to creep onto her face.

“Thank you!” Alex beamed. They made their way towards the table that Tasha was sitting at, suddenly remembering that it was supposed to be her turn to pay for the drinks. “Weren’t you supposed to pay this time?” they commented after sitting down. Tasha was staring off absentmindedly, vaguely tracing mathematical equations on the table with her finger. “Hey Spacey! Whatcha thinking about?”

Snapping back to reality, she slyly commented “The probability that they’ll mess up on our lattes yet again. I mean how hard is it to make regular chai lattes?”

“Hey relax! I sweet talked the barista, we should be good for today!” Alex’s definition of “sweet talking” was rather loose, but it always seemed to work out for them.

“Well thank you, you massive flirt.” Tasha chuckled as she eyed him lazily, “You know, you’ve been single since the end of freshman year. Aren’t you lonely?”

“I mean yeah, I’m always yet never lonely. You know how my head works better than anyone else. And besides, why would I need another best friend when I have you?” Alex responded, half heartedly flirting. The two had actually been close to dating once, but had decided against it and to remain best friends. At the point they were at in their friendship, it would either fail miserably or go perfectly, and neither of them were willing to risk everything that they had been through.

“Yeah, but we both know that you..”

“Alex!” Cried the barista, “With two smiley faces!”

“I’ll go grab those for us.” Tasha said as she stood. As she walked away, Alex had a familiar sensation of being watched. Scanning the room, they didn’t notice anyone looking at them besides Tasha as she was walking back.

Then they glanced at the barista. Those same piercing yellow eyes, seeming to attack their very soul. Her eyes suddenly went back to a dull brown color and she shook her head clear, seemingly losing a couple inches of height before going to the next customer in line. “Did you see her eyes?” Alex stammered out while they slightly shook in panic.

Tasha sat down and eyed them curiously, “What? That lady’s? No? Why do you look so scared suddenly?” She peered at him strangely, like an owner looking at a scared puppy.

“I swear, she had bright yellow eyes for a few seconds! Then they were suddenly normal again? You really didn’t see them when you walked up to her?” Alex’s mind was racing at this point, could they be finally breaking apart? They had been warned stability would only last so long, but it has only been a couple years, it was too soon.

“Hey, Alex. Look at me.” Tasha said, grabbing their hand gently, “Is it getting bad again? Do we need to go?”

“I don’t know, this isn’t how it was last time, not anything like this.” Alex’s voice was getting shaky, they were slowly slipping into a panic attack and were trying their hardest to avoid it as long as they could.

“I know what we saw, that bitch had yellow eyes. You can’t be getting bad again, I saw that.”

Alex shuddered slightly, “Well thank you Jason.” they said, not being sure whether to calm down since they weren’t crazy yet, or panic because a human just had bright yellow, almost snake like eyes.

“What’d he say?” Tasha questioned.

“He saw the eyes too I guess that means either we’re both going crazy, or she actually had yellow eyes.” Alex breathed out heavily, “It could be sleep loss, but that doesn’t usually affect everyone until after days of not sleeping. I’ve only been awake for maybe thirty hours at this point?”

“Okay, home or therapist?”

“Home. Joz is out of town this week for a seminar.” Alex breathed out shakily, still trying to sip coffee that was clearly too hot.

“Then come on, Joz will wait until she's back. And give me your keys, you’re in no state to drive.”

“I’ve driven while worse, but if you insist.” They would have refused to admit it, but they were truly terrified and most likely couldn’t even walk straight, let alone drive home.

After five minutes that seemed to last for an eternity, the two got back to the apartment complex and started heading towards the front door. Tasha glanced over and noticed Alex was watching a specific window very intently, “Why are you watching Ms. Higgans window? Expecting a ghost to come out?” she asked jokingly, attempting to lighten the mood. The only response that Alex provided was a vague murmur about yellow eyes. Tasha had seen Alex during bad breakdowns before, ranging from a light panic attack over tests to a complete meltdown where they had almost jumped out of a window. However, this was a new reaction, Alex was fully conscious but was unable to process much of anything really, almost like a breakdown, but without tears or hyperventilating or yelling or really any bad behaviour. As they walked inside the front door, Alex suddenly stopped directly outside of Ms. Higgans door. “Alex? What’s going on?” As she turned around, she stepped back in fear. Alex’s generally steel gray eyes had turned a deep violet, glowing and pulsating slowly.

#novel #art #my writing #dissociative identity disorder #did #nonbinary

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years ago

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Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 8

*Author’s note*

Hey gang, I hope my fellow American readers had a good Thanksgiving (even if you aren’t American and celebrate thanksgiving, I hope you enjoyed it as well.) Anyways onto the important thing, I finally got around to a plot for the next chapter of GOC. I hope you all like this cause there’s a surprise plot twist in this chapter and I went all evil and left it on a cliffhanger (hehehe) Anyways I hope you like this chapter and until the next time :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@queen-paladin

@queendeakyy

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@kinole009x

@geek-and-proud

@wormzteef

@dancingcoolcat

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 8,

Time runs short

Five days later; as it was promised, Roger, Brian and Freddie took over your training. You learned hand to hand combat from Roger, healing magic and weaponry handling from Brian, and Freddie helped you to use magic without the use of a wand (just like he taught John and Serafina).

The lessons were hard and grueling and even left your muscles sore by the next morning but you pushed through it. Especially since you now had to balance the last stretch of your internship with the New York Times.

You were currently walking through the hallways after delivering a new set of pictures you took with a reporter on a double homicide of an elderly couple.

“Oi intern!” you turn around and there stood Mr. Wormwood. He never did bother to learn your name which irked you every single time. But due to staying professional, you had no say in correcting him. Rule one, always remember your place in the newspaper business.

“Yes sir?” you ask.

“Take this down to Singer downstairs in the printing room. Make sure it’s only him that gets it and no one else is that clear?”

“Perfectly sir.” You take the manilla folder and race towards the elevator and you hit the G1 button. You sit there waiting and waiting while a soft jazz music played over the speakers. You tap the rhythm on your thigh as you wait and wait, watching the floor levels drop each time.

When it finally dinged and the doors opened up, you left the elevator to find out that something wasn’t right. There was nothing but storage files everywhere. Old newspapers scattered everywhere, files tossed like trash, carts filled to the brim with letters and packages. It took you a moment to realize that you were actually in the storage unit, not the printing room.

Damnit! You think to yourself. As you go to turn around a sound suddenly reaches your ear. A kind of clanking sound from a tin can or something. Slowly you turn around but you see no one there.

“Somebody there?” you call out. The room is dead silent. Not even the sound of the AC could be heard from down here. It made you have an eerie feeling, like when you were at the graveyard with Freddie one time and he was teaching you about seances. But this was creepier because you knew you didn’t use the spell to contact a ghost, and you doubt anyone knew how to either.

As you walk through and push the carts aside you come to a large shelf of boxes, packages and broken trinkets (probably from old machine parts). You then heard the clinking sound again. This time it was really clanking, almost as if it were calling out to you.

You searched and searched but you couldn’t find anything metal that was rattling the way it was. That was until you came across a brown package tied up with—chains? Why would an ordinary package need to be chained up? You pick up the package and saw that these weren’t ordinary chains.

Engraved along every other chain was Nordic engravings. Remembering your multi-lingual lessons from Brian it read:

PURGATORY FOR BEASTS OF THE STORM AND ICE

You lean in close to the chains and softly whisper the first unlocking spell you could remember and hoped that it would work.

“Alohamora.” Low and behold the chains glowed a fiery color, almost like lava before falling down to the ground. You open the package and inside was some kind of vase?

You take it out and observe it closely to realize that it wasn’t a vase at all, but an urn. It was emerald green with a gold top, as well as a single gold strand with Celtic ruins that circled around the middle of the urn. The urn begins to rattle in your hands so you quickly set it down along the shelf in front of you.

Soon you began to hear what almost appeared to be screaming coming from inside that urn. It was an awful, heartbreaking screaming. The kind that just tears at your heart, a scream of fear and panic. Wanting to help you place your hand on top of the urn when a loud voice suddenly screams at you.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” you freeze and you turn around to see Mr. Grayson. His eyes wide with panic as he quickly walks up towards you and takes the urn back. With a flash of his hands he tightens the top and holds the urn almost possessively.

Slowly and creepily, his head turns towards you. An ugly sneer spread across his face as he looks at you almost deranged.

“How did you open that?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Why did you even come down here!?” his voice raises louder.

“Mr. Grayson I didn’t mean any harm I swear!” you plead. Just what was so important about that urn to him. And why was he acting like this? You knew he could have a temper but this—he was like an escaped asylum patient. Crazed eyes, baring his teeth, and acting possessive towards something.

“No one touches MY STUFF!!” you then watch him lift up one of the carts and fling it onto it’s side, letters and packages flying across the air.

“M-Mr. Grayson please…stop!”

“GET OUT!!” he screams at you. As he continued to trash the storage room, you race out as fast as you can towards the elevator. “GET. OOOOOUUUUUTTTT!!!” his furious screams echo through the dark hallway as you reach the elevator. Panicking you press the UP button and once the elevator doors open, you race inside and press a random button.

At this point you didn’t care what floor you ended up on, all you knew was that you had to get out of this building. Once the doors opened, you raced out and ran past dozens of other workers. All of them exclaiming at you to watch it or telling you to slow down.

Somehow you manage to get out of the building and all you do is just run. Racing past people, dodging cars and horse drawn carriages. Finally you reach an alleyway and you collapse there on the dirty floor panting and trying to calm down from your panic attack.

Your heart racing with fear and tears rushing down your face. What the fuck just happened back there? Never have you seen someone act that deranged and psychotic before in your life (and you were in a Naga’s coils). You really believed that you were about to be killed in that office and no one would’ve noticed you were missing.

‘(Y/n)?’ a soft yet raspy voice called out to you. You lift your head and wipe away your tears.

“Roger?” you sniffled. “Where are you?”

‘Here.’ You look around but there was no sign of the Nokk anywhere.

“Where?”

‘Here. Look down.’ You look down to see a medium size puddle right in front of you. A puddle most likely still there from the storm that came the other day. You look closer and soon your reflection was replaced with Roger’s.

“Oh Roger. Finally a friendly face for once.”

‘What happened (Y/n)? You look as if Fred tried to swallow you whole.’ You glare at him for that little reminder of your first encounter with the Naga but you brush it away quickly as you answered.

“My boss suddenly flipped out on me. But it wasn’t a normal human meltdown. He went crazy, almost like he was possessed by something.”

‘How much are we talking about here? Demon leveled possessed.’

“No. It was—it was like how Serafina snaps easily during this time. But mixed with yours and Freddie’s temperament times 11.”

‘That bad huh?’

“I was scared Rog. He looked like he was really going to kill me! I thought I was gonna die in there!”

‘Alright, alright, alright calm down. Here, take my hand and I’ll bring you home.’ He extended his hand and soon his webbed hand stood in front of you.

“Normally I would be really freaked out about that.”

‘Yeah but you’re not normal. Not anymore at least. Now c’mon take it.’ You place your hand in his and he pulls you down into the puddle and soon enough you find yourself breaching at the lake before the house.

Roger now appears at your side and his shifts into his water horse form. He lowers himself to you and you pull yourself on top of him. Once your on, he raced out of the water and his water form dissolves till he’s a pure white horse as he keeps racing onward.

As you now stand before the mansion, you get off his back and he shifts back to his human disguise.

“Here, have a seat.” You both sit down along the backyard swing. Roger sits close beside you, his arm going behind your shoulders over the swing, “Now, tell me what happened this morning.” You take a deep breath and proceed to tell him everything, right down to the smallest detail.

You told him that it was all for an urn, and how out of character it was for Mr. Grayson to act the way he did. Sure you mentioned that he had a temper but never to the point of destroying things. You also mentioned the crazy ticks you remembered he did when you didn’t notice before.

When he first turned to you after taking back the urn, you noticed how he began to flick out his tongue at the right corner of his mouth. A quick in and out like how Freddie does. Roger gives you his full attention as you continue to explain your story, that’s when a voice speaks out.

“What’s going on here?” you both turn to see Brian coming out from the gardens. “(Y/n). We weren’t expecting you till after your shift tonight, why are you home so early?”

“They had a bit of a freak out at work and needed to cool off at home. Brian why don’t you make yourself useful and maybe go whip up a batch of those chocolate chip cookies of yours.” The Elf lord glared at the Nokk and said.

“Normally I’d have a retort for you but judging by (Y/n)’s frightened and exhausted face I won’t argue in front of them. Come with me dear one.” You follow Brian into the kitchen and as he promises, he makes up a batch of his famous chocolate chip cookies.

When they were done, Brian set down a plate for you and you thanked him graciously. But once you took one more bite, your chest began to hurt once more. This time the shock was so painful that it caused you to drop your cookie. Brian knelt down before you and said.

“You’ve been having a lot of these chest pains lately, are you sure you don’t need me to heal you?” he asks.

“How did……”

“I’m a high Elf dear one. You may think you’re able to hide this from the others, but not from me.”

“I—I don’t know Brian. I don’t even know what this could be. I know it’s not a heart attack cause I don’t feel my arm going numb, and it doesn’t hurt to breathe so it’s not my lungs that are doing this.”

“Well you’ve suffered through this long enough. Come let’s get you up to my room and I’ll have a look at you.” He helps you up and guides you out of the kitchen. But before you both left, that’s when the telephone began to ring. Brian’s expression turned to a grim shock as he stared at the phone.

“It’s just the telephone Brian.”

“That’s just it. No one but us five know the number for this house.” Okay now you see why he looked so shock. Sure you had been given the number but you were sworn to secrecy to never, ever, ever under any circumstances give this number to anyone. “I’ll get it.”

“No!” Brian commanded. He takes a deep breath in and said in a calmer tone, “Just sit here, I’ll find out who this is.” He sits you down on one of the stools near the island and walks over to the phone.

It’s constant ringing still going off till finally Brian picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

“Hello?” Brian remained silent while the person spoke on the other end of it. “May I ask who this is and why you need to speak to them?” Brian leans against the counter listening to the person before he says, “Alright, I’ll put them on,” he then turns to you and holds it out to you.

You sit up and walk towards him and take the phone from his hand. You put the receiver up to your ear and speak hesitantly.

“H-hello?”

“Intern, it’s Mr. Grayson. Listen, I want to—apologize for my behavior this afternoon. I understand that you left the office after what transpired in the storage unit and I wanted to give my sincerest apology. Come by the office for some coffee and we’ll discuss it further on.”

“To-tonight sir?”

“Yes. I expect you in my office at 8pm sharp.”

“Well I uhh……”

“Great see you there. Remember 8pm on the dot. Don’t keep me waiting.” With that the conversation ended and he hung up on you without allowing you to speak your mind. You hang up the phone and say to Brian.

“My boss wants me to come by the office for coffee as an apology for scaring me earlier today. Wait what time is it?!” you turn to the clock and see that it’s 6:15pm. “Shit I need to get back to the city now!”

“But what about your healing session?” Brian asked urgently.

“Sorry Brian but I’ve got to go now. If I’m late who knows if he’ll have another freak out like he did today. I can’t disappoint him see yah Brian bye!” you said hurriedly as you gather up your light coat and keys and raced right out the door towards your car.

As it got darker, you finally arrive at the office to see it’s completely empty. The lights all turned off and the typewriter’s finally silenced. You walk through the hallways till you finally reach Mr. Grayson’s office. You knock on the door and you hear his voice say.

“Come in!” you entered inside and as usual he sat there lounging against his leather chair and cigar in his mouth. “Right on time rookie, sit down.” He spoke. You enter inside his office, “Close the door.”

“But—we’re the only two……”

“I SAID CLOSE THE DOOR!” he snaps at you. Fearfully you close the door as you push your back against it. He takes a sharp breath in before saying calmly, “Sorry. Just been—having one of my rare furious moments.” He stands up and walks over to his coffee machine and tweaked at the knobs preparing two cups of coffee. “This job—takes a lot out on you. You’re expected to give our commands like you’re on the war front again. Sometimes I still get memories of my time back in the Great War. Pain in the ass I tell yah.”

“I’m—sorry sir.” You said solemnly.

“Ain’t no need for you to be sorry. That’s life for yah. Knocks you into the ground and you end up rolling in shit half your life.”

“Yeah. But my grandfather used to tell me, when life does that to you. You need to get back up on that horse as soon as possible.”

“Otherwise you’re nothing but shit on the ground as well. My old man used to tell me the same thing.” He takes the cigar out of his mouth in order to take a sip of his coffee. And it was then you noticed that similar flick of his tongue that he did earlier.

“Uhh sir I—hate to pry but uhh……that urn in the storage unit.”

“Oh yes. That. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that myself.” He said as he slowly walked over towards the door. “You see that there was a special urn gifted to me by my auntie back in the day. But only a few certain people could read it.” You then saw him take out a set of keys and lock the door on you.

At this point your heart was racing, your palms were getting clammy, and your adrenaline was pumping.

“How was it that you could open it? There’s only a certain type of people that can unlock chains like that.” He spoke in an impatient, snippety tone. He took the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it over to the trash. “Do you know why I chose you to go to the BEWITCHED club? Why you, an insignificant little nobody like you?”

“Sir I don’t—”

“Because I knew exactly who you were! Those traitors along with their little pets weren’t the only ones spying on you. We’ve been watching you too.” He spoke as he walked right up to you, getting right up into your face.

“What? You—but how could you….I mean you…..”

“You, you, you, you, you, you.” He mocked you pettily. “Quit your sniveling! You went to that club because He made it be so. And now thanks to you……we’ve got them. Our centuries of tracking is finally over. And now—your usefulness has reached its end.”

Suddenly the door bursted out with red magic and soon Mr. Grayson was shot with another red blast right towards him as well as his chair. Mr. Grayson was now pinned to his chair and when you turned around there stood Serafina, John, Brian, Roger and even Freddie.

They all piled in the office, John went straight up to Mr. Grayson and pulled back his head.

“Freddie!” Freddie slithered towards Mr. Grayson and bit his neck. He cried out in pain as he even made gurgling sounds. When Freddie removed his fangs from your boss’ neck, John interrogated him.

“You know who we are?!”

“Little Johnny boy!” he hissed through his gurgling and choked up voice.

“Are you Richard Grayson? Are you!?”

“No……”

“Is he in this room? Is he in this room!?!?” John snarled again. This time taking the collar’s of his shirt. Mr. Grayson didn’t respond verbally but his eyes shifted over to his desk.

“(Y/n) away from there!” Serafina ordered. You moved away from the desk as Brian and Roger held you between them. John then twisted his wrist and the desk magically transformed itself into a black and grey chest. He contorted his fingers a certain way and purple magic came around the chest as it began to unlock itself, one by one the lids opened till the 7th one opened.

As soon as that chest was open, a foul smell filled the air. It was unlike any smell you’ve ever had smelt before. Slowly you all walked towards the chest and when Serafina sent down a red light of magic, you gasped at the awful sight.

It was Mr. Grayson. He lay there limp and beaten to almost a bloody pulp. The decomposition from his body looked like he had been in there for months, maybe even a whole year.

“That’s—that’s Mr. Grayson. But…….” Freddie flicked his tongue into a vile of sorts and said.

“Polyjuice potion.”

“Now we know why he was hidden from your sights Fred.” Said Brian.

“We’ll have to burn the body, it’s our best chance of the humans not investigating us.” Roger said.

Soon you all began to hear the Richard Grayson imposter groan and grumble. When you turn you saw that his face was actually starting to slowly melt, like a lit candlestick. The right side was showing a more rapid progression of melting away than the left. His hands which gripped the arms of his chair till his knuckles were pure white, soon opened up and parts of his fingers actually broke off his hand.

He then let out a scream as some teeth shot out. He began to twist himself about like he was having a seizure as his face morphed into someone else. The short grey hair slowly grew longer and wilder and into an auburn like color, the wrinkles completely faded and his sharp profile became slightly more rounded.

With a final groan, his head lowered down and you saw a younger man now sitting in the chair. A crazed look in his eyes as his tongue flicked in and out from his lips. Sweat glistened across his face as his chest heaved up and down with each breath. You got a closer look at him by lowering yourself down to where his head hung, but the man roared as he tried to reach out for you.

Serafina’s and John’s magic held him back against the chair while Brian took you back. The young man glared spitefully at you as John said.

“Long time no see, cousin Crowley.” John sneered. Crowley only smirked as he said to you.

“I’ll show you mind if you show me yours muggle.” He growled with a Scottish accent. He then revealed a dark tattoo on his arm which actually moved. It was a skull with a snake wrapped the skull, even going through the left eye socket and the head of the snake resting over the head of the skull.

“Your chest (Y/n).” Brian said as he ripped open your shirt to reveal that you had the very same symbol over your heart. However it glowed a dark blue color, like a brand.

It soon began to make sense. You hadn’t gotten this mark until you joined the NY Times, when you first got your badge. How could you be so stupid, that badge was enchanted to mark you!

“You know what this means don’t you? They know where you are now. Your precious Knight has been our tracker on you this whole time.” John and Serafina’s face mellowed to hidden fear.

“I’m sorry guys I didn’t know.” Brian held you close as Serafina said.

“He’s all yours Freddie. Do with him as you wish.” As you all walk out Crowley calls out.

“I’ll be welcomed home like a hero!”

“Not likely. For you see, Naga’s don’t leave anything behind.” You all rush out of the office, leaving Freddie to—devour Crowley.

You all arrive back at the house and were currently sitting in the study room where your magic first began, Brian was working on healing you of the brand while John and Serafina worked on a potion to destroy the enchanted nametag. John pulled out the nametag and saw that it hadn’t been affected by the potion they just made.

“It should be melting by now.”

“Too much conqueror root?” she questioned.

“No. Not enough forest fae ash.” Serafina went over to the shelf and picked up a small urn and dumped it into the potion before stirring it up once more. John placed the badge in the cauldron again hoping the badge would melt.

Meanwhile you could hear Brian muttering in Elvish a chant as he pressed a wet cloth to the brand.

Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth

He kept repeating that chant over and over and over again under his breath. Meanwhile your thoughts were buzzing of how all of this was your fault. If you hadn’t taken a job at the New York times, John and Serafina would still be safe from his family.

But now because of you, they would be here any minute now. John and Serafina be tortured by John’s psychotic family for leaving. Brian, Roger and Freddie killed for being magical creatures, and it was all your fault.

“Don’t blame yourself for this.” Brian’s soft voice spoke. You turn to him but this time you couldn’t bare to look into the eyes of the Elf Lord. You didn’t deserve his comfort.

“But I did this. I could’ve gotten an internship at some other news press. Moved to another state to do it. Hell I should’ve spoken up about that pain I was feeling in my chest. I put you all in danger. I don’t deserve to be your Knight. I don’t deserve any of this.” You wipe away a tear from the corner of your eye as you refused to look at any of them.

“You can believe that and feel sorry for yourself, or you can help us fix a broken world.” Serafina said to you. “This isn’t our first time coming in contact with John’s family. It was bound to happen sooner or later. But right now our main focus is getting that tracking spell off of you. Then when they do come, we’ll be ready for them.”

“She’s right.” John said. “You couldn’t have known that it was my cousin. Crowley’s always been crafty with his disguises, he’s even gone so far as to be avoided by the Seer of all creatures. So whomever of my family comes for us, we’ll fight till the end. Because that’s what we do. We don’t give up.”

“And pray to Poseidon that nothing else is coming for us.” Roger said as he lounged himself across the couch. Brian, John and Serafina glared at Roger but you could tell that even through their glares, they too hoped that he was right.

*3rd Person POV*

Back at the NY Times office in the storage room, earlier that day when Crowley had his meltdown as Richard Grayson, he had neglected to reseal his urn. It now lay in the corner of the room on its side.

Suddenly the cap came off and a dark blue mixed with purple liquid spilled out of it. However instead of just forming one straight line, the blue liquid began to trail down and form a circle, while the purple began to make a star, and together the liquid formed a pentagram.

At the center of the pentagram, two liquid figures began to rise from the liquid. One of them being out of the blue liquid while the other was purple. Their crouched bodies slowly raised up till they stood proud and tall.

Once the liquid faded away, the two figures soon dropped their liquid forms and there stood two men. Around the short-haired man, a cold mist formed over his feet, and the other had lightning flickering from his fingertips which caused the lights to flicker and cause a loud humming sound.

The man with short hair cracked his knuckles before shooting his left hand out to the side towards the urn which froze it into nothing but a block of ice and within seconds the urn shattered into millions of pieces.

The two men looked at each other and strutted out of the room with pride in each step. As they passed through each of the lights, they blew out and exploded which filled the long-haired man’s arm with even more electricity.

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queenjunoking · 4 years ago

Text

Wolf Taming Pt 16

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping - Manipulation

I was positively giddy. Master. No fuss, she just said it. But I could hear the resentment. I found the perfect sticks and carrots apparently. This was how I wanted this to go, but I was expecting a full blown meltdown when I told her what to refer to me as. It was forcing her to say the truth out loud. That I owned her, every time she said it would remind her of that fact.

I was so happy to see we had avoided that meltdown. I didn’t want to hurt her today. I wanted to show her if she gave up just a little pride she would get a very nice life here. I wasn’t asking for all of it. In exchange for a little she’d get to keep the rest. Anyone else would have destroyed all of it. To most other people, pride was a pointless trait for things like Sasha. But the lack of it was why I got bored of the last one.

Sure, fear was fun. Unfortunately I learned very quickly after I joined this group that it could get boring. I liked getting to talk with Sasha. I liked the bitterness in her voice. The glares she gave me. I liked that she was a threat to me. Very few of the other things I had worked with when I was joining did more than cry and scream the next time they saw me. Crying and quivering on the ground. Their eyes wide with terror. Barely recovered from last time. Too scared to follow orders, already experiencing panic attacks. You can’t do anymore to them and I detested that I was asked to put them in that state. What was the point of just making them afraid of me? It was boring. I wanted more.

“How does that make you feel Sasha?” It was rare when I got to look down on anyone. But as I stood above the humbled Sasha, head hung low, I felt more powerful than I had been.

“I hate it.” I valued Sasha’s honesty. Despite the incidence in the gym, I did want her to be honest whether it was something she hated or if she found something she actually liked. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Honesty needed to be said correctly though.

“You hate it…” prompting her to correct herself again.

Her body tensed up. I loved this visceral reaction she had to saying it. I was going to miss it when it was gone. She took a deep breath and let the tension out of her body. “Master. I hate it. Master.” I gave her a smile. She wanted to be as pleasant as she could be and not mess up her chance to leave her cage again. But she was playing in the wiggle room I gave her.

“Good girl, Sasha. Try to remember to keep using that name though. A high powered shock from that collar may make you howl like a wolf, but wolves don’t need to speak and I can keep the silent mode on for as long as I want.” She visibly gulped when I said that, it was adorable. I wouldn’t keep silent mode on forever, I loved to speak with her. But she didn’t doubt I would just take away her ability to talk for the rest of her life. That’s what mattered. “Why do you hate it Sasha?”

“Because I’m not an animal or a thing to be owned… Master. I wanted to know a name to call you.” It took so little to frustrate her. Just when you think it passed she was riling herself back up again. I barely had to do anything.

“Hmm… what a strange thing for you to say. I’m going to ask you a few rapid fire questions. You will answer with ‘Yes Master’ or ‘No Master’ nothing else. For every question you hesitate on or say something else you will need to do one more thing to prove to me that you want to go outside today. Do you understand?” She had made one of the worst arguments she could have. She could have said it was demeaning which was valid. Or she could have just said she wanted a real name to call me without claiming that she wasn’t a thing.

“...Yes Master.”

“Are you in a cage right now Sasha?” I gestured to the bars as I started to circle the cage.

“Yes... Master.”

“Can you open the cage yourself?” I pointed to the lock.

“No Master...”

“Can you do this?” I wiggled my fingers at her.

“No Master.”

“Are you wearing a collar?”

“Yes Master.”

“Did I spend money to buy you and bring you here?” A pause. Her frustration was starting to boil over, I could see her jaw quivering. “I said no hesitation.”

She exhaled loudly through her nose. “Yes Master, you did.”

“Well Sasha, maybe you can understand why I believe I own you. I paid money to have people bring you here and now you’re wearing locking paws and cute dog ears while you sleep in a cage. You have a collar around your neck and a name that I gave you. That sounds like something that’s owned.”

I wanted to make her say it outloud. That I owned her. I wanted her to admit it. But I’d hit a roadblock. She was starting to get worked up and she’d start acting rebellious. She’d refuse to say it and I’d be stuck doing dozens of things I didn’t even want to do to her because she was stubborn. I wasn’t in the mood to actually have to follow through on my threats, I had other things I wanted to do.

“You only messed up once, that’s a very good start. I’m very proud of you.” Sasha rolled her eyes at me. It was cute, I hoped these little acts of rebellion meant she was recovering after yesterday. “I think Master will be a perfectly fine thing for you to call me. Wolves don’t need to know the name of the person who owns them, they just need to know who their master is.”

“Fine… Master. That is what I’ll call you since I don’t have any other options.”

“Good enough for me. But let’s talk about outside. Going outside today is very simple actually. You’ll just be doing what I tell you to do. You’ll be playing the part of my good pet and good pets get to go outside. Bad pets get a punishment. I don’t want to punish you today, I want to take you outside. You just have to be a good girl today.” I wanted to pet her head while I talked, but I felt there was an above zero chance she wanted to bite me. “I’ll let you ask any questions you have about today before we start. Speak freely, no need to use Master for the moment, I want to make sure everything is clear before we start.”

“I think I understand it well enough. After we start I don’t get to talk for awhile and I’ll have to do whatever humiliating things you want me to do so you can feel big and strong. If I don’t I get punished and don’t get to go outside.”

“That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

“What proof do you have that you’ll keep your promise? I’m doing all the giving by agreeing to do what you want, but you can’t promise me you’ll do what you say.” She made a valid point. She was giving up a lot for a reward later.

“Have I lied to you so far? I feel like I’ve been pretty honest so far.” I tried to carry through on anything I've said, whether it was a punishment or a reward. It was important to me that she believed that she would get anything I offered her. I wanted that amount of trust, it’s how I would get her to give things up.

“I feel like what you did to me yesterday was breaking a kind of promise. You let me say whatever I want generally when you so graciously allow me to talk. Yet I say one bad thing about the gym and you did… that to me.” I was having a tough time gauging exactly what Sasha’s mood was exactly. She was obviously upset, that much was obvious. She was upset a lot. But she seemed to actually sound like she felt betrayed after what I did.

“That isn’t unfair I suppose. Sasha? What’s it going to take to make you feel better about that? Think hard though, I’m sure you know what you aren’t going to get. I’m offering you something, try and resist the urge to ask to be let go or something like that. Use this opportunity, there won’t be many of them.

“Like you’d do anything I asked you to do.” The bitterness in her voice was palpable. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.

“Why don’t you try me? What do you have to lose by asking when I tell you that you can? The worst that can happen is you don’t get it.”

“The worst that can happen is that you shock me until I go unconscious again.” Her eye twitched again.

I sighed. “Sasha, if you’re going to bring that up as a possibility you should know things can be a lot worse than that. But they aren’t. Why don’t you just try me?”

Sasha was quiet. I had given her a blank check and the thoughts of what she might be able to get out of it were flying through her head. “I want you to feel hurt like you’ve hurt me. You keep hurting me even though you claim to care about me. Maybe if you felt like it was like you’d stop all of this.”

“Oh? In a vindictive mood I see.” It was a fascinating proposal. Though I ran into the issue that I couldn’t replicate it exactly if I tried. Everything was connected to her collar and she wore the only one. “One moment Sasha, I’m going to go check something.”

I left Sasha to feebly flex her hands in her paws as I went into her toy room. I didn’t have another collar like Sasha’s but that didn’t mean I didn’t have other toys. I hadn’t bought too many electric toys, Sasha’s collar was more than enough. But I still had some TENS units, a taser, a cattle prod and the item I was looking for. A shock collar. It was Penny’s collar, the only thing of hers I kept when I sold her.

I held it behind my back as I exited the playroom. Sasha shot me a suspicious glance. “What did you bring out this time? It’s hard to imagine what weird things you might have.”

I knelt down in front of the cage and held it out in front of me so she could see it. “It’s much more primitive than the one you’re wearing. No pet mode or anything like that. What it has is a remote, a dial and a button.”

“Decided to give me a downgrade? Seems unlike you, you seem to love your toys.” She rolled her eyes at me again, something she was fond of doing.

“Hm? Of course not.” I locked eyes with her as I wrapped the collar around my neck, tightening it until I felt the prongs against my neck. I cranked the dial up to its highest number and held it out for her to see. “You said you wanted me to feel pain like you did. That collar of yours was very expensive and I don’t have another one. What I do have is this. What I want from you Sasha is the knowledge that, if I promise you something, I will follow through no matter what it is. Good or bad. I offered you any reasonable request. The deal is simple, you get to push the button and shock me. You will then follow through on your deal to listen and be a good girl. Then you get to go outside if you follow through.”

She stared at me like I was crazy. I had strapped a shock collar on myself and offered to let her push the button. I could only imagine the thoughts going through her head. Was it a trap? Would it shock her instead of me? But I could see my claim was winning, she knew that I wanted her to trust me. If I lied here this was the end of any trust I would ever get.

“All you have to do is push the button to agree to my terms.” I placed the remote on the floor in front of her.

“What’s stopping me from pushing it over and over?” A fair question, there was noting that would obviously stop her from stepping on it repeatedly.

“You’re a very smart girl. There’s a switch that needs to be pressed to allow it to shock at the high level I set it at. You can’t reset it so you can only push the button once. It surges for 5 seconds” I watched her hesitate for another few seconds. “I promise you there will be no punishment or retribution for doing this Sasha. If you want me to feel the pain you are then do it, that’s your choice. You get so few so why not make one?”

I watched as she lifted her paw and brought it down on the remote, hard. I felt my muscles seize up and burn as the electricity flowed through them. My mouth felt dry and I couldn’t breathe in. My bones ached. It was the worst pain I had felt in awhile, this collar had been made simply to punish.

But I didn’t break eye contact with Sasha through the entire experience. I watched her smile at me when she saw I was hurting. I watched her eyes go wide as I barely moved during the experience. She was expecting me to scream or cry. But to her shock, I simply rode it out.

“What the fuck.” It was the first thing that came to her mind. “It’s… a trick. It’s nowhere near as strong as mine is.”

My muscles were still convulsing occasionally as I removed the collar and held it out to her. “You’re free to try it yourself if you’d like.” But she wasn’t looking at the collar, she was looking at my neck. I must have burns where the prongs were.

“N-no, that’s fine.” She responded surprisingly quickly.

“You know what the main difference between the two of us is Sasha?” I stood up, I had to stretch out my aching muscles, but getting that extra heigh did help accentuate this reaction she was having to me?”

“You’re out there and I’m in here?” She posited somewhat unsteadily, looking for an answer that would make me happy.

“Sort of. The difference is that when a group of people showed up to take me I won.” Her eyes opened a little wider. “I get to be out here because I’m better than you. I got to choose who got to live in the cage you’re in. I know what’s best for you Sasha, you’re a sweet little puppy who gave up when they were being taken, letting fate or whatever you believe in bring you here to me. I instead fought back. That’s why I’m in charge. You’re so big and majestic and I love you so much for it. But you know what Sasha?”

“W-what.” Sasha was adorably off guard. She had gotten what she asked for and she was in the perfect mental space for me to work with.

“I am much stronger than you. Are you going to be a good girl and follow through on your side of the deal?”

“Y-yes I will.” She was no longer in a place to refuse what I wanted.

“Yes you will what?” I just wanted to hear it. The rebellion would return eventually. The anger and sarcasm would creep back into her voice. But that would never change that she said it.

“I’ll be a good girl Master.”

No hesitation.

Perfect.

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beerecordings · 5 years ago

Note

I was thinking about that Therapy AU (ish. thing. question mark?) that you brainstormed a few months back, and I find myself wondering—which of the boys realized “oh hey, I should probably see a therapist” first? And what was the impetus? (Jackie. I’m asking about Jackie. I want to know the story behind how Jackie found his Alderian/Adlerian duder and why he sprung for it. Also the thing about who came first, but Jackie. My boy. Im lov him)

lol yeah you’re right it’s not so much an au as something that i’d like to be canon in just about every universe i come up with lollll. but yeah hm…

I think Henrik goes to see a therapist first because he’s been through literal hell and there’s no way he can handle any of this without professional help. and everybody knows that, you know, like… it’s easier to justify some reasons to go than others. so even though everybody probably needs it they’re all here like “oh GEEZ someone else has had it SO MUCH WORSE than me so HE’S going to therapy” and they all end up ganging up on Henrik with their love and support like “yeah bud you need to see somebody please we’re worried about you!!” and it’s hard to argue when he’s both physically and mentally exhausted so he just ends up letting them take him. he doesn’t have his existentialist therapist at first, that’s too intensive for his mental energy at the time, but he just sees a nice calm therapist who really helps him deal with some of the outstanding issues and find ways to hold on when he’s really bad off. and the others are all so excited and supportive but for some reason when he recommends they try it too, they seem to think he’s joking?

then Chase gets court-ordered to therapy and he’s like “FUCK fine!!” and it makes him sob his heart out every week and he feels so dumb and weak and stupid for like two months before he starts to come around to it. and it’s Henrik who really convinces him that it’s okay, and then eventually it actually starts to help?? and he gets to see the kids again!!! ahh!!! it’s a good time! he and Henrik start scheduling their appointments at the same time so they can get lunch together first and then walk home together too.

JJ gets pressured by the family to join them after he starts getting into some really bad habits like getting into fights and tearing his fists open beating up his punching bag and staring at his razor for long enough that Henrik gets scared and practically drags him there himself (he would not go but he hates to see Henrik so nervous and upset). Marvin has a complete breakdown after years of being the family tough guy without crying once in front of the others and they all get freaked out and ask him to go see somebody for their sake if nothing else (he would not go but when his little brothers look at him like that) and then Jackie is there like “good job guys! I’ll just be over here! love you! :)”

cause the thing is Marvin had convinced himself that he has to be tough enough to deal with everything he goes through in silence, but Jackie is WORSE because he’s just convinced himself he doesn’t have anything to deal with. He’s the big brother, first of all, so he just doesn’t have time for that, and he’s a hero, so nothing’s going to get to him anyway, of course. and then he just hasn’t been through as much as the others, right? Henrik and JJ with Anti, and Chase with his family, and his poor Marv must have been dealing with so much so quietly for so long, and if Jackie had just been a better brother to him he wouldn’t have HAD to do that, he wouldn’t have had to hide anything from anyone, he’d come to Jackie instead of hiding his problems but he doesn’t because he doesn’t trust him enough and that’s because of Jackie’s failures and ALL OF THIS IS JACKIE’S FAULT -

yeah, no, no problems! he’s good! he’s cruising! He doesn’t have it that bad he’s fine! he only struggles sometimes cause he’s a baby, right? he should toughen up, after all he heard Henrik sobbing last night and he has it so much worse, he’s been through so much, Jackie needs to look like everything’s okay so Henrik feels safe and calm. and then everything will be better and everything will be fine. once his brothers are fine, he’ll be fine.

and then his brothers are fine.

he stops, pauses, looks around.

Chase is out with the kids, sober for a year straight. JJ’s just got a new job and he seems happy and well-adjusted. Henrik’s showing his scars without freaking out and has been dealing with his panic attacks well. Marvin admits he had a bad day but says he’s going to make tomorrow a better one! Jackie’s never heard him say anything like that in his life and he seems to mean it, what the hell is happening?

all his brothers are fine and he’s still not… what is happening…. if everyone’s okay why does he still feel so bad about himself?

The others want to go to family therapy now. Apparently JJ’s therapist keeps recommending it because so many of his issues come back to worrying about upsetting the others, and then Marvin’s therapist agrees, and they’re all pretty comfy with therapy by now, and they want to go, they want to try it. and of course he’s not going to turn them down!! yeah, they need him to be the calm big brother in the room, keeping everything together, making sure they’re all safe? of course! he’ll come and support them all!! he’s a little bit terrified at the very prospect but they need this so he’ll do it, he can do it! for their sake. if it’s for their sake it’s okay, it’s permissible, and it’s not weak because it’s not for him, it’s for them.

and then they get in there and it’s so much messier than he expected. first of all the therapist right away goes “so everyone is seeing a therapist personally but you, Jackie” and he goes hot red and feels all his brothers looking at him and makes up something about not needing that and he sees Henrik turn away from him when he says it. and then she keeps trying to draw him into it and he hates that, this wasn’t what he planned, he just wanted to sit here and tell everyone they were doing great!! and then, oh, hell, everything is coming out. everything is coming bleeding out of his brothers and it’s messy and it’s ugly and he’s not a bystander, he’s a part of it, they even say his name sometimes, they even seem to accuse him sometimes. it’s not what he expected, it’s not at all what he expected, it’s not Chase going “I’m sad sometimes when you’re sad Marvin” and Marvin going “oh no I’m sad when you’re sad let’s work on this :’((” it’s like Jameson saying “I can’t tell any of you ANYTHING because half the time you treat me like an infant and the other half of the time you get so upset that even though I want to confide in you I can’t because I know it’ll send you all spiraling, I feel like I’m not allowed to be fucking suicidal but I am and I can’t trust any of you to deal with me - ” and then before he knows it Jackie is fucking sobbing in the therapy room so hard they all have to be done for the day and JJ is sitting there staring at him like he’s just proven his point and the guilt comes crashing down and he feels like he’s dying and he REFUSES to go back next week.

they’re all upset and JJ won’t talk to him. he WON’T go back to that, that was so horrible and humiliating, he’s not doing that again, he’s NEVER trying therapy again.

his brothers go to family therapy without him. that’s fine. that’s good. they’re allowed to. he waits for things to go back to normal.

they don’t.

JJ never talks to him anymore, not about the things that matter. He says there’s no bad blood between them and most likely that’s true, but the fact is he just doesn’t trust him. can’t confide in him. Jackie starts to feel sick every time they’re together, wondering if his baby brother is suicidal right now and just hiding it from him, sitting there doing his embroidery with a movie playing on the couch, thinking about killing himself. Jackie’s starting to get upset more often. Jackie’s starting to crumble. everyone is fine, for the most part. he doesn’t want to upset that. doesn’t want to put the burden of himself on their shoulders. he’s being such a fucking baby. why is he crying himself to sleep again every night? why did he have to go hide in the bathroom for five minutes at the restaurant yesterday because someone said the word antifreeze? why does Chase teasing him about taking the last piece of cake make him want to die so badly? why isn’t he ever happy anymore? Marvin asks him if he wants to go to the arcade and he doesn’t, he isn’t up for it. energy’s gone. hasn’t had much for a long time but he could bury the exhaustion from their sight and that was all that matters. Jamie accidentally cuts his thumb one day in the kitchen and Jackie wants in and sees the blood dripping onto his wrist and he loses it, he loses it, he’s screaming, he’s shouting at JJ, and Jameson just stands there and takes it, Jameson stands there staring at him when everybody else is shouting at Jackie to cut it out, stop it, what the hell Jackie? Jamie is still standing there in silence when Jackie has a full meltdown on the kitchen floor, followed promptly by a miserable, silent, exhausted shutdown that lasts for two days afterwards.

he goes back to family therapy. it isn’t really working. he’s really tired and sad and every time someone tries to confront him about an issue in their family he might be involved in he immediately starts crying and apologizing again and again, taking all the blame on his shoulders, promising them they didn’t do anything wrong even if they did, not accepting comfort or apologies from any of them, everything’s his fault, he promises he’ll fix it, he’ll never go out on patrol again if that’s what they want. and it’s so uncomfortable for everyone and soon family therapy starts turning into “tip-toeing around Jackie while Jackie feels miserable and gets worse” and their therapist tells them this isn’t working anymore.

You need to go to a therapist, they start telling him.

I’ve been going with you all the time, he says.

No, they say, you need to go to a therapist.

Oh.

Well, he can’t do that.

Well, why not? Huh?

Because he just can’t.

Because that’s not who he is.

Why isn’t it who he is?

Jackie, why?

Jackie, say something, say anything.

Why?

Because he’s not allowed to be that. He’s not allowed to need help. He’s got to keep them safe - you don’t - I do!

fuck’s sake, Jackie. You can’t keep doing this anymore. You just can’t.

I know, he says. I know.

but he won’t go even when it’s all sitting out in the open and everyone’s staring at him like they’re waiting for him to shatter into glass because the family therapist was not what he needed and he’s scared of the questions and the feeling of being torn apart and the conflict and the sadness and he thinks all therapy’s like that and it’s not for him and he won’t go. and then one day sweet little brother number three comes and lays down with him and hugs him real tight and puts himself right there in Jackie’s arms so his big brother gets to hold him and push their heads together and hear his heartbeat and feel him rubbing at his shoulder. and Chase has probably waited for a soft calm night to tell him this but there’s this really cool thing his therapist recommended for Jackie’s sake where you don’t have to talk at all in therapy if you don’t want to. they just give you this great sand and you can run your hands all over it and then they get all these like toys and models and things out and they ask you questions like “tell me about a time when you were happy” and you just have to build, man, and work from there. and he knows he’s been so sad and tired lately and he wants him to try it because he loves him and didn’t Jackie used to try and convince him to go too?

and you wouldn’t see me as a failure if i went? and you wouldn’t think you had to take care of me? and it wouldn’t be weird for you? and you wouldn’t make fun of me for it? and nobody would ask me too many questions? and i could just build?

and Chase gives him a lot of no’s and one good solid yes, yeah, bud, you can just build, and Jackie goes two weeks later and sits down with the sand and the toys in front of him and just lets it all go and, in plastic houses and little figurines that remind him of his family and the cool soothing weight of the sand in his hands, he tells the truth at last, without ever speaking once.

plus his therapist is really funny and sweet and positive and warm with him. and she keeps going “just between you and me” and he grins and knows he can tell her anything and it doesn’t have to come back and hurt his brothers at all if he doesn’t want it to, he can even say Forbidden Horrible things like “it makes me angry when he does this” or “I wanted to kill that man that night and it scared me how strong I was” and “sometimes I think I’m just as much a mistake as Anti was” and slowly, slowly, they start to work on it. and he learns to apologize respectfully and fairly, without being accidentally manipulative, and he learns to take care of them in a way that he couldn’t before, and he learns that he’s important too, and needed and loved, even if he isn’t strong or positive or perfect every day of every year.

they start going back to family therapy once he’s ready. they keep getting more and more tools to help them put themselves and each other back together again. it’s a good fit after all.

#suicidal ideation tw #panic attack tw #distress tw #but it ends sweet right?#he's a good boy

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ghostickori · 5 years ago

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something has happened, and i wanted to share it with you guys because it may affect this blog in the distant future. also, i need answers. [TRIGGER WARNING: eating disorders, self-harm, suicidal ideation]

so something happened. something big, and good, and important.

let me give you a bit of background information, because i’ve never really let anyone know about all of this (at once--only bits and pieces, never the most important parts and never altogether), and i just want it out in the open. because now is the first time i can say with full honesty that i’m almost 100% better.

i was... traumatized, as a child. i’d prefer not to go much further into it, because it’s very complicated and i technically hold a biased opinion about it because of my experience. anyway, some police reports were filed against my dad when i was in 8th grade, but nothing ever happened, because it was my word against his.... blah blah blah. My therapist told me I had PTSD, among other things. I was scared of men, and I was numb. so numb.

anyway, that happened about 3 years ago, and i was different since my mom and i moved out and rented our first place across our small town (the first of many we rented. we just moved into a real house--not a rental, but one that we own--about a month ago with my mom’s wonderful fiance, making this the 6th and final time i’ve moved since 8th grade). i had meltdowns at first, and then i overate, and then i self-harmed, and then it got worse.

my therapist called what happened afterward overcontrolled behavior. i called it having an eating disorder and social anxiety, as well as a dependence on prescription pills i shouldn’t have been prescribed in the first place. i was a wreck from the start. we moved back in with my dad around christmas time, and i got worse. the longest i’ve ever gone without eating was 4 days at the time. i bragged about it. it was my biggest achievement, and i was so proud of myself for it. i wanted to go longer. i wanted to hit 7, then 8--maybe even 10. in 9th grade, it all really hit me, and i lost about 30 pounds in 2 months (give or take), and i stopped being proud of the amount of time i starved for, because it was never long enough. I starved for as long as i could get away with, because everything needed to be perfect, and i needed to be perfect, and i felt like if i put one piece of food in my mouth i suddenly meant nothing. and then no one would care about me, and no one would ask how i was doing.

then 10th grade. a new school, way too rigorous, but i loved it. i loved having panic attacks over grades, i loved losing sleep for that one a-grade on the math test. i loved the rush i got from the starvation and the caffeine and the pure STRESS of everything being put on me at once. five projects in a week, two in-class essays in a day, tests and tests and projects and projects--piling and piling and piling on top of me until i was suffocating. i loved it. i derived a sick pleasure from it.

and you wanna know why?

i hated myself. so much. i wanted to be in pain. every type of pain. physical, mental, emotional. i ruined relationships just so i could get what i deserved, and it was all so selfish of me, but i thought i was being selfless. i thought i was repenting. i thought i was doing god’s fucking work.

and why am i telling you this?

because i’ve never been able to look back at all these things and think to myself, “i was a fucking dumbass”. not until now. these things i did used to make so much sense to me, and the rationale behind my habits and behaviors held a certain simplicity and ease that i found comfort in. i did this, because i deserved it. i broke off that relationship to save them from me

and now, for some odd reason, they don’t make sense at all. and i don’t know what happened, but i’m afraid i’ll shift back to whatever twisted mindset that was when school starts again in a month.

because everything that happened with my dad changed me. it made me truly hate myself with every fibre of my being. i did so many self-destructive things, and i didn’t ever want to change and get better. i went to so many therapists, and i never listened to them. i just went because i had no one else to care about me. i convinced myself that everyone else was stupid (even my therapists, can you believe that?)) and that i was the only sane one who knew what was good for me. i was numb. i haven’t cried in 2 years. i felt nothing. but now, all of the sudden, i feel everything. and so many positive emotions have been rediscovered.

i thought i’d never be the same, after the thing with my dad. and i was okay with that. but i’m starting to think i’ve shifted back to the person i used to be, before everything. and i need answers. i want to know that this is real, and not some sort of weird hormone thing, because i don’t wanna go back. if anyone has any knowledge about psychology and wants to message me for more details--if you think you can try and rationalize all of this wonderful bullshit--please reach out to me.

anyway, as far as the blog goes, i made this when i was very unstable. i still love the concept of ghostcore--i mean, come on, it’s my brainchild--, but i may change it up a bit, expand on my collections and cool it with the moodboards. this blog has actually stressed me out a bit and its a reminder of everything i was before (since the idea of ghostcore is, for me, a visual model of my inner demons and mental problems), so i’m just trying to change the image of this blog a bit, find a different approach for me personally (i am in no way speaking for crow when i say that).

my therapist talked to me the other day. she said i seemed different. better. she even said she felt comfortable spacing our sessions apart by three weeks. just last year, we had two sessions a week because i was having passive suicidal thoughts and ideation. just thinking how far i’ve come is amazing. i used to think about any progress i’d made and automatically have the urge to sink back down to square 1. because i constantly strove to get worse, to see how far i could go. and yet here i am. just basking in my life’s glory.

anyway yeah i need answers. thank you guys, sorry for the rant --francis

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derangedroyalfae · 6 years ago

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Dear Mother, (a very personal letter I'll never send to my mom last updated Oct 20, 2017)

Dear Mother,

It seemed only right that I should write you a letter too, since that is one of your ways of getting things off your chest. You should know that I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me, for every step you have take by my side, the support you have given, but I need you to understand why I get frustrated and have a hard time communicating with you and members of this family about certain situations.

It was not true when you claimed that you recommend I see a psychiatrist. You suggested a therapist to me, but never gave me the other idea. In fact, when I told you that I wanted to see one and even got a referral, you lectured and interrogated me and tried to make me feel like the problems I was having weren’t real and even just possibly from sleep deprivation. You need to understand that it wasn’t a matter of just one night I had the impulse to see Dr. S and ask to see a psychiatrist. No. It was months and weeks of contemplating and convincing. I had to try so hard just to convince myself that I wasn’t wrong for doing so. Do you know how often I felt wrong for seeing a therapist because I was made to feel that my depression and “problems” were insignificant compared to others, especially those in this family. I had to tell myself that there was an actual problem I was having, that it wasn’t just out of jealousy or to feel special. After years and semesters of failing classes and falling behind, I knew I had to stop. I felt like a burden and failure, wasting everyone’s time and my father’s money. I was struggling so hard. When I finally made the decision to take it into my own hands and inquire for help, I thought you would be proud of me. But you weren’t. The very first night I saw Dr. G, you sat me down and told me how disappointed you were in me for deciding to take medication. And of course, as dad handed me my first bottle of pills he told me that he doesn’t think I need them. Then when I finally came out to Bear and Bunny, more lectures and disappointment. I still try though, when I up or down my dosage, I tell you, but every time I do, I still feel and hear how disappointed me you are, even if you don’t say it directly, it’s there, in the questions, in the need for you to hear me prove myself to you. I remember when I first saw Lauren after making the decision and I immediately jumped into explaining myself, and she was saying I didn’t need to. Then there was the fact that you had previously shown concern for me, too scared to let me stay home alone during the winter holidays, but not cautious enough to let me see a psychiatrist and get regulated help on medication?

You had given me a bit of a hard time for not having a job once, but the moment I started searching for one, you almost freaked out and became incredibly concerned. But you need to understand why I was desperate to get one. You wanted to rule it out to me wanting to be independent and responsible, and while I do want to be that, you were expecting me to pay $75 a month for my bus pass when I was only given $30 a month (to which you justified it as a means to encourage me to get my permit, but I hadn’t the time, money or resources to do that the semester you made me start. It felt incredibly unfair since you two had paid for Cat’s gas and car up until she was 21, and I had just turned 19). I wanted to be useful too, to those I love and in the household. The economy is so hard right now, and I hate asking for things, no matter how much I love to be spoiled. And then there’s the matter of a license and permit. You cannot say I didn’t try. I kept asking dad to sign me up for driver’s ed since I turned fifteen. Eventually he did, and so the day or two before the first day of my senior year, I took and failed my first test. They told me to come back in a week at the soonest, but it never happened for a number of reasons, some my fault as well, but I was preoccupied with my academic life. I finally got back to it and kept trying again at my permit test, I even made my own appointment and took the bus, which surprised you for some reason. And then, when I passed, I walked home because I was so proud of myself. But we were all too busy to teach me. Over winter break last year I had gotten a lesson from my friend, Stephen. He swung by our house and took me to American High and I learned a little bit. You can’t say that I never tried or took any initiative. I have even been more than willing to pay for my permit test this time around. I know it seems like I've been putting it off, but I've still been so preoccupied and a bit short on money, though that is fault of my own.

I know I get narcissistic and can be self-righteous brat at times, but believe me, I KNOW. I am well aware that I’m far from perfect and have my many flaws. I only act that way as a mean to help me forget that I am not that way. No one can call me on my bull better than I can. My depression is linked to a lot of self-deprecating thoughts a majority of the time, which I’m sure is something you could relate to with your past experiences, and probably to an even more severe degree. But just because my problems don’t make me want to end my life or hurt myself do not mean they are not problematic or very real to me. It hasn’t been easy, and I know it’s even harder for you, and I know it’s so hard for you to hear this, but you need to stop blaming yourself and thinking that I feel this way because you’re a bad parent. It’s not about you or that. It’s about miscommunications and misunderstandings, and forces beyond our control like genetics and life and then so much more.

I know I’ve been a bad sister to Bunny, and believe me when I say that I feel such incredible guilt for that, but you don’t understand how hard it is for me to deal with her. You’re her parent, her superior, etcetera and so on. I am her little sister. I used to look up to her so much and saw her as my epitome of beauty. Now all I can do is feel like an anxious mess incapable of currently getting along with the person that’s helped contribute to my self-deprecating thoughts and fears and other issues. I only bring this up because I know how important family is to you, it’s very important for me too, but I worry that you see me so negatively for how I am around my sister. I could not explain just how much panic and guilt I feel when I hear her voice raise. I go and lock my door and hope that will be enough, and seeing as how she once attacked my door, I feel like that my fear can be valid at times. I love her, but I feel like she judges every little thing I say.

I know I seem like I’m ever so happy and have my cool, but I struggle so much to even come off that way. I try my best to seem and be happy to keep those around me from feeling the way I do or worse. You have helped me through most of my life, and you and my father support me finically as well, without the two of you, I couldn’t see anyone for mental health or go to school, but I feel like you don’t understand were I’m coming from. I cringe so much writing this, feeling like such an ungrateful chit (not a typo) to you. But at the same time, it only feels fair. I’m glad you recognize my positive qualities and actions, but I wanted to explain the others. I don’t know if I’ve said too much or if I should even say any of this. I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m not trying to ridicule or belittle you, but I just want to inform you.

With all my love,

Royal Fae

Post Script:

There is something I'd like to say when it comes to Nurd as well. I understand you not wanting me to get pregnant out of wedlock to protect me, my body, and my future, but whether or not I have an active sex life should not change how you see me. When I tell you that I am not going to get pregnant anytime soon, even if I was sharing a bed every night with Nurd, because it's NOT possible, and that's not because of the birth control, I mean it! Besides the fact that there is nothing I can't do in a bed at night that I couldn't do any other time or place. I've slept next to Nurd countless amounts of times, full house or home alone, being in a bed at night will not change anything. Sleeping next to someone does not equate to sex or sexual acts. Even if it does, it shouldn't be the reason for the way you see me. I am your child and you should not need to think of me in such ways. And I don't understand how you can regret letting Bear and Erick share a room (even way before talk of engagement) when there was nothing to regret that came out of it. They didn't get pregnant out of wedlock, are now happily married, and expecting their first child. I don't crave to sleep next to Nurd so I can commit sexual acts with him. It is the closeness and comfort I seek.

I know it's hard for you to believe that I suffer from an occasionally severe depression, but the night you made him leave my room was a night I was at a very big low. I had already woke up that morning feeling depressed and hopeless (I had been having a hard time focusing, staying awake, or being interested in tasks that I enjoyed), only to have my heart crushed by being refused by Spirit Halloween. Not only was I unable to finish my job at a workplace I loved, an environment I felt so at home and comfortable in, but now I would be a burden to those around me. I had no job and no one that I applied to that was hiring called me back despite it being over a week. I wanted to finally start paying rent. I wanted to be working, useful, not a total shut in. I had to lay on Muffin's floor and cry it out after it happened, not being able to fathom telling the rest of the family since I was sure to have a meltdown again.

That night, I was going to talk to Nurd, ask him to hang out with me in my room to keep me sane, I was crushing up inside, but felt like I'd be a burden and nuisance, so stood their holding his doorknob for a solid minute or two before taking position in front of his door like a beggar. I couldn't bring myself to go inside and bother him, but took comfort in listening in to him, being distracted from my thoughts. It wasn't until half an hour later when he opened the door I was leaning against that he discovered I had been there. He finished his business and decided to join me. I hadn't meant to be loud, but it was a much welcomed distraction to me that I was being inconsiderate of my surroundings. After he left I have a full blown breakdown because I was left alone with no way to distract myself. I cried from 2AM-4AM and had self-harming thoughts that scared me very much since I NEVER get those. And I did end up bitting myself and clenched my arm with my nails to cause a distraction from the pain. I had a good 10 minutes of just silently staring out my window, jaw agape, whilst drool, snot, and tears rolled off my face and into my lap. I needed the support, and I'm sorry to say, but I would have denied yours. It's hard to accept help from those who make you feel as though you don't need it.

Perhaps I said too much on this, but I was just hoping you understand why I needed him that night. I respect your rules and do not expect you to eliminate any, but if only you'll alter or ease them a little when it comes to that. Instead of staying in a bed with him, I'll gladly sleep on the couch.

I believe I've told you my views on marriage before. As of this point in time, the legal definition of marriage is binding people financially. The spiritual form is very sweet and like the icing on the cake. But the deities are always watching. Mother Nature is always surrounding. Little rituals are almost unnecessary when you love someone enough to want to spend your life with them. If it would change your views on my closeness with Nurd, we'd both gladly get civilly married (he has stated this to me, so I mean it when I say both), though it would put us in a sport of financial trouble. We'd even be willing to get married in a not legal but spiritual and religious sense. To me, we are already bound, though. We are partners and will continue to be whether a piece of paper or a God or Goddess says so or not. I will spend the rest of my life with him in sickness and in health, I will love him full hearted, to be mine and to hold, and I will feel this exact way whether or not I had a piece of paper from a judge and/or ritual led by a priest or high priestess.

#dear mother #dear mom #dear #personal #personal letter #journal #mood journal #blog #depression #grief #fear #anxiety #anxiety attack

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mayor-crumblepot · 6 years ago

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hey yeah can I get uhhh nygmobblepot + “green eyes” by wavves tHANKS

of course you can. i love you. you are remarkable, my friend. anything for u.

i love this song so much, too. have some like, gooey teen rogues au content.

Edward struggles with his emotions. Kind of.

That’s a gentle understatement, because here Edward is, ready to throw up in the second story bathroom next to the elevator, all because Oswald told him he loved him. Even in his moment of panic, Edward knows that this is not a reasonable response.

It hadn’t even been serious; Oswald had been laughing at something Edward had said and it just came out, and maybe that’s why it’s fucking Edward up. Because Oswald obviously feels it so sincerely that it just— it just happens to be something he says when he’s at his most unguarded.

Unguarded. Oswald’s body language with him is always unguarded and caring: open arms, sitting next to Edward every chance he gets, looking at Edward and listening to him, wide eyes and a smile that he probably doesn’t even realize he’s wearing.

That’s going to haunt Edward for weeks, probably. And by haunt, he mostly means that it’s going to be the last thing he thinks about before falling asleep and the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up, and that it’s also going to be the backdrop for every single thought he has between those two points and— and he’s throwing up.

Really, this was inevitable.

From: Jonathanwhere are you? should i be saving you a seat or not?

In his haste to read and answer his text message, Edward almost drops his phone in the vomit filled sink. He doesn’t dare look at himself in the mirror.

To: JonathanCurrently having a crisis, probably won’t be done until sixth period. Tell the teacher I’m dying of sepsis or something.

At least he has his sense of humor about him.

And then his mind goes working again, goes spinning and spiraling— Oswald always laughs when Edward makes jokes, even went so hard as to actually pay attention in his chemistry class just so that he would get the stupid puns that Edward makes.

He vomits again.

From: Jonathanincoming. told her you were having a panic attack.

From: Jonathani also told her if i left you alone that you’d like… die. so.

From: Jonathansorry. i’ll bring you a soda.

Jonathan. Thank god for Jonathan. Thank god it’s Jonathan and not Jerome, Jerome with all of his grand gestures and his manic adoration for the sensation of love itself. God, if it were Jerome, he’d probably bring Oswald up to the bathroom with him and expect that to solve the problem.

Edward swallows the vomit this time, only barely keeping it in his mouth when Jonathan comes stumbling through the door. Like a freshly born fawn, his legs are too much for his body to handle. “I got you a Sprite,” he says, both of their backpacks slung over his pathetic shoulders, “oh, man. You look like shit. What’s wrong?”

“I—” What exactly is wrong? Because Edward loves Oswald. He’s loved Oswald since he met him, he thinks, because that’s really the only thing that could explain the way he’s felt. Looking at Oswald, Edward finds that maybe he could settle for the most boring life in the world, he could swallow every riddle that sits on his tongue— Edward would change, for Oswald. What’s beautiful is that Oswald wouldn’t ask that of him, he would never, because he likes Edward how he is.

No, he loves Edward just how he is. All nervous energy and bad hair days and lacking impulse control. Oswald loves him.

“Ed,” Jonathan has a wet napkin in his hand, offering it up cautiously, “you gotta talk to me.”

“Um, well. Today, this morning,” he takes the napkin, trying to wipe his face without actually having to look at it in the mirror, “Oswald said he loved me.” This time, all he does is heave, but that’s mostly because the idea of vomiting on Jonathan overrides his body’s need to vomit at all.

“So what? Of course he loves you, y’all love each other.” This time, Edward actually turns back to the sink just so that he can vomit again, less solids and more bile. It hurts. “Sorry,” Jonathan says, venturing to pat Edward’s back, “are you not ready for that, or something?”

“I don’t know, it just—” Edward doesn’t want to use the word “scares” around Jonathan, lest he become an experiment before he is a friend, “it’s a lot. What if he stops?”

“Stops?”

“Stops loving me.”

“You really think that’s gonna happen?” Jonathan has his hands on his hips, backing up from the sink in case Edward is sick again. “The way Oswald looks at you makes me want to barf, Ed,” too little too late, Jonathan hisses at his word choice, “we all thought you knew. This ain’t a new development.”

“I hate when you say ain’t,” he says weakly, trying to rinse vomit down the drain, “it’s an awful word.”

“I know,” proudly, Jonathan dares to try a smirk, “but I’m not wrong.”

“You’re not,” Edward stares down into the empty sink, then squeezes his eyes shut.

“I reckon you’ve got about ten minutes before he hears you’re freaking out,” Jonathan offers the Sprite up again, wiggling it just a bit, “so you might wanna make yourself presentable.”

“Did you vomit?” Oswald asks, standing in the doorway to the bathroom after the passing bell rings, leaving him alone with Edward and the sterile echo coming off of the tiles. “What happened to you? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m— I’m fine,” he can see what Jonathan was saying, when he looks down into Oswald’s eyes and actually focuses, tries to read the little nuances in movement, “I did vomit, though, full disclosure.”

“Gross,” regardless, Oswald takes hold of Edward’s hand as soon as he can. “Do you want to leave? I know you’d have to drive, but—”

“I love you.” It just comes falling out of his mouth, uneven and unguarded, not unlike the vomit earlier. Not romantic. He means it, though, he does. And it’s stupid, he knows it is, that it took a whole meltdown for him to be able to say it.

“Eddie,” Oswald does this thing with his voice, something that Barbara always describes as painfully annoying, where he lets words wither away into an emotional whine when he isn’t fully prepared to speak but he tries to anyway, “what— where did that— I love you, too, I just— Is this about what I said this morning?” When Edward doesn’t answer, when he just worries on his bottom lip and tries not to look like he’s a fucking train wreck, Oswald knows. Sometimes, it’s too easy for him to read Edward, to see all the details and nuances in every single shift in expression he has. “You, sweetheart, are a mess,” he says lovingly, squeezing Edward’s hand.

“God, I know,” Edward laughs, feeling inexplicably lighter and less sick, “I’d like to leave, though. If you think we still can.”

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s skipping school,” it’s completely true, but the delivery still makes Edward smile as something warm blooms in his stomach. It feels like something is eating him from the inside out, crawling out of his skin, but he doesn’t hate it. There’s a pleasantness to it, somehow. He’ll have to try and figure that out.

Instead, he focuses on just how much he’s going to kiss Oswald once they make it to his car. Because that is so much more important right now.

#answered #nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot fic #oswald cobblepot/edward nygma #edward nygma/oswald cobblepot #glitter-riddlers #teen rogues au #i love you bitch! i aint never gonna stop loving you bitch!#anyway its 4:09 am and i need to be up at like 10...#so im gonna go beddy fuckin bye yall #but ill reblog this tomorrow when i reblog my post about fight club au #so prepare to see this mess a second time around

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soepicsokim · 6 years ago

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Chapter 29

Every morning for the past week I have woken up in our bed alone. I walk into the living room of the apartment to find Dick asleep on the couch holding one of my blankets close to him. Instead of sleeping in the guest room, he sleeps on the couch closest to our room. I know what he’s doing. Even if he won’t really talk to me, he still shows me he cares.

Take two nights ago, I was out patrolling by myself and for some reason I had a panic attack and fell to Earth, right in the middle of a drug deal between Two Face and some gang here in Bludhaven. I couldn’t think or function. I was stuck with Two Face holding a gun against my head while I hyperventilated and saw what happened when I destroyed those people from when Stewart kidnapped me.

Flashback

“Look what fell from the sky boys. It’s a kitty cat.” Two Face laughs as he circles around me pointing his gun at me as I lay on the ground. “Are you all by yourself little kitty?”

I lift my head to look at the voice but everything is fuzzy and blurred. I can’t make out who is talking. The pain in my head gets worse as I’m hyperventilating and I clutch my head with my hands as tears start to stream from my eyes.

“What’s this, the little kitty is scared and crying?” Two Face grabs my hair and lifts my head to look at me. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “No one to save the mighty daughter of Superman. I’ll enjoy this.” He throws me back down to the ground and pulls out his coin, “Heads, I kill you. Tails, I hand you over to Joker after I’ve had my fun with you.”

“STEP AWAY HARVEY!!” Dick’s voice can be heard in the cargo area surrounding us.

“Why should I bird boy? I found the Cat so let me handle this.” Two Face keeps his gun trained on me while he looks around for any sign of Dick.

“That’s my girlfriend you have there.” Dick moves from the top of the freight container to the shadows beside it. He keeps Two Face and me in his sights. “Secondly, didn’t you know it’s rude to point guns at lady’s?” Dick stays in the shadows and grips his escrima sticks tighter. ”Thirdly.” Dick stands up as tall as he can directly behind Two face. His voice is low and full of anger, “Look behind you.”

Two Face turns around to see Nightwing stand there with his forehead wrinkled and an evil smirk on his lips. “I can forget about this if you do Nightwing. She isn't harmed.”

Nightwing chuckles, “No, I see she's okay. But here's the thing Harvey. You threatened my princess. And I don't like when people threaten her.”

Right as Nightwing says that Red Hood and Robin drop in behind him. Red hood points his gun and Two Face, “Wanna dance?”

Nightwing looks over at Red Hood then back to Two Face, “Hand over Cat and we won’t hurt you as bad.”

One of Two Face’s henchmen slowly makes his way towards my hyperventilating body. He leans down like he is going to help me up, but instead of making me stand up, the henchman grabs me by the head and shoves it back into the ground forcefully.

Red Hood shoots the henchman causing guns all around us to go off. “Now this, is a party.”

“ARE YOU FOR REAL? What happens if there is Kryptonite and a bullet hits Cat?”

“Oh calm down circus boy. The Duchess is fine.”

Robin rolls his eyes at the conversation going on. He grabs his katana and starts making his way towards my body. “Would you two shut up? I’ll get Cat. Nightwing, you handle Two Face. Hood, you distract.” Robin rolls and dodges a swing from another henchman.

Nightwing throws a punch at Two Face. Two Face takes a step back and starts to attack Nightwing. “Honestly Harvey, you should have stayed in Gotham with Batman. The dealers here are pretty bad.” Nightwing ducks and hits Two Face in the ribs sending him to the ground.

Robin appears by Nightwings side, “We need to get her out of here and calm her down. Cat isn’t responding to anything.” Robin looks back at my curled up body on the ground, “Get her and let’s get out of here. I will handle Todd.” Robin disappears in the direction he hears gunshots leaving Dick alone with me and all the henchmen that have been knocked out.

Dick walks over to me and slowly touches my shoulder, “Princess. Hey, princess, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” His voice is soft as he gently rubs circles into my back. He lets out a sigh, “Come here, let’s get you somewhere safe.” Slowly, Dick lifts me into his arms and cradles me to his body as he walks away from the scene of the fight.

Three blocks later and sitting in a hideout, Dick keeps me close to his body as he rocks me back and forth. “Lyds, honey, I’m here. You’re safe.” He keeps his voice soft and holds me as I cry and hyperventilate. “What can I do? Lydia, I need you to tell me what to do? How can I help?”

Jason steps out of the shadows, “She’s have a panic attack, you idiot.”

Dick glares at him, “Like I haven’t noticed moron.”

“Hey, it isn’t my fault that she is having a full blown meltdown. It’s hard enough to ignore these emotions from her. Why couldn’t you have this instead of the thought thing?”

“It may not be your fault Jason, but you being here isn’t helping. It’s bad enough you and my girlfriend keep the secret that you used to love each other from me. Along with the fact you have a bond to her like I do.” Dick takes a deep breath and holds me closer, “You think I don’t hear her thoughts? How she keeps calling herself a monster, how she says she isn’t worth it, how I should love someone else? She thinks because of her scars, which I just learned about, she thinks I don’t love her.”

Jason sits on the floor in front of us, “She’s been through a lot. So those thoughts are normal for her. But Dick, I would rather her pick you if she never was going to pick me.” Jason reaches out and gently touches my head, “It’s all fear. A mass of fear.”

“So fix it.”

Jason and Dick turn their heads to see Damian standing beside them. At the same time they speak up, “What?”

“T-t.” Damian shakes his head, “Father used to say that you told stories to Cat whenever she was upset or stressed. Your stories would calm her down.” Damian crosses his arms, “Grayson, I do not care how stupid your stories are, but she needs oxygen and hyperventilating is not helping.”

Dick looks down at me and notices my scars have appeared and my skin tone has gone from a nice summer tan color to white. He moves my long black hair behind my ears and smiles at me, “There was once a bird, a bird who loved a cat. This bird promised he would keep his cat safe.”

Jason huffs and gives an annoyed chuckle, “This is pointless.Telling her a story, really?” Jason looks at me, “Lydia, snap out of it. Nothing is going to hurt y-.” Jason grabs his head and groans.

“STOP! YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE TODD” Damian shoves Jason out of the way and nods for Dick to continue.

Dick takes a deep breath, “I was going to propose. That night, the night you were taken by Stewart, I was going to propose. I still want to, but not like this not while you are hyperventilating.” Dick kisses my forehead, “Please princess, deep breaths. I can’t lose the woman I love.” He looks deep into my eyes and I see a tear slide down his cheek before I close my eyes.

Present day

Two nights ago, I had a panic attack. Two nights ago, was the last time I really heard Dick say anything. I haven’t patrolled really since that night. If I do, I come home to the apartment early and fall asleep on the couch. Then every morning I wake up alone in the bed and Dick asleep on the couch. I showed weakness and now he is distancing himself from me that way when he decides to leave it won’t be as painful.

This morning was no different. I didn’t even step foot on the ground. I hovered around the apartment with my head hung in shame. I started making pancakes for breakfast when I felt hands circle around my waist.

“I love you.”

I freeze just hearing those three words.

“Lydia, I hate that you think you need to cover up your scars. I hate that you think I wouldn't love you. Each scar is a testament to how strong you are and how much you have overcome. If you want to hide them, then hide them. But know I am proud of the fact that you survived and you are here now.” Dick kisses my shoulder.

I stare at the burning pancakes as tears slide down my cheeks.

“The other night, I thought I almost lost you. I’ve never experienced a panic attack that made you unable to do anything before. I was terrified. Holding you while you’re gasping for air. Your eyes were begging me to save you and I had no idea how.” He sighs and holds me tighter, “Lydia I mean what I said, I love you and I’m going to propose to you soon. Just please don’t distance yourself.I love you too much to see you fade away.”

A/N: AAAAHHHHHH!!!! Dick what are you thinking??? Do I see a rivalry between Dick and Jason?

Tags: @ellana-ravenwood, @starrynight-sky, @audreythetealovingcat, @theycallmeamillennial, @nerd-dgirl, @nyxdoms-writes, @redhoodshood

#chapter 29 #main story

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lacrimosathedark · 6 years ago

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Help, please

I know I have 2 posts like this but I just need to elaborate why I need monetary assistance and why I keep asking. I feel you have the right to know, to some limited extent, what you’re paying for. I also kind of need the vent...

I have major depressive disorder, multiple overlapping anxiety disorders including generalized, social, and PTSD, body/gender dysphoria, and an attention deficit and/or autism spectrum disorder. I may have more or my official diagnosis may have shifted so I may edit this part, but last I talked to my therapist about it that was my diagnosis.

I’m going through medications that don’t work. Or they don’t seem to. I also can’t keep taking them at a consistent schedule because my sleep schedule is incredibly out of whack, I’m incredibly forgetful, and even when I have a decent schedule, I get thrown off when my body starts “bloodletting”, because I try to sleep through it, stay in bed as long as possible so I don’t have to think about blood leaking because gravity, and then for at least the first day I’m curled up in pain desperately trying to sleep through it.

I currently don’t have the mental or emotional capacity for a full-time job and am not on assistance so I have no income. I want to do commissions, but I’m not certain I’m capable of doing anything or completing big projects. I can’t even complete my own projects.

Despite this, I pay for my own phone every month which is about $40, and with no income that’s terrifying because I end up begging for work or a loan from a family member.

I owe my father just short of a thousand dollars (he bought my laptop, which is faulty out of the box and I’ve been too anxious to return it and I was gonna pay for it with my financial aid that never came in) and I owe my mother over two thousand (for rent). And because I owe my father, I can’t bitch at him to replace the window he broke in my room.

I have no means of transportation. I have been trying to be taught to drive for 5+ years and I am still without a licence cuz no one has taught me. The person who usually helps me get places is now too busy to do so and will be having surgery soon so she won’t be able to drive at all. I’ll hopefully be in a program soon to learn to drive, but I haven’t heard back yet. I also don’t have access to a car.

I have no friends so I have no reason to leave the house, and nowhere to go should I be able to leave. My therapist is not happy with me staying at home all the time and neither am I.

Last year I put in an application for group housing/assisted housing. Find out this past week my application had never been processed. That’s fixed but the waitlist is long and I don’t know when I’ll be able to get out of here.

A month or so ago I put in an application for food stamps/SNAP. Last week I got a call saying they didn’t have an application for me. My case manager still doesn’t know what’s going on.

My brother is abusive. He constantly makes an annoyance of himself. He stays up late and watches TV even when he knows I have a hearing sensitivity and sound outside of my room at night makes my skin crawl and I can’t sleep. He gripes on the fact that I’m an adult and I do less chores than him (I’m disabled as previously stated and he thinks he’s neurotypical, and he doesn’t even do the chores he’s assigned), that I can’t drive (no one will teach me I try so hard), and that I’m living at home (even though that’s not unusual anymore). He bitches about me living at home constantly. He calls me stupid, dumbass, retarded, idiot, slow, dumb, and many other things when I say something he finds odd or annoying. He has also called me bitch, whore, and cunt, amongst other things (whore doesn’t even make sense, he’s aware I’m not sexually active) (he has also jokingly called me a faggot in the past). He never leaves me alone even when I’m having a full meltdown and screaming. He laughs at me when I cry. He brushes me off whenever I try to explain things to him. He repeatedly tells me he doesn’t care. If I get bitchy enough and upset him beyond laughing at me, he will physically hurt me. I’ve had red marks and bruises. He’s ripped buttons off my clothes, that’s why I haven’t worn my cat hoodie in months. My bedroom doesn’t have a lock, so he can come into my room whenever, I can’t feel safe there, in my own space. He has and does openly mock my gender identity, recently he commented on my chest which is where I experience dysphoria most. He has no respect for anyone else’s things and I get in trouble when he eats mom’s food.

My mother is overworked. She works all day and most nights and she barely makes enough for us to get by. Because she’s so stressed, if I ever ask for anything, help, food, anything, she gets bitchy. I try to make helpful suggestions for the household and she turns it around like I’m the problem. She’s never around to do anything about her son and she gets mad when I call or text her at work for help because he’s upsetting or even scaring me. She tries to respect my gender identity but she gets frustrated when she realizes she messes up and she gets angry when I correct her and looks at me like I’m a bug on her shoe when I try to make suggestions to make it easier. When she’s extremely mad, she’ll use my issues against me, ex. yelling when I can’t look at her or when I glance away at a sudden movement, or screaming in my face despite my sensitive hearing. This is her at her worst, but her best is very rare because she’s under far too much pressure.

I haven’t bought clothes in months, maybe years. I don’t have anything that really matches my fashion sense, or anything I could wear for something like a job interview. Most of my clothes are hand-me-downs, and/or I’ve had since middle school.

I need to save up for surgery for a double mastectomy, or at the very least a reduction, both for my dysphoria and my health, because my chest is too large for my frame and it hurts my back and posture and I often have trouble breathing.

I’m having an increasing number of health problems and no understanding of how insurance works and with this political climate I should know this stuff, if something is really wrong I can’t afford to fix it.

I don’t want to be alone when I move out, I’d like to take one of the dogs or cats with me when I move out if I’m allowed, so I need to be able to support them too. I can’t be alone. It’d also be great to get them trained to help with anxiety/panic attacks, but that’s so hella expensive.

Sometimes to soothe my depression/anxiety I like to buy small treats or presents for myself, like candy or ice cream or coffee or soda (recently I’ve been buying raspberry Crofter’s), and I can’t afford to do that. I also like to bake when I’m stressed, and it makes me feel good to share what I make and have others enjoy it, but I can’t afford ingredients to make anything.

This isn’t even listing things I want. This is all needs. If I started listing wants this would be much longer. But as you can see, I need a lot of help. Some people have already been ridiculously generous (I’ve gotten donations of $30 how??? and thank you!!!!) , but I feel like you should know why.

#more info #donations #abuse #depression #anxiety #ptsd #autism #attention deficit disorder #dysphoria #money #the hell that is bureaucracy #medication #tw: homophobic language #tw: cursing

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curaious-blog · 6 years ago

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I CRIED ON OUR FIRST DAY IN ENGLAND

Ok so despite all the happy pictures I posted online, day one in England was an emotional disaster. The pictures of me smiling and laughing were taken the day after. They were genuine though.

So what happened? I really couldn’t tell you exactly. I’m trying to figure it out myself. I do have some ideas though.

That morning we had a 6am flight and I hadn’t gone to sleep til after midnight to get up at 4am. I’m not quite the young whippersnapper I used to be so I’m not sure why I thought that was a good idea. Another tidbit about me is that I do not do well with little or no sleep. I get extremely irritable and short tempered.

Anyway, the airport/flight experience was uneventful except I just couldn’t get to sleep. It wasn’t a very long flight and I had taken a melatonin (which is probably not a good thing to do in the morning when your flight is only about 2 hours). After we got off the plane, we had to find our way to the luggage storage place because check in for our Airbnb was not available yet. I was feeling ok up until about that point. I’m not sure what changed. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation kicking in with full force. In any case, I found myself upset at nothing. Add in a long commute with luggage and walking when my feet already hurt from all the previous walking plus the heat...it was just all bad.

We dropped off our luggage and then went to get food. We stopped at the McDonald’s as it was the nearest thing for a quick bite. We walked in to the ordering screen and before I’m able to order, I started having my version of a panic attack. Not quite hearting racing, rapid breaths kind of thing. It’s more of an “impending doom” where I feel the tears coming and the anger rising. I walked out without ordering. That was also likely an issue...we hadn’t eaten anything and I had a bad headache. So why would I walk out without food? Idk girl, you tell me. No, but I just felt awful and bursted into tears on a random street in London, England. I just stood on this road crying and fake looking at my phone until Sierra came out to get me. She bought us food.

Let me just derail this story real quick and talk about how freaking amazing Sierra is. She is somehow really calm when I’m freaking out, she gives me space when she can see that I’m upset, and comes up with fantastic solutions to problems.

Anyway, she came out with food and we go back inside to eat. Although the headache was still there afterwards, I felt emotionally better. We did a little sightseeing before checking into our Airbnb.

We decided to go to a supermarket about 10 min from the house. I had to use the bathroom but someone else was using it at the time (there are multiple other people sharing one bathroom in this Airbnb). I didn’t have to go bad so I thought ok I’ll just go once we get to the store. We got to the store and I was walking around the perimeter trying to find the bathroom. I finally found an employee and asked where it was and they said they didn’t have one. For whatever reason this triggers something in me. I get angry...again. I told Sierra that we needed to hurry up because I had to pee and she wasn’t moving fast enough (I decided this approximately 30 seconds after telling her we needed to hurry) so I said I was going to go look for a bathroom elsewhere. I left the store and most of the places were little shops or small restaurants that likely do not have a public bathroom unless buying something. I found a larger building but they also didn’t have a bathroom for me to use. At that point I was so over it and upset that I texted Sierra that I was going home. I actually ended up going back to the store and getting my umbrella from her because it started raining and then proceeded to stomp (and by stomp I mean fast paced walk with mean mug) out of there and went home.

Again, I bursted into full tears once I got home. I have no idea why. I just remember thinking wow you’re like super crazy. I also felt bad because Sierra was so excited to come to London (Harry Potter stan) and here I was messing it up with my random, overly dramatic emotions. And even then, when she got home she still offered me food but I just ended up falling asleep.

And that was it. I don’t know why I was so upset and brought to tears, but it definitely wasn’t just because I was hungry or I couldn’t find somewhere to pee. Usually things that small are just the triggers. Maybe it was everything all together. I don’t know, but after the first day, everything was just fine. I woke up the next morning happy. Sierra didn’t hold my nasty attitude against me.

Those meltdowns scared me though. I didn’t think that would happen on this trip and I am hoping that was the first and last time. I have to be careful because I don’t think or want to think that this trip is just going to make everything better or cure my depression. I do hope that I will gain more insight into myself so, in a way, I’m glad it happened. A small piece of a bigger picture perhaps?

#explore #travel #travelblogger #blackgirlstraveltoo #blackgirlmagic #truth #mental health #london #england #uk

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nhlhoser · 7 years ago

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On The Rocks - 26

Part 25 Masterlist

3816 WC

Swearing and emotions

Getting out of bed was easier yet still hard with my lack of energy and still sore body.

Deciding to yield Noahs instructions to get out of the room and try to get breakfast, I head to the bathroom to shower first and wash some of this sick off my skin and get a fresh start but also tame my horribly gross hair.

Gingerly I heave myself off the bed on shaky legs and sore muscles.

My legs don't give out on me but it's a damn near thing when my bare feet are shocked by the change from carpet to cold tile. My movements are stiff as I maneuver around the bathroom, arranging the towels to be easy to grab when I come out and one on the floor so I don't create a puddle.

Stepping into the shower the hot water is almost too hot but feels amazing on my skin and my tight muscles. Stretching my arms above my head a series of pops rattle down my spine and through my shoulders, releasing tension as the hot water works on melting the rest.

Working on my hair is rough with my lack of mobility but I eventually am able to free the knots from my gross hair with the products I recognize from the shower I had at Austons over the weekend. He must have snuck them in here before he accidentally woke me up.

Standing under the water for a couple moments longer, I don't want to get out yet because as much as I want to believe that I am relaxed right now, I know I am not as the weight of the water hitting my shoulders, chest, and face is heavier than it is in reality.

My ever-present anxiety is growing larger than it's been in a long time as I usually have a better handle on it but the energy I am executing just by being sick- makes it impossible to ignore the nagging pain in my chest that could only be explained by my anxiety and illness.

My energy level makes me just want to lay in bed for the rest of the forsee-able future and avoid life all together but I can' exactly do that right now being that : I am not even in my own country, I'm ill and have to leave my room for it to be cleaned but also I have to get on another plane in the next day or two too go home and maybe then I will be able to wallow in my own self-pity and get my emotion in order.

I have to get myself under control before I lose it again but HOW? I could call my brother or maybe my dad but that would stir even more stress and drama as my dad would hope on the next flight and throttle the entire Leafs management staff and probably anyone that may try and stop him.

Even then I don't usually involve anyone in my own problems I kinda just deal with them or accept that they are there but right now it's too prominent to ignore. Maybe, I should involve someone that is already aware of some of what is going on?

Noah? He'll probably think of the medical aspect rather than the emotional side and may not understand.

Any of the guys are just out of question because of playoffs and thats just a lot on their plate already plus they barely know me.

You've started to let Auston in already.......

A small voice whispers temptingly more aware than I am.

But he has hockey to worry about I reason with my own inner thought.

yes, but he there's already something he wants to say, we don't have to really say much. What he wants to talk about could ease us enough to get us back to Toronto. If not we have Ricky who we could rant to because he cares you know. We need to let someone in before we break.

Whatever part of my brain this is, it is really sad.

I'm your heart, you need to listen to me more.

Maybe.

Shutting off the water I stand in the tub a moment longer staring at my hands still holding onto the tap. Purple and yellow bruising from boxing the day before last and the scars from the years gone by resembling how my heart might look if ripped from my chest- something I'm scared someone might just actually do if I let them in.

Stepping out it's much easier to move and faster thankfully because the air is cold against my damp skin as I wrap a towel around my middle and twist my hair into another. Catching myself in the mirror I definitely look as sick as I feel, my complexion pale but my cheeks flushed slightly pink from the fever and my eyes slightly sunken with dark bags beneath them.

Sliding into a pair of my new leggings and Austons shirt, I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling again, my energy almost spent just from the shower. My mind still overworked by the panic attack earlier with Noah, the urge to scream wrapped around my neck like a cord again but this time producing fat tears and a gasp for breath that pulled on my sore diaphragm as more tears leak from eyes and down to my ears. (A/N: if you've ever cried well laying on your back this is a chilling experience)

The memory is nothing new but it hasn't been brought up in a long time and it still scares me just as much the first time when I thought it was just some nightmare my brain had conjured up due to trauma but when I told my dad about it he sorrowfully correct that even though I don't even to this day understand it completely it was something that did happen.

The memory is the last of my mother but also it was the last of a couple month period after my 16th birthday due to an injury that I have no memory or details of. With the help of the little family I had around me and a patient-therapist I was about to mend a life for myself

A swift knock on the door startles me from my trance and back into reality, still staring at the ceiling now dry-eyed.

"Who is it?" My voice sounded hoarse with the edge of being broken on the inside.

"Auston," came barely audible through the door. "Can I come in?" followed only this time a little bit louder..

"Do you still have a key?" I move to be sitting on the edge of the bed, my face in my faces as I work on wiping away the tears with my palms.

"Uhm..Yeah?" He sounded almost sheepish

"Come in," My voice still hoarse and ragged. My heart rate spikes as the sound of Auston unlocking the door registered in my brain that someone is going to see me like this.

In a last stitch effort for whatever composure I can must I run my hands through my damp hair, dragging the strands from my face with a deep breath as the door opens revealing Auston- a loaded shopping bag in hand.

"Gatorade and- you're up?" Auston's step stuttered a little bit as his eyes landed on my freshly showered hair instead of the mess he last saw.

"Up is a bit of an over-exaggeration," I mumbled laying back down in a huff, watching Auston continue into the room a small frown on his lips.

"How are you? Now?" Setting the bag on the floor Auston sits and lays on the bed parallel to me and turns his head to face me.

"Honestly?" My voice cracks under the emotion I've pent up as I turn my face to look him the eye, they're soft and full of concern.

"Fucking shit," a sarcastic laugh follows my brief confession with a small tear falling down my cheek before I could wipe it away Auston's rough thumb swipes it away for me and continues to my right cheek with his left hand tenderly.

The sheer tenderness of the moment and the level of vulnerability oozing from both of us causes a rough sob to wrack through my chest, my eyes squeezing closed in an attempt to hold back the floodgates a little bit longer.

This prompts something in Auston to move from just holding my face to wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest, holding me with a strong yet soft force. His hand starts to work through my hair slowly in a calming manner trying to soothe me, as a painful hiccup jars my extremely sore diaphragm.

Whimpering at the pain Auston pulls me in tighter and continues to run his hands through my hair and over the pulse on my neck to cradle my head his large hand as he pulls back to examine my face. Opening my eyes I am met with his searching eyes as they scan over my face, his eyebrows draw in creating a crease to form on his forehead.

"From being sick?" Auston's tone suggested that he knew that it might be more than just the flu I've been dealing with causing my meltdown.

"No," I sniffled.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet,"

"Okay. I'll wait," Auston pulled me in so my ear rested on his chest again.

The sound of his heartbeat lulling me back in peace and almost sleep if the fact I need to get out of the room for a bit popped back in my head and that Auston started to speak.

"I'm sorry for withdrawing before leaving.It's just the playoff's made me feel a new level of nervous that scared the absolute shit out of me. I needed to get my mind in order and that caused some casualties on the way," His voice vibrated through his chest as he laughs nervously. "You know who shined the light in my eyes?" he added.

"Mitch?"

"Well, he definitely was part of it but I was talking to mom after you left that night and I might have been ignoring her also and she was not having it and she tore me a couple news one but when she calmed down she asked me about you,"

"Me?" I pull up surprised that Ema Matthews even knew i existed. "why?"

"You made that dinner that I could heat up and have them over instead of going out - which totally shocked them- but anyways she knew it wasn't me that made the food and it couldn't have been ordered because it was made in the dishes she bought for me-"

"She also knows you can't cook for shit," I added interrupting him.

"Rude but I told her about how you had agreed to make me hot dinners and when she called to rip me a new and was civil again she asked what I had to eat and when I told her I just had dinner you made for me- she told me to thank you for her and I realized I didn't even thank you," The volume of Auston's voice drops through the story as he starts to sound awkward and sheepish.

"Then Mitch text me saying 'Fix it' with zero contexts but followed up with the information you just got home and were withdrawn," Auston kind of nervous laughing now,

"So, this is me fixing it. I really didn't mean to be a dick,"

"It's okay Auston but let's go down a get breakfast and hope Noah doesn't catch you in here and scold you because you might catch this," I reminded the boy with a fake sternness in my voice.

"You never told me to leave," Auston whispered in my hair sounding sleepy.

"I know," I signed relaxing into his arms even further as the sound of his heartbeat and soft breathing started to coax my eyes into closing. Breathing in the scent of detergent, cologne and generally, the smell didn't help either.

"Auston," I whispered earning a soft groan to rumble in his chest. "Let's goooo" I whined as I dragged my body off of his regretfully and standing in front of his legs still dangling off the bed. I press my knees to his and push with some force.

"Aus, Come one," I grab his wrists I tug and he finally opens his eyes and sits up staring up at me with a look in his eyes I can't place but it feels meaningful. Slowly he circles his arms around me again and presses the palm of his hands into my back pulling me into an embrace so his face is nestled against my collarbone and neck sort of.

My breath hitches slightly as a knot tyes in the back of my throat at the sudden rush of emotions from being held so tenderly. A small gasp escapes me as Auston's arms tighten as if he can sense the sudden rush of my emotions.

He probably heard the spike in my heart rate from where his ear is resting.

Returning the embrace my arms rest on his shoulders and my hands going into his hair as I held his head against me, resting my forehead on the top of his hair like he had done earlier.

Pulling his head back slightly my hands drifted to rest on the nape of his neck and slightly under his jaw as his eyes hold mine in what feels like a loaded moment to only have it interrupted by a knock on the door of my room.

"Who is it?" I instinctively put my hand over Auston's mouth even though he hasn't made a sound.

"It's Noah," My eyes widen slightly then glared into Austons "I didn't see downstairs and wanted to make sure you were alright,"

"I'm fine. I just got of the shower, I just need to get dressed and I'll be down," Implying that I'm naked got a rise out of Auston as his shoulders shook slightly and he raised a questioning brow at me.

"Oh-Okay see you down there then," Noah soundly sheepish as his footsteps could be heard walking away from the door and down the hall.

Pulling my hand away from Auston's grinning mouth he shakes his head at me with the same brow raised.

"You have to go down first because we can't show up at the same time," I said as I stepped back giving the still grinning Auston Room to stand to his full height.

"What?" I questioned when he just kept giving me that look as I grabbed my sweater and pulled it over Auston's long sleeve to stop the chill on my skin.

"He totally just thought of you naked," I pulled the rest of the hoodie over my head quickly as I stared at Auston wide-eyed.

"He did not," stuffing my keycard and phone in my pockets I grab a Gatorade and wait for Auston at the door. "Come on breakfast," I signaled Auston through the door.

"I'm a guy I know for a fact that he did," He commented passing into the hall before me with a smug smirk. "Because I know I would of," He stated just as smug.

"Go eat," I waved him off as my feverish face turns even redder. Auston walks away laughing, I close the door again and rest my heated face against the cool surface to get composure back.

"He's the worst," I groan into the door with mild bitch fit before I school my breathing and feature to calm and collect before re-opening the door and leaving the room stuffing the Gatorade in my hoodie pocket.

Walking into the slightly crowded restaurant despite the fact food service just started, the scent of food assaults my senses and instantly causes a split reaction in my stomach; Hunger and nausea. A shiver runs down my spine as I fight the urge to gag and end up coughing instead.

Shaking it off, I walk towards the food with a grimace as the smell gets stronger making me breathe through my mouth rather than my nose to stop the smell from connecting to my sore stomach. I view the different foods in awe and sadness as they all look so delicious but I can't stomach much or any of it yet.

Drifting passed all the warm yummy foods, I end up grabbing a banana, plain toast, and a mint tea.

The other food just too harsh for my recovering stomach and throat.

"Amelia," the ginger goalie appeared to my left quietly. "How are you? Auston practically describes that you were dead," Freddie gently threw an arm around my shoulders and rubbed my arm soothingly with a teasing smile on his face. Cleary seeing that I am not dead

"I feel like it thats for sure," The rasp in my voice visibly hits Freddie's ears as he winced and chirped that I sounded like it too, his arms still around me as he guilds me to the same table as yesterday where Auston is residing with plate a of half eaten food and a mug of what I'd guess to be coffee.

Settling in the same seat as yesterday, I arrange to face the boys with my back against the wall taking my Gatorade out of pocket and cracking the deal and taking a test sip of the sweet drink. My stomach doesn't react prompting another but still small sip, the cool fluid providing relief for my sore throat.

Setting the bottle on the table with a sigh both of the hockey players are staring with pitiful eyes and a grimace, Sticking my tongue out at them they look away with small smirks and continue to eat.

The banana goes down without resistance as does a little bit of tea but my stomach starts to have a fit when I go to pick up the toast. The smells stopped bothering my stomach so didn't try and push what little comfort I achieve as I sip my tea absorbed in whatever conversation is happening around me.

Couple more bodies had joined us with plates overflowing with nutrient foods and some chirps about me not being in as bad of a state as Auston had described to which Auston would defend if they'd been there and I saying that I sure as hell still felt like death.

My body was still remarkably sore especially my diaphragm that is putting a damper on my breathing because it hurts. My body shifts between hot and cold about six times in a minute that doesn't go unnoticed when my cheeks get really red then I start shivering.

Matt was watching me from the end of the table with worried eyes but I waved him off which brought the curious eyes of Mitch and Wiliam as my cheeks started to flare again then to cuddle into my layers.

The conversation was steady and light currently on the subject of Auston's ripped jeans and shoe collection being bigger than some of their girlfriends but Auston just rolls his eyes at them.

Resting the back of my head against the wall, my eyes start to droop with the need to sleep again and the comfortable feel of safety the guys surrounding me provide with their slightly intimidating size even Mitch.

"Noah hooked her up to banana bag and saline last night," Austons voice was soft as he whispered to the table. "She was puking all night," There was a deep layer of concern in his voice.

"Poor girl, Shouldn't she be in bed?" Matt's mature side coming out as he joined the whispering and some sounds of approval with i'd guess nodding along.

"Noah advised for her to get out of the room so the cleaning service could come through and for her to try to get some food or fluid," Auston's sparknote version of what I told him earlier. The conversation lulled as only typing on phone could be heard.

"It says here, Banana, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast are the most recommend things for someone with the flu to eat," Mitch recited smartly.

"I think she already knew that," William whispered.

"I did," I added not opening my eyes and getting comfortable in my little corner and preparing to actually sleep this time. "At least wait for me to actually fall asleep before you start talking about me, " A tired smile pulled lamely at the edges of my lips as I pull the hood up over my head and ended over my eyes.

I do actually end up falling asleep this time with my head resting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of me knocking someone's ankles, and the neck of the sweater pulled over my nose.

That lasted until Freddie tapped me on my shoulder saying they had to go get their act together for the morning skate. I sleepily nodded and followed behind the group of athletes with my Gatorade into the elevator.

If i could i would have tossed my body into the freshly made bed but I carefully crawled under the covers and cuddled up into dreamland for some more precious sleep.

Noah comes back around to check on me around 1 pm checking temperature, breath sounds, lymphoid and throat. My temperature was high but coming down and he only made a small face well inspecting my throat with his pen light.

"Well you're not worse which is good at least you're stable," He started packing up for the 3rd time today and was out with the same 'call me' stick.

I shed a layer of clothing by removing the hoodie and socks, a sign i was really tired because I never can sleep with socks. I grab a water and gatorade from the fridge and crawl back into bed with the tv remote trying to find something to make the room less dead.

Settling on a what looks like comedy by the appearance of Adam Sandler yelling at a kid - a good sign.

I fall back asleep quickly.

A weight on the side of my bed alerts me to the presence of someone. Instinctively I roll over giving said weight room to lay down instead of being sprawled in the middle.

"What time is it?" I mumbled being roused awake.

"1:30 pm," Came the deep voice I expect.

"Isn't it time for your pre-game name?" I rolled over to face him.

"What do you think I'm doing," with that the covers lift and he settles in.

"Hmm," I barely hum snuggling into the pillows and blankets.

Strong arms circle around my waist and Auston snuggle me with a sigh.

#auston matthews imagine #auston matthews #on the rocks

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yuriyuu · 7 years ago

Text

Soothe

Yuri doesn’t want Yuuri to see him, not like this

Pairing: Yuuri/Yuri

Rating: G (but with language)

Word Count: 2731

Basically Yuri has a panic attack and Yuuri helps him through it. Content warnings for descriptions of panic attacks I guess?

(read on AO3)

The day is loud. Everyone is obnoxious. Everything sucks. It’s one of those days which makes Yuri bristle, makes him snap and hiss at everyone who dare comes near him or talk to him. His skin feels like it’s got bugs crawling all over it, and he wants it to stop but oh god it won’t stop. At this rate, clawing his own skin off would feel better than just letting it be. Really, what is this stupid, awful feeling? Ugh, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t care, but Yuuri. He wants Yuuri. It’s stupid and childish, but all he wants to do is go home and drink tea and sit on the couch with his boyfriend while they watch stupid TV shows. Yuuri and tea are comforting, the fact his skin feels like it’s on fire and he’s shaking so much he can barely work the keys to their apartment is not.

When Yuri comes home to an empty apartment, that alone is enough to send him into a full scale nuclear level meltdown. Of course, of course all the days Yuuri chooses to work late, he chooses to work late today! He takes a deep breath and holds it in for several moments. It's okay, he doesn't need Yuuri, he can get through whatever weird bullshit he's going through on his own. He always has, hasn't he? At least until he started dating Yuuri and seemingly forgot how to deal with shit on his own. He exhales, and the sudden realization of how spoiled he's become is dizzying, and not in a good way. His knees feel weak, like he can't support his own weight. He manages to let himself collapse onto the couch, but only barely. It's uncomfortable, the position he's in, but his entire body feels like lead, so it’ll have to do.

He throws his arm over his eyes and prays the feeling will pass over soon. Either that, or that Yuuri will come home.

Yuuri’s still not home, and Yuri’s not sure how long he's been lying there on the couch like some kind of useless leaden lump. A few minutes? A few hours? He has no idea, but he certainly doesn't feel any better. Tea. He should make some tea. He takes another shaky breath, and does his best to force his body to corporate.

His body, however, does not corporate very well, if at all. Yuri’s hands can't stop shaking, and every movement feels unwieldy and out of control. He tries his best to ignore the gnawing ache in his chest as he spills too many loose tea leaves all over the counter, tries to ignore the fact he can barely manage to clean them up. Somehow, he luckily manages to avoid spilling boiling water on himself, so he considers that a win. The victory, however, is short lived. Before he can even make it out of the kitchen, the cup slips from his hands and shatters all over the tile floor. All he had to do is carry this mug of tea to the living room so he can curl up on the couch, easy peasy, right? Nope. Apparently he can't even do that right today. So he does the only sensible thing he can think of, and that is to sit on the floor in the middle of his mess and start to cry out utter frustration.

Earlier all he wanted was for Yuuri to come home, but now, now he hopes that Yuuri stays at work even later because the last thing he wants is to be seen like this. It's pathetic, he's sitting on the floor crying over a shitty broken mug and spilled tea. His head hurts, his chest hurts. Thankfully it's a cheap mug he broke, not one of any sentimental value to either of them, but breaking it in such a stupid way? It wounds his pride. With trembling hands he grabs a dish towel and starts to mop up the tea and pick up shards of glass without trying injuring himself. At this point he just wants to hide under the covers, where Yuuri can’t see how pathetic he looks. He finishes cleaning up his mess, but he’s so out of it that he doesn’t notice the drops of tea and tiny shards of glass left scattered across the floor. Once he plants himself under their covers, he resolves not to leave the room until he can act like an actual person again, or to let anyone see him for that matter, and by anyone, he means Yuuri.

The minute he walks through the door, Yuuri can tell something is wrong. Yuri’s not lounged out on the sofa, chastising him for working late as he normally does on such days, and his shoes and coat are haphazardly put away.

“Yuri! I’m home!” He calls out to no response. Yuuri sighs. As temperamental as Yuri can be, withdrawing is not the norm for him, and he can’t help but feel as if something is horribly amiss. A quick peek into their kitchen only confirms that fear. Yuuri doesn’t even bother to clean up the rest of Yuri’s accidental mess, just heads straight toward their closed bedroom door and knocks.

“Yuri, Yura,” Yuuri says, “I’m home. Can I come in?”

The moment he hears Yuuri’s voice, Yuri’s heart stops in his chest. No. He doesn’t want to see Yuuri, doesn't want Yuuri to see him like this, curled up under the covers doing his hardest to not continue crying. His pride was wounded enough.

“Fuck off!” Yuri yells back, “Go away!”

Immediately, Yuuri winces. Yuri’s voice lacks it’s usual bite when he tells him to fuck off, which in all honesty hurts more and is more worrisome than his actual words.

“Yura…”He says again, this time a bit softer.

Yuri balls his fists up underneath the covers, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. “Just fucking leave! I’m fine! I can handle myself! I don’t need you!” He doesn’t want Yuuri to go away, to leave him alone, he really doesn’t, but he’ll be damned if he lets him see him like this. It’s humiliating to say the least. Yuuri’s seen him cry before, Yuuri’s held him through his shitty moods before, but this, this somehow seems like too much. This is beyond a shitty mood or a few angry tears.

Yuuri can’t help but flinch at Yuri’s words. His hand hovers over the doorknob, and it takes every ounce of self control he has to not barge into their room. Yuri’s clearly not fine,and Yuuri wants nothing more than to help his love through whatever is plaguing him. Hesitantly, he pulls his hand away from the knob. As much as he’d love to shower Yuri in love and comfort and care, not listening to Yuri’s wishes for privacy will only end in disaster, even if he knows damn well Yuri isn’t handling whatever he’s going through with much success on his own. He bites his lip. Perhaps that’s the most frustrating part of it all.

“I love you, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He doesn’t wait for Yuri to reply; he knows he won’t. Instead, he heads to the kitchen and begins to clean up the remainder of Yuri’s mess.

Under the blankets, Yuri curls up even tighter and aggressively wipes away the tears forming in his eyes. His throat feels tight, breathing hurts, and he’s scared if he tries to he’ll fall apart. He inhales slowly, and the breath gets caught in his throat and makes him choke. He inhales again, chokes again. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to catch his breath, and soon enough it spirals out of control and he’s sputtering and gasping for air. His chest hurts, his throat feels raw, he can’t breath. He can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to die, if he’s dying.

The moment he hears Yuri begin to hyperventilate from the other room, Yuuri rushes to their bedroom. Fuck it, he doesn’t need permission anymore. He sits down on the bed next to Yuri, and the moment the words Shhh Yura, I’m here leave his lips, Yuri’s crawling into his lap and latching onto him as if his life depends on it. Yuri’s done being proud.

“I feel like I’m dying,” he manages to sputter out.

Yuuri wraps his arms around Yuri and begins gently rubbing the back of his neck. Yuri’s shaking so much he’s practically vibrating in his arms. Right now, Yuuri’s only concern is calming him down enough so he can actually breathe like a normal person.

“You’re not dying, you’re having a panic attack. You need to breathe.” He keeps his voice soft. Soft, but firm.

Yuri tries to breathe, but even something as simple as breathing seems impossible. God, what is his problem today? Can’t work his keys, can’t make tea, can’t even breathe right.

“Easy, Yuri. Slower. Breathe slower.” Yuuri keeps gently rubbing soothing motions on the back of Yuri’s neck. “Breathe with me.” He inhales deeply, and exhales slowly, and hopes Yuri will follow his lead.

And Yuri tries, oh god does he try. Anything to stop this awful feeling. After more than a few failed attempts, he manages to somewhat follow Yuuri’s lead, to inhale and exhale with him, to not start breathing so hard again he’s depriving himself of oxygen.

Yuuri’s voice is calming, soothing. “You’re doing good,” He says, “Just like that. It’ll be over soon.” Not once does he stop whispering gentle encouragement to Yuri, even when he’s not sure if Yuri even has the capability to pay attention to him.

After a while, Yuri manages to match his breathing to Yuuri’s, and he no longer feels as if he’s on death’s door. He lays still in Yuuri’s arms, feeling heavy and full of cold sweat and exhausted. The sharp pains in his chest have since subsided to dull throbbing aches.

They sit like that for a while, Yuuri holding Yuri as Yuuri runs his fingers through Yuri’s hair. Yuri’s hair and the back of his neck feels sweaty and gross right now, but that’s the least of Yuuri’s concerns. The only thing he cares about is making sure Yuri’s panic attack is done and over with for good, that it won’t start back up should they try to do anything.

“How’s your head feeling?” Yuuri eventually asks, speaking softly. His own panic attacks leave him weak and with throbbing headaches, and he can only imagine Yuri must be feeling the same.

“Feels like I just got hit by a truck,” Yuri mumbles. He appreciates that Yuuri is keeping his voice down, because even though Yuuri is whispering, his voice still feels loud to Yuri’s ears.

“Do you think you can walk to the kitchen?” Now that he’s certain Yuri’s in a more stable position, his next concern is getting food and water in him. Plus if he knows Yuri like he thinks he does, he probably has barely eaten the entire day.

At first Yuri scoffs at the question. How pathetic does Yuuri think he is? Of course he can walk to the kitchen. Without saying anything, he tries to get up only to have his knees immediately buckle underneath him. Fortunately, Yuuri catches him and steadies him before he goes tumbling to the floor.

Before Yuri can say anything, Yuuri says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s normal to feel weak after having such a bad anxiety attack. You’ll feel back to normal in the morning, but for now, let me help you, okay?”

All Yuri does is shyly nod in response. His hands and legs are shaking something fierce again, so as embarrassing as it is, he’s glad Yuuri is helping him even if he’d never admit it.

Thankfully, it’s a short walk to their kitchen, so he doesn’t have to suffer too much embarrassment. They get to their kitchen, and Yuuri sits him down at their table before he wordlessly walks off to fetch Yuri a cold rag and a water bottle. He quickly comes back and begins pressing the rag against Yuri’s face, gently wiping away the remains of dry tears and cold sweat from his face and forehead.

“How’s that feel?” Yuuri asks.

The coolness feels good against Yuri’s clammy skin, and Yuri simply nods.

“Good,” Yuuri replies. He places the rag on the back of Yuri’s neck before he goes to unscrew the water bottle. He gently places it in Yuri’s hands. “Drink slowly, okay?”

Again, Yuri nods, but the minute the water bottle reaches his lips, he’s gulping it down and almost ends up choking on it.

“Slower.” If it’s one thing Yuri will never understand, it’s how Yuuri can sound so gentle and reassuring, yet demanding at the same time.

This time, Yuri drinks slowly, the cold water soothing his sore throat.

After Yuri’s done drinking, Yuuri asks, “Are you hungry?”

Yuri shakes his head. The last thing he wants to do is eat. He’s tired. All he wants to do is go to bed and have Yuuri spoon him the entire night.

“You need to eat something. You probably haven’t eaten since this morning, is that right?”

“I felt like shit all day, wasn’t hungry,” He mumbles, looking away from Yuuri’s concerned gaze, but not before catching a brief pang of guilt in Yuuri’s eyes.

“Oh Yuri, why didn’t you call me? I would have come home if I knew you weren’t feeling good.”

He simply shrugs in response. “I thought I’d be fine on my own. And then it got bad and I got embarrassed and didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t even know what was happening, but I felt pathetic. I couldn’t even make tea right.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “What was even happening?”

“You had an anxiety attack, a bad one. You know like the ones you help me through sometimes? You had one of those yourself.”

Anxiety attack? Over what? Nothing out of the ordinary even happened today! “Why though? Nothing even happened. It was the same shit. I went to the rink, I practiced, then I came home and fell apart. I was just a bit more irritable than usual, but that’s normal for me.”

“Don’t need a reason to have one. Sometimes they just happen. I get them for no reason from time to time.”

They look at each other for several moments, neither of them saying anything before Yuuri reaches out and gently grabs Yuri’s hands. “Yura, I know you don’t get anxious very often, but next time you start to feel this way, let me know, okay? I don’t want you to through these by yourself. I don’t care if I’m at work or you’re embarrassed and want to tough it out. Hopefully there is no next time, but if there is, I want you to let me know. You help me through mine, so let me help me through yours. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Yuri looks down at Yuuri’s hands in his, and goes to hold them back while he waits for Yuuri to finish speaking.

“Promise me that?” Yuuri asks.

Suddenly, Yuri feels a bit sheepish. Why is Yuuri always so good to him? “Yeah, I can try.”

Yuuri leans in and kisses Yuri’s forehead. “Good, that’s all I ask. Now, pick something for dinner. It’s late, but if you want I can cook you something real quick, or we can order out. You pick.”

Yuri just whines in response. He really just wants to go to bed. “Can’t I just eat in the morning? I really just want to go to bed. I’m tired and my head hurts.”

All Yuri gets in response is a deadpan stare. “No, Yuri, you need to eat something. After dinner, we’ll go to bed, okay? I know you feel like shit right now, but trust me, eating will help.”

He huffs in response. “Fine, you ass. Can we get noodles from the Chinese place?”

That’s the Yuri he knows. Yuuri lets out a small laugh, relieved that Yuri’s starting to get his personality back. “Sounds good to me.”

Chinese noodles before cuddling in bed, somehow, that doesn’t seem like a bad way to end a terrible day.

#yuriyuu #bakayuri #yuuyu #yuri plisetsky #yuuri katsuki #my writing

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maybe-writing · 4 years ago

Text

-Trigger warning-

Amber was scared of chocolate, apparently, and this was new. Not disgust, not distaste, but full blown terror. She was having panic attacks at the sight of a peanut butter cup. One of her co-workers brought in chocolate chip cookies, the smell sent her into a meltdown. And now was the worst time for this to happen.

“I did this so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself at my sister’s wedding,” Amber lamented to the Doctor sitting in front of her, “now I’m going to have an anxiety attack if Sara serves chocolate cake.”

“It’s a tricky process.” The doctor said trying to calm her down.

“That just sounds like you didn’t know what you were doing.” Her voice was sharp and snarky. Amber has never been one to mince words.

The doctor took a deep breathe, to calm himself, but his tone still came off as defensive, “It’s a much harder process if the patient isn’t involved. All you told us was get rid of the worst memories of your father.” The doctor was trying to keep her attention, but Amber’s distracted and standoff stance, made that difficult. “The mind can change memories to be more ‘palatable’, especially our most traumatic ones. You will always remember a memory differently than how it actually happened. Do you think kids really had superhero dad? This makes the memories hard to decipher when you don’t have the information or knowledge of the actual situation.

“The coding can be strange too. Sometimes you can’t distinguish between fact and fiction. If you want this to work you have work with us this time.”

“That just sounds like therapy,” Amber grumbled, “and therapy didn’t work for me. That’s why I came here, needing to work out my feelings and whatever.”

“This is kind of therapy in a sense,” the doctor’s tone more soft “Memories just can’t be erased, or least the most powerful ones. Your mind is a highly advanced super computer. When you delete a memory it doesn’t just go. We had to move the memory to a deep place in your subconscious. But this moving process can cause some recoding. That’s where this sudden fear of chocolate came from. You have to tell us what is ultimately fiction.”

Amber felt sick. But she wasn’t quite sure why. She didn’t really remember any of the memories they got rid of, but she knew they couldn’t be good. The thought of getting those memories back felt so degrading, “Fine.”

The doctor took her back to the room, and there it was, this big chair. Something you would see in a sci-fi movie. They sat her in the chair and placed nodes on her head. The machine came to life, and the assistant told her to take a few deep breathes and count backward from ten. No sooner did she say “ten” she found her self in a big empty black space. A deep void, that was soon filled with little screens. Flashes of images, like her graduating college, her scoring the winning run in softball, her first real breakup, all these little images of her life. Some less vibrant than others, “You need to head to the back.” A disembodied voice of the doctor filled the darkness, like it was both in her head and in her ear at the same time.

Amber moved cautiously to the back and came upon a door, she walked through “A movie theater?” Amber was confused as she stood in the back of rows of chairs facing a massive screen.

“This is what you’re brain decided would be the most comfortable way to view this information,” the disembodied voice said. Amber picked a seat and got comfortable, waiting, “Here’s the first one.”

The screen came to life and a ‘movie’ played. She recognized everything, but it was also like a dream. It was the house she grew up in, but it was decorated like on old Disney movie. Her dad was dressed like a villain from an old cartoon she watched as a kid. Amber in the movie was 8, and in a clothe dress. One like Cinderella wore before she went to the ball and meet the prince. She was on her hands and knees, scooping up liquid chocolate of the floor with her hands. Gagging and crying, “Is this what you were talking about? Am I supposed to tell you it wasn’t chocolate?”

“Yes,” the doctor’s voice rang, “but you also have to tell us what is really happening, so we can change the coding back.”

“We had a dog when I was younger. She had gotten sick so the vet gave us a medication so she could get better, but it gave her accidents. I must have forgotten to take her out. She had an accident in the house. he wanted me to learn a lesson so I had to clean it up, but i couldn’t clean it with the mop. He didn’t want to ruin it, so he made me clean it all up while screaming at me the whole time.”

The screen cut off, and the theater was quiet. Amber just waited for the next movie to play. She remembered how the doctor explained the whole process. how memories had a strong emotional response, and these memories were hard to forget, so they made you forget them. But since these memories can make up a Important aspect of your personality they can still affect you and your behavior, but they were more or less repressed.

She wanted to keep some memories of her dad, for purely pragmatic reasons. She needed to at least remember who he was and even some of the less horrible things he did, but at least she wouldn’t try and kill him at Sara’s wedding. Sara went to therapy, and she was told by her therapist to go out and try things. She tended to not be trusting of people, but when she took the doc’s advice she meet a really great guy named Heath.

They had a good thing going, and after a year of dating he proposed. But there still something holding her back, she said yes, but something felt wrong. She brought it up to her therapist, and they Informed her she still had some unresolved issues. She can only move on and truly trust someone if she forgave her father. Sara told her that she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. The therapist told her you don’t give forgiveness for the other person, you give it so you can move on and actually marry the man of your dreams, and not do anything rash like leave him at the alter. She told Sara, forgiveness isn’t saying that what the other person did was okay, but that you’ll be okay either way. So Sara, against her better judgement, reached out to their father in an attempt to find some kind of closure. Amber hated therapy.

“Here is the next one,” the doctor’s voiced echoed on the screen came to life with a new memory. Same house, but a different setting. This time it looked like the red light district. Her father’s image this time of a 1920’s wolf man, holding a long black sock. The end of it weighed down, misshapen and bundled up with some squared corners. The wolf man was swinging the sock, raining down blows on the memory version of Amber. This time dressed up like a street walker from a modern day crime show. Large, unnecessary, very unrealistic breast for a 13 year old. Every strike pounding against her strange adult frame, as she was crawling away crying and begging him to stop. Amber watching the memory trying to figure out what was wrong, until she smelt it, the sickeningly sweet scent of cocoa coming from the sock.

“That smell, it was actually soap,” Amber said nonchalantly almost as if watching herself getting beat had become so numb after so many years. “ I’m sure as psychologists you know the abusers credo, of using soap because it doesn’t leave a bruise. He had come home early from work and I was in the kitchen working on a class project. I was partnered with a boy, my dad saw him and made him leave. He couldn’t believe I brought a boy back to his house. I dare I let the world know I was easy and a slut. He hated using that much soap and wasting it, so he wanted to make sure he really got his point across.” The screen cut off.

Amber wasn’t mad at Sara for reaching out, In fact she understood. but Amber wasn’t at that place to do it herself. Sara said it seemed to make him happy. He talked to her over social media. He explained to her that he has grown up and he wanted to rebuild their relationship. He wanted to start over. this changed came when he married a new woman that helped him find Jesus. He found Jesus. And that he wanted to get everything back on track. Sara complied but wasn’t entirely thrilled.

Sara didn’t feel like she got the response she wanted but she got what she needed, and so she felt over the moon to announce her engagement. And the congratulations started rolling in from family and friends, and her dad. Until he found out he would not be receiving an invite. he was pretty upset. He talked about how Sara was keeping them from rebuilding the relationship and that it had been 10 years and neither her nor her sister reached out to him. That how can they fix this if she was going to keep him form this very important moment in her life. He basically harassed her. Sara did her best to just ignore it, until the new wife jumped in.

Amber never really caught her name, but Sara didn’t feel like it was important to remember. She sent messages, laments of how Sara’s father had changed. He was a good man now. Who he was isn’t who he used to be. He wants to build something new and he can’t do that if Sara kept holding on to the past. She needed to learn to forgive. Sara just wanted them to shut up and stop emailing her, so she sent the invite. But it was important to note, In Sara’s opinion, their father never actually said the word’s ‘I’m sorry’.

“This seems to be the last one coded with chocolate.” The voice filled the theater as the screen kicked on. This one was different, because it wasn’t just her. It was her mom and Sara too. they were sitting at the table, Amber and Sara were both crying trying to shovel a black tar substance into their mouths. Their mom staring stone faced at the goblin creature sitting across the table. it was her dad, and he was chowing down on a massive feast. Amber looked about 16, while Sara was 15 give or take. The goblin dad was gorging itself on massive turkey legs and sides. Letting the juices stream down it’s face while it stared daggers at the three women on the other side of the table. The tar, she could taste, burnt charred chocolate.

“It was tomato sauce,” Amber mumbled, “My good old dad was one of those old fashioned guys that like dinner on the table when he got home from work. He must have left early, or didn’t hit traffic, because he was 5 minutes earlier than expected. Dinner was practically ready, it just wasn’t on the table. He lost it. Screamed and even hit my mom a few times, told her she was worthless. He spent so much time screaming my mom didn’t get the chance to turn off the stove, so she burnt the spaghetti. My dad didn’t want the food to go to waste, so we still had to eat. Just us though, he ordered himself take out. That was the day my mom decided she needed the divorce.” The screen cut off.

“Ok” the voice echoed “that seems to be all of it. now I just need you to count backwards from 10.” And just like before, no sooner did Amber say 10 was she back in the big chair. “how do you feel?” The voice no longer In her head but in her ears, coming from the doctor’s mouth as it should. Amber nodded not sure how to put her feelings into words. “That’s fine.”

Amber tried her best to remember what happened in the movies in her mind but they weren’t there. Every time she tried to pin them down they fled. Like small wisps in the distance. “ If you notice any other ill side effects, please do not hesitate to come back.” Amber nodded on last time.

Amber drove back home. She remembered how she felt angry and exhausted when she heard about their father weaseling his way into this special day for Sara. When she got back to her apartment she couldn’t help but break down. Amber couldn’t remember the last time she cried about their dad, but she felt so defeated. He changed, but he was still being as controlling and manipulative as ever. She did try therapy but once they got to the part about getting into the memories and trying to make sense of them is when she checked out. She would later hear about this new technology that could force you to forget memories. She knew she couldn’t see her dad and not try to kill him, so she had to work out her issues. What better way then getting rid of every horrible thing he had ever done?

Amber looked down at her gas gauge and realized she should get gas before she got home. She went inside and noticed the assortment of candy at the counter. She picked up a peanut butter cup. She placed it on the counter, paid for her gas and headed out to pump her gas. She waited by the car as the tank filled with gas, and gave her time to think. And there was two things she knew to be true.

First, Sara wedding was going to be great, and Amber was not going to be the reason it was ruined. Second, that peanut butter cup was amazing.

#my writing

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