#sebastian put down the manic panic

[lazyypumpkin]

Big spoilers for the mortal instruments I guess but I was reading city of glass and that scene after sebastian kissed clary where her fingers are dark with hair dye instantly made me go “and that’s why you don’t fuck with cheap semi permanent black hair dye” hahhahdjjfkflglg

[rokutouxei]

filling in the gaps

theodorus van gogh/mc | T | 3603 | ao3 link in bio you are damaged goods, and there is only so much love can do.

⚠ warnings: attempted suicide, depressive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, and cursing. please be careful if you’re reading this. ⚠

(a little vent fic for a bad dream) 

comte had asked you if you wanted to go back “home.”

it takes all your strength to bite back the automatic retort: what is home anyway? the future you’ve thrown away? can you still go back to that? won’t doing so be like an uprooting? to be harshly pulled out of this little dream-like living in a mansion with vampires reality you’ve burrowed yourself into, back into the unforgiving unknowable of the time you once called yours.

you consider his suggestion idly, sitting on the plush chair in his room, watching his many hourglasses count the passing of irreversible time. your eyes fall onto the one that marks that door’s opening. you bite your lower lip.

“you don’t have to make a decision tonight, or anytime soon,” comte assures you, one hand on your shoulder. “you have to do what’s best for you. and whatever you decide, i’ll be behind you.” you can only nod because your throat is in a tight knot. “i’m sure theodorus will understand.” the mention of his name breaks your heart. comte stares at you, trapped in a corner with his inability to do anything more for you. “i’ll have sebastian bring tea to your room. you should rest tonight.”

“thank you, comte,” you manage to say, and with a sigh get up from the chair. something creaks and you don’t know if it’s the floor or your heart.

theo won’t be home for three more days.

-

for a week, you’ve been dreaming of asylums.

you move down the gray halls like a ghost, passing through doors, gates. you hear a stranger’s manic laughter at the end of a hallway, in a locked room. there’s the clinking of chains matched with muted screams from another. the clanking of trolleys with medicine bottles and syringes, accompanied by the footsteps of a harried nurse. she’s rushing to get somewhere, except you don’t know if she’s coming in, or running out.

the path in the building is winding and labyrinth-like. every inch you move inward, it gets darker. you turn to an open window and jump without thought. but gravity doesn’t pull you downwards; you land gently like a fallen flower petal. only here do you realize you’re translucent.

eventually, you find your way to the garden, the sun shrouded by clouds. people rush past you like they don’t see you. somehow, that’s comforting. that is, until someone in a patient’s green dressing gown begins to thrash and cry out loud; nurses, doctors rush out and press them to the ground, cheek to the dirt. a doctor pulls out a syringe from his pocket like a soldier would a sword, a weapon to protect himself, and injects the ill with something that makes them spasm, then quiet down. limp. boneless.

(you want to turn away but you can’t.)

they’re awake. the asylum staff begin to stand up, get off their knees, but the patient is left on the ground. if you squint hard enough, you see tell-tale stitches along the crown of their head; they look like they’re about to split open. the unnamed patient look up from where they’re pushed down and look up at you with familiar sunken eyes. they mouth: you’re next.

with the swift crashing sensation of being woken up, you realize where you’ve seen those eyes before. you turn to the mirror, wondering if you’re still dreaming.

-

you didn’t want to talk to vincent, because talking to vincent is tantamount to telling theo. but somehow you know he’ll understand, he definitely will, and unconsciously, you’re drawn to his vicinity as the whatever simmers coldly in your gut. he doesn’t ask questions—thankfully—and just offers you company.

theo probably already knows, anyway. after all, this has been going on for months. not completely terrible months, no, there were good weeks, great days. but the haze remains.

vincent is a kind spectator, patient, quiet, only really offering advice, words, hugs, when you show that you’re ready for it. you wonder if it’s because he knows what it’s like: can tell the signs, can figure out the clues.

today, you sit on his sofa with a book from the library. when you get distracted, you look up, watching him paint. he has a little vase of multicolored hydrangeas, a gift from dazai. vincent sprayed the flowers with water to give them a shine, and he’s trying to figure out how to show it on his painting. his hands are stained with ink.

the part of you that has loved theo all this time would have beamed with excitement, because there is nothing like vincent’s paintings, especially when he’s trying out something new.

but that part of you is silent.

you stare at his canvas with empty eyes.

you wonder how quickly will the hydrangeas wilt and die.

theo won’t be home for two more days.

-

when you started showing symptoms again, you hadn’t even noticed it. it was theo who noticed it first, and when he’d brought it up to you, you laughed it off saying you were only tired. but once he’d told you, it became glaringly undeniable.

the weight you thought was exhaustion. the worry you thought was simply from circumstance. the sleeplessness you blamed on coffee. the oversleeping you blamed on… night-time activities with theo. the trembling in your hands you blamed on the weather.

no. the monster you’d thought you’d left in the 21st century had followed you through a time traveling door. you can make a home out of a whole new time period and it’ll still follow you around. you’d never really escaped it. it only quieted down, long enough for you to think you were safe.

now you were not safe.

there are no pills here yet, so long practiced strategies for preserving what’s left of a shattered stability returns to the forefront. getting enough sunlight. eating good, healthy food. exercising regularly. getting enough sleep. for a while it becomes enough. getting out of bed becomes easier. things don’t seem bleak. for a while you feel the cold retreating.

until it doesn’t.

one day, theo catches you with your hands around your neck, crying, gasping, trembling, eyes red, cheeks stained with tears. wild eyes, like you’re seeing something he cannot. it takes him a full thirty minutes to get you to focus on him and on the present. it takes him another hour to get you to stop crying and shaking, to clean you up.

that night, you wake up on his bed tucked under his blanket, cold and alone. you open your eyes slowly and see him by the window, looking out at the moon, its silver light over his hard features. he looks terrified. it takes you a while to realize it’s because he’s already seen death in the face once, just on someone else’s eyes. someone he treasures too. and that… was like being greeted by it once more.

you decide, as much as you can, to never show him your breakdowns again.

-

you didn’t want to be dependent on theo. you wanted to stand next to him, and be strong, and help him fulfill his dreams, and build yourself a new one in this time.

you had so much planned for the both of you.

sitting alone in his room, in the dark, wearing one of his dress shirts with all but two buttons closed, under his blanket, you feel these dreams slip in between your fingers like fine sand.

theo has always been there filling in the gaps for your empty spaces. and he’s taken the role without complaint either. the spaces between your fingers are for his. the little hole in your heart filled with a love that refuses to erode. where there is doubt he fills it with assurance, and where there is fear he pledges protection.

so you say in exchange you will offer him your everything, but what are you in return for all the treasures he is giving you? he’s handed you the world, and you are damaged goods.

and there is only so much love can do.

you close your eyes and look at the clock. just a bit before midnight. you probably won’t get a wink of sleep.

theo will be home tomorrow, but it feels far too long.

-

do you know that feeling when everything has finally clicked and something you’ve long wanted to do has been made possible, the universe aligning things to your advantage and you feel invincible? today feels like that day, at last. it’s because theo’s finally coming home, you say to yourself. and it’s true, you had missed him. except something about that just doesn’t feel quite right.

but you appreciate the way your body doesn’t seem to fight you for every move you want it to make. you’re watering the flowers in the garden when your mind begins to float again.

grounding, you were told once. back at home, comte had called it. a place that feels like a million years ago, ironically, when it��s a psychiatrist’s office a hundred years into the future. activate your senses, focus on the present, let your thoughts go away with your breath.

the taste of the fresh air.

the soft green of the grass.

the smell of the sweet flowers.

the bright blue of the sky.

the sound of the birds singing lovely songs to each other.

you hold them together in your mind, but what happens when you can’t breathe?

your eyes open wide.

wind, you realize. you need wind.

-

already dressed for a trip out, you say you forgot to buy a welcome-back gift for theo, and you’d promised him something special. sebastian doesn’t quite buy your lie, noticing the deep circles under your eyes, but he lets you go anyway. you predict he’ll send someone off to follow you—napoleon, jean—but that will take time, and that’s enough.

you’re great at acting when you have to be. sebastian asks you to put on a coat and bring an umbrella, while he calls a carriage. there’s a storm coming in, he says. you better come back quick, master theodorus will be home any minute. you nod and smile and follow his orders obediently. for the first time in weeks, you feel weightless.

you ask to be dropped off at one of the galleries you and theo frequent. an inconspicuous place, you imagine, when sebastian calls the driver back and ask where’d you gone to. when, you’re sure. not if.

you say thank you as you get down and watch the carriage disappear into the distance. and then, you turn on your heel and walk towards the inevitable.

-

there’s a graveyard at the edge of town. past it, there’s an open cliffside, beyond where the forest ends. you’ve never been to that cliff before, but somehow it feels familiar. the path your feet forges down the dirt feels like it was made for you. you feel like you’ve been here once, in a dream.

when you get there, the sky has turned a dark gray, the clouds just about to burst, an impending storm. you breathe deeply, inhaling the wind that smells like sea and rain, filling your lungs. you linger at the hem of the forest, and should someone see you, they’d say you’re hesitating. you’re not.

you’re so excited your hands are shivering.

ground yourself, you were told once, activate your senses. you take your feet out of your shoes, jumping at the cool of the rock underneath you. steady unlike the swinging in your head. you take your coat off, placing it on the ground, finally feeling the full brunt of the cool wind. you pull your hair out of its ties, letting it loose in the breeze.

you feel so light. like you were made to be here the whole time.

why hadn’t you come here earlier?

one step, two. toward the cliff. the crashing of the waves seem louder and louder. it takes you a moment to realize it’s only because your heart has stopped drumming in your ears. calmness—you feel full, a good kind.

you can jump now. no one to stop you. jump now, while no one has arrived, you tell yourself.

thunder rolls in the distance. a flash of lightning. you step closer to the edge. not too close, but close enough that you feel dizzy. gently, you get down on your knees, just to touch the edge with your hands, as if making sure it’s actually here.

like you’re not dreaming this time. not a ghost, walking through halls. this time you are real.

this is next time.

your heart races up your chest instinctively, warning you of the possibility of falling, but you press your palm on your chest and shush it. quiet, heart—there is nothing to fear. the waves look beautiful—a deep, dark color, something between blue and gray, the white of seafoam in intricate shapes. the waves whip along jagged rocks at the bottom. they sound they make like a frantic parent, shushing a crying child.

the ocean is a beautiful place to die.

slowly, you get up on your feet. there is no more shaking. no more heart desperately begging. there is only you, and all the other parts of you that have conceded defeat. your brain races with excitement at the satisfaction of falling—of having the courage of jumping.

lightning strikes once more. then thunder. you tell yourself, the next time it flashes white, you’ll jump before the thunder calls.

seconds pass. you don’t want to wait, but you’ve waited all this time—what’s a little bit more? your mind is a traitor, flashing imagined worried faces of the rest of the people in the mansion. comte, who will feel infinitely at fault. sebastian, who had let you go. vincent, for not being able to save you even if you were able to be vulnerable with him. everyone else. napoleon, mozart, jean, isaac, arthur, dazai. shakespeare, elsewhere.

and theo.

oh, why theo?

sorry, you want to tell him.

well, you did. you think of the necklace you’d left behind on his bed. the engagement ring strung on it. he would know what it meant.

that’s why it hurts, because he would know.

and you’d rather spare him all this.

hondje!

ah, now you’re hearing him? this is unfair, you tell your brain. we’ve gotten so far, and now you’re sabotaging all my efforts.

hondje!

you take a deep breath, and your eyes are filled with white. lightning strikes in the distance, a go-signal from the universe. your right leg swings over the edge, and—

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

a warm hand curls around your wrist and pulls you backward strongly. you crash into solid arms just as the thunder rolls in with an unprecedented anger.

you only catch a glimpse of your beloved theo’s face, not enough to look clearly, before you’re buried into his chest, his arms around you so tight like he’s worried you’ll disintegrate into thin air if he doesn’t hold you strongly enough.

now stuck in the darkness, your other senses begin to refocus.

taste. there’s blood in your mouth. coppery. you must have bitten your tongue. it makes you nauseous.

smell. the cologne he always wears when he’s going somewhere fancy. sweat, like he ran all the way here. and that distinct theo smell that reminds you of home, like pressed clothes and fresh rain and love. it makes your heart twinge. you were looking for this, hiding underneath his sheets and wearing his clothes. you hoped it would save you. it didn’t. it couldn’t.

touch. why is he shaking if he’s so warm? he has an arm across your head, his hand in your hair, you feel his fingers press against your scalp. his other hand digs into your waist so hard you feel his nails. but the sting is comforting. and it doesn’t actually hurt much, it just feels… real. heavy. tangible. you haven’t felt this in a while. like somehow everything before this touch was just a dream.

and then you hear him. it takes so long, but then you hear him. he’s angry. but not in the way that makes you flinch, that scares everyone who dares oppose him. it’s that kind of angry where he’s hurt so bad the only way he can get it out of him is anger, and you’re breaking too. you can hear it in his voice, the way it shakes, the way it’s desperate to be heard. you feel it even if you don’t hear the words over the hum of your brain, a buzzing that doesn’t seem like it’ll ever go away.

you try to patch up the scattered syllables.

maybe he says “what the fucking hell were you thinking? what if i didn’t make it on time? what would i have fucking done? did you even consider thinking of that? godverdomme, schatje.”

theo doesn’t curse, never that much.

you wonder if this is really him. you wonder if you did this to him.

the part of your mind that is still self-destructing tries to escape his hold: the places where he touches you feels on fire, and deep inside of you a voice calls for the cool embrace of the ocean.

but you don’t find the strength to get up. if death was to burn in searing pain in his arms, then let it be: a penitence for sins you’ve done. for the hurt you’ll leave him breaking apart on.

except theo is cruel, and he will not let you die. when you drift back, he’s calling your name like you weren’t in his arms, but somewhere else.

and you were, somehow. you’ve long left this place, in your head. but you can’t not come back when he’s calling you like that.

silence.

the hush of the wind is all you hear. the waves. your mind goes quiet too.

you wonder if theo’s run out of things to say, or he’s figured that you don’t have the strength to listen. but he doesn’t loosen his embrace around you. for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally died, and you’d just not realized it.

until it rains.

raindrops cold like ice falling from the unforgiving gray sky. it makes you look up, on instinct, and when you do, you catch his eyes. you don’t know if it’s the light, or your own eyesight, but he looks back at you with a stare like a stormy gray sea that has watched many ships sink into its depths.

he’s watching you sink.

you’re watching yourself sink.

you do the least you can do: force the barest of a smile onto your lips, even if it hurts.

and then he cries.

you almost don’t notice because of the rain and how intensely he’s looking at you, but you see the hitch in his breath. his narrowed eyebrows.

his eyes.

at that moment, everything crashes down onto you with its full weight. suddenly, you are flesh and bone again. it’s sensory overload and you feel everything with great intensity: the icy rain dripping on your bare skin, the weight of your clothes, the blood rushing through your veins, the dig of theo’s hands on your skin, the cool of the stormy breeze.

oh, fuck, the weight of having to exist.

the back of your eyes finally burn with tears you’ve been begging to cry out for months—it makes you sob and theo pulls you back against his chest. like in a bubble, stuck in this small moment of each other’s company, the storm, the cliff, the waves don’t exist: there is only you and him, bodies together after what seems like an eternity of floating in the void.

you whisper sorry so weakly into the rain-damp fold of his collar you don’t know if he heard you. but it seems he does, because he presses a kiss to your forehead—chin rough with a light stubble, the sensation grounding you—

and whispers right against your traitorous brain, the one that always is out to knock the life out of you, “live. live. live.”

over and over again like a prayer, like if he says it long enough it’ll ring the same way the next time the shadow that sleeps in your veins wakes up again.

“live. live. live—”

fills the gap in the hollow of your chest with his presence. not love, not protection, no vows to protect. just his presence. two survivors pressed together holding on for dear life as the ship begins to sink, with the only comfort, each other.

your arms wind up around his torso, finally returning his hug, and it is only when his shoulders relax that you notice how tense he’s been all this time.

i can’t promise, you want to tell him, but your voice is lost somewhere, drowned out by the storm. you know with all your heart you are already knee-deep in your grave and you have no right making promises about this. i can’t promise you that, but i’ll do my best. so please stay beside me.

darkness begins to cloud your vision; the exhaustion, the sleeplessness taking over. you’re thankful theo is there to hold you up. far away, the sound of hoofbeats, your little 19th century found family coming to rescue the both of you and bring you back home.

yes, you tell your mind, before you drift into restful sleep, lulled by the sound of theo’s heartbeats. warm in his arms. this is what it means to go home.

[artemismoon12writes]

Title: A Vested Interest

Daltonfic Big Bang: Week 3, Day 5, Dwodd 

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

“Fuck off!” Derek yelled, looking across the large, white and glass hallway of the Ohio Brooks Parker Galleria Mall to the Hot Topic.

“What is it?” Bailey asked, not turning from his sink full of dishes. He was up to his elbows in coffee mugs and dessert-stained plates. “Is Sebastian coming up to ask for another job application?”

“Shut up Bailey, you know it’s only because he thinks Julian’s hot, not because he wants to work here. And no; it’s not that asshole.” Derek gestured across the hallway; Bailey couldn’t see it because he still had his back turned, uncaring. “It’s that fucking asshole and his boyfriend!”

“Who?”

“You know, the assistant manager and that hipster guy!”

“Oh Dwight?” Bailey asked. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re fucking again!”

Bailey made an amused noise. “Good for them.”

“Good for them!?” Derek exclaimed, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, if you could get laid at work you would.” Bailey said, hiding his laughter. “I’m glad you don’t for the record; I don’t want to clean that up, but it’s a little funny.”

“Exactly- how is it that the goth who isn’t even in charge of that place is getting laid and I’m here in a fucking Starbucks like a loser?”

While Derek was ranting, he was ignoring the girl at the register. Bailey shot her a look, commiserating before drying his hands to take her order.

“And if we’re really splitting hairs here Bailey, shouldn’t he, I don’t know? Be doing his job? Instead of letting his little hipster boyfriend fuck him in the changerooms?”

Bailey rolled his eyes, grabbing a larger sized cup for their customer and waving her panicked look aside. It was the least he could do since she was putting up with Derek’s ranting.

“Jeez, Derek if it bothers you so much, just join in our betting pool and you at least could make some money off it.” Bailey said, steaming the milk like it was just another normal day. Which, working with Derek for at long as he had, it kind of was.

“Betting pool?”

Their customer interjected, “I’m from the Barnes and Noble next door; we’ve got it going with us, Clay and the boys in the store, Bailey and y’all, and then then Chels and the Pet Co. downstairs for how long it’ll take the manager to catch them.”

“All those people know? And Ryan still hasn’t figured it out?” Derek asked, confounded.

She shrugged, “Yeah, well, Pet Co. was waiting for the two month mark to send Ryan upstairs at the right moment; but Todd and Dwight were just talking; I’m thinking Clay ran interference so the bet’s still going.”

Derek looked caught between anger and intrigue. He looked at her with a scowl before, “Put me down for fifty bucks on two weeks from now. Ryan’s not an idiot, he’ll realize.”

“Not if he spends all his time downstairs with the fish tanks.” Bailey pointed out.

“Why is he even managing a Hot Topic if he loved animals so much?”

“He’d never sell anything if he worked downstairs, that’s why.” Their customer pointed out, wandering back to the Barnes and Noble with her drink. “Good luck boys!”

Oh it’s on, Derek thought, not realizing how difficult a task it would actually be to accomplish.

---

Two months of this nonsense aside, Dwight Houston had not set out to completely disregard professionalism and decorum when he got this throwaway job at the mall. His mother raised him better than that- or so she kept saying. He was only here for the sole purpose of keeping his car and proving he was responsible- nothing more. If he had enough knowledge of alternative culture to tell people why Hot Topic was the worst place to shop, that wasn’t his problem. He was merely the solution.

When Todd Hendricks, or “Hipster Guy” as he referred to him for the first two weeks in his head, walked in, there was no master plan to get back at his manager for promoting him in this insanity. No, it was only a short conversation, based around Todd’s utter incompetence.

“If she’s a real goth, she will not want anything we sell here. This is emo shit, New Oracle in Glensdale is the real space for crystals. This is just plastic and Yellow 33!” Dwight shook the fake silver jewellery at the customer and his wide rimmed glasses, plaid shirt, and rough, red scarf. “Your sister will not like this.”

“But that’s why it’s funny. Because it’s not authentic.” The customer (who would be known as Todd) said. “She’ll hate it and it’ll be hilarious.”

“It’s offensive! You say she’s a witch, then it’s doubly offensive.” Dwight said, motioning to put the piece back up on the highest shelf with the pole hook.

“I’m her brother, she’ll know it’s a joke.” He argued. “I’m not here to rock your goth purist boat.”

“I am not a goth,” Dwight said, putting the offending piece out of reach. “I am a post-industrial punk with spiritualist leanings; its completely different.”

“Sure.” Was the response, grinning like he’d not proven anything.

Dwight groaned, “Clay, back me up here; the Vampire Diaries spinoff jewellery is not something we should be promoting to any self-respecting goth.”

His part-timer, Clay Rizzo, poked out from behind the piercing display where he totally wasn’t trying to steal new lip rings. “I don’t know Dwight; I am one of those emo pieces of shit, so maybe I’d recommend it?”

“I get no support around here!” Dwight said, stalking to the back of the store. “Impossible!”

Todd looked over to the part-timer, decked in the unofficial uniform of all black and a hundred emo-band pins. “I think I’m dropping by more often.”

Clay gave him an evil grin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

---

From there it escalated; Todd coming in multiple times a week just to annoy Dwight. Well, that’s what Dwight assumed until Todd asked for his phone number.

“What? Why’d you want that?”

Todd looked at him like he was an idiot. “Because I’ve been flirting with you this whole time? Were you not…”

Clay, unknown to the two of them, was watching with Robin and Jake from behind the t-shirts. They were supposed to be executing the planogram; but why do that when there was drama to observe?

“I was not.” Dwight said robotically. “Uh, okay, that’s…”

“I literally looped a tie around your neck and pulled you in, and you didn’t realize I was into you?”

Clay, who remembered that exchange, had to be smothered with a Haven shirt but Jake to stop him from making noise.

“In my defence, I’m not used to people flirting with me.”

“If you’re not interested, that’s fine. I just thought-”

“I’m not not interested?” Dwight interjected before Todd turned away and walked out. “I’m just, uh, not used to … this?”

“I can work with that.”

It somehow progressed, in spite of Dwight’s inherent awkwardness. Jake, Robin, Jasper, and Clay respectively waving the pair off whenever Dwight took his lunch break now.

“They grow up so fast.” Clay said dramatically while Dwight gave him the finger. Todd just smiled at his conspirator and told them to take care of the store. Not that he worked there. He was there often enough he’d take to reminding Dwight about stock orders, schedules, and that Jake had a family dinner coming up so someone had to get it covered. The store had never run so well as it did when Todd started dating their assistant manager.

---

“Where did you guys put the Manic Panic?” Ryan Cobb, actual manager of Hot Topic, called out from the stockroom. “There should be a packing slip for a 3 pack of each colour, but all I see is overstock of those short-shorts!”

“I don’t know, ask Jake,” Dwight said, standing on a step ladder with Jasper spotting him. “He was in last night when the delivery came in.”

“I’m asking you. How can you be my assistant manager and not know where the hair dye is? We have that Chang girl coming in later and I promised her we’d have her order in!” Ryan called. “I’m going on break, that dye should be on the shelf when I get back.”

Ryan left, once again for supposedly fifteen minutes- but the entire staff knew he’d be gone for the rest of the day downstairs to play with the parakeets Pet Co. just got in.

“Oh, you’re in trouble.” Robin said, amused.

“Shut up.” Dwight muttered. “I bet Jake just put them somewhere weird. Call him and see what’s going on.”

“I’ll call him. He told me nothing came in last night though.”

“Perfect, just fucking perfect.” Dwight groaned.  

“What’s wrong?” Todd asked, coming in with a cardboard tray of drinks. “I just saw Ryan go by, if he’s actually in the store for any minute I’m scared the place will burst into flames.”

“Once in a blue moon, it happens I guess.” Dwight admitted, climbing down the ladder to receive his kiss on the cheek and the green tea Todd brought for him.

“What’s happening?” Todd asked, taking his own coffee off the tray and pushing the sugar-laden third and fourth cups to the part-timers he’d been subtly converting to his side. Jasper particularly grabbed his eagerly, gushing thank yous.

“Jake might have lost a delivery.” Dwight paused, “Or not? I don’t know about the warehouse, but they’ve been fucking up recently anyways. I swear I can’t find last night’s order but the stockroom does look like shit…”

“You have a computer? There should be a record of orders received and rejected? I know not everyone still does things hard copy.” Todd suggested.

“It’s in the manager’s office!” Robin volunteered. “Not that we’re allowed in there. It’s for Ryan and Dwight only.”

“Well, they can’t fire me so I don’t care about that rule.” Todd said, taking a sip of his coffee and beelining to the back room.

Dwight scrambled to follow him. “No! No! No customers in the back!”

“Oh come on, if Ryan’s going to get mad at you about it then I might as well try to help.” Todd said, finding the tiny room easily and placing himself in the desk chair like he owned the place. “Password’s hottopic123, very creative, not hacking proof at all.”

“It’s a formality, that’s why it’s on the post-it.” Dwight grumbled, reluctant to admit he was grateful for the help.

“Okay, well according to your emails it’s right there. They’re not sending it because of the USPS strike. I don’t know why Ryan didn’t notice that.” Todd said after a few open tabs and a control+f.

“Oh that’s why.” Dwight grumbled, pointing to the open tabs on tanks for tropical fish. “He was distracted.”

“Why is he in charge of a Hot Topic if he doesn’t want to even work here?” Todd asked, looking through the pages. “Like, if you’re desperate you could work for the raptor sanctuary; they’re hiring.”

“Wait, you know the raptor sanctuary?” Dwight asked, intrigued. “I have an owl there.”

“I’m sponsoring Rowena, the prairie-”

“Merlin.” Dwight finished. “Yeah, she’s the one who the workers are teaching how to do the flight tricks right?”

“Yeah.” Todd paused, “You’re Castiel’s sponsor? I thought that name was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s a good name!” Dwight said before realizing Todd was joking with him. “Oh, okay.”

“So, if Ryan is going to ignore the email in his inbox in favour of spending all his time at Pet Co. I propose we do something to get him back.” Todd said, spinning around in the chair and closing the door to the office. It was more like a cupboard with how much room there was.

Dwight looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Todd locked the door, “You’ll see.”

---

Robin wasn’t sure what was happening until he went to knock on the door and heard it. Shit. Maybe Dwight was cool.

First thing he did was tell Jake over the phone, who told Jasper, who told Clay- who told literally the entire mall by the time he’d made it in for his closing shift.

“Who knew the dude had it in him.” Jake said, punching in, careful to give the office door a lot of room. “I mean, I would do that but Dwight’s always struck me as a bit of a-”

“A nerd?” Jasper supplied.

“I’m so proud of my dads.” Clay said, already on the top of a stepladder switching out t-shirts. “Like, I can’t use that office so I don’t give a shit- but it’s also hilarious. How long do you think it takes Ryan to notice?”

“First, they’re not your dads.” Jake said.

“Todd gave me a gold star for my pins last week, they’re my dads.” Clay said, half joking, but mostly trying to annoy Jake.

“Okay, fine. Secondly, Ryan isn’t going to notice shit. If he hasn’t notice you’ve been stealing lip rings to wear while at work he is not going to notice Dwight’s boyfriend fucked him in the office.”

“Or did Dwight fuck him?” Jasper asked.

“I don’t care.” Jake dismissed the comment. “Either way, it’ll be, like a year before Ryan realizes something is up.”

Clay grinned, “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“You’re on.”

The pot, by the time Pet Co., Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, and Radio Shack got in on the action, was somewhere around $400. The only ones unaware, were the couple in question and Ryan Cobb.

---

“Shit, Clay! This isn’t what it looks like.” Dwight said hurriedly, Clay pulling open the curtain to the change rooms enough to poke his head in.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re just passionately embracing Todd.” Clay shrugged, “I could be wrong.”  

Todd would have normally made a quip back, but he was too close to reply. “Uh, not a good time.”

“Well, you’ve got almost no time at all for this quickie because Ryan is on his way back. AKA, he’s on the elevator and if you’re here balls deep-“

“I will curse you so hard-”

“You’re already hard, I get it. Put some pants on, wrap it up.” Clay said, flipping the curtain closed. At least the two of them were polite enough to not make any of the part-timers do cleaning duties on these occasions.

Either way, Clay has a vested interest in not alerting Ryan right now. The pot was up to $800 now, and he would need that for next semester’s books. College was expensive.

---

In the end, it wasn’t Ryan who caught them; it was the night security guard who got them outside in Dwight’s ridiculously out of date Chevy. With an ‘indecent exposure’ strike on his record, Ryan had to let Dwight go. The betting pool wasn’t sure if this meant the bet was on, or off.

The next week, when he found Todd wandering past the Hot Topic to the men’s bathrooms with one lanky, gothic boyfriend in tow- he shot Todd a thumbs up and informed the rest of the mall the game was still on.

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

[lorentibbs-blog]

Manic Depressive

Manic Depressive.

Every morning he makes me a cup of tea.

Once he even delivered a Harry Spesh- one-part espresso, one- part hot water and one- part steamed milk, to me in the shower. I wondered whether Espresso Cartel could offer this service during alert level 3 in the current pandemic.

“I do not want a relationship”. He looked at me with eyes verging on panic. Our conversation before that had also put me on edge. I had introduced myself and he said ‘I know who you are. We are friends on Facebook’. It had made me feel uncomfortable to have been connected on social media with someone who I did not recognize in real life. He had even come to my flat to collect a costume from my flatmate before the party we were at and I did not recognize him then or now.

 A party on top of a mountain. Well because my life had become rather progressive and trendy from the outside looking in. My flatmates had introduced me into a world of polyamory, sophisticated and successful people who cared about the environment, radical self-acceptance ( I only understood it as a concept at this point), and drug use that took me to places I’d never imagined. Inside however, I was in absolute turmoil. I was very unwell and did not know how sick I was at that point.

We had laughed as he explained that we had matched on Tinder and I had insisted on communicating on Facebook. We had arranged to meet at Toad Hall for coffee but 10 minutes beforehand I had decided it was all too much for me. When I looked back on that conversation, Sebastian had responded eloquently to my crazed blow off message and even said that he had had a lovely morning at the market instead. He has this way of understanding and making you feel human for your flaws rather than an insane nut job. The jury is still out for me on that one

The party itself was too much for me. I had climbed a mountain on LSD with two amazing wahine and then stepped into the lodge which was full of equally astounding people. I was terrified. I made my way to a bunk and clung on to my safety duo, Clara, and Tess. We went through the motions, the costumes, dinner (more vegan options than not), excruciating anxiety, the drugs, the fashion show, and the sex pile. The fashion show had ended with my flatmate Ngairi, whose birthday it was, atop a human pyramid. I dropped some MDMA like most of the party goers had. I had hoped this would curb my anxiety and fatigue. It helped but I did find myself going back and forth between the main room and my bunk all night. At one stage I had been led onto another bunk by my other flatmate Ryan, who was Ngairi’s partner. They are polyamorous you see, and he had asked me if I had wanted to hook up.

I always feel so good the next day after MDMA. I should probably explore why this is. I guess when I am on the drug, I have all these revelations and then the next morning potentially I feel lighter?

So, after 12 hours of stepping into the lodge I was finally ready to introduce myself to someone. 

Sebastian was by himself pretending to look busy with a broom. I enthusiastically (probably the most energetic and social I had felt the whole time) introduced myself and the conversation flowed around depression, anxiety, and Sebastian’s house build. I had suggested that we go for coffee at Toad Hall like we had initially planned to 2 years before. This is where I was taken back with his response of “I don’t want a relationship” it was like he had seen my brain ticking off all the characteristics I was valuing as we spoke. “sensitive, understanding of depression, attractive, a Colgate worthy smile, built his own house, older than me, mutual friends and blue eyes that saw right through me”. Later I would tease him about his panicked response as if I were ‘just’ asking him to go for coffee

Getting to know Sebastian has been a remarkably interesting journey since then and has been the catalyst for much introspection.

As I walked down the mountain that afternoon, I did a lot of self-reflection. I was thankful that one of our trio had left us early and I was left just walking down with Clara Keel. I found it so easy to talk to Clara. I think she found it easy to talk to me too. Even in a manic-depressive episode I was able to make beautiful connections with admirable people. Her girlfriend suffered from major depression and anxiety and was on Venlafaxine. It was very enlightening to hear from Clara as a partner with someone with depression. Clara invited me to go snowboarding with her and her friends over the winter and we promised to see each other very soon. I did not see her again for a long time. Turns out she is outrageously hard to pin down. I am stoked about that though because Clara keeps herself busy with a lot of incredible environmental and political work. We stopped and chatted to various people from the party down the mountain. Our ride Mikey Clementine was running down the mountain and said he was happy to wait for us at the carpark.  We caught up with Sebastian and a crew he was walking with. We walked down with him and I was very aware of him positionally to me. I did not really talk too much. Id taken a mushroom and weed coconut concoction that my ex had made me and I was vibing with the trees and my surroundings. I was very appreciative of the conversation Sebastian and Clara were having and was happy just witnessing it

On the ride back, my mushroom trip was really kicking in. Mikey blew my mind when he described his interest in the dominant and submissive scene. He made a point I have never forgotten and in that moment a switch flicked in my head. He explained that with every sexual session all participants would sit down before hand and have a discussion around their expectations, wants, limits, and fetishes. If either party felt uncomfortable or did not feel like their sexual style matched, then nothing would go ahead. I felt like these conversations should be happening around any kind of sex. It would save so much miscommunication and boundaries being crossed. In the history of my sexual life these conversations were really lacking and had there been space for them that may have saved a lot of suffering. Interesting that this style of sex is viewed in quite a dark and risky light by most but could potentially be the safest kind in terms of discussion, boundaries and consent. Purely because a discussion is expected and is compulsory beforehand.

Ngairi was absolutely filled with joy after her birthday party. We chatted in the kitchen and she was fizzing about the weekend’s events. I began to tell her the story about Sam and I and our failed tinder meet up. She paused me mid-way through and vomited rainbows and unicorns over her experience of Sebastian that weekend. She described their rendezvous in the pile of costumed MDMA cuddle puddle participants. Ngairi was on top of Sebastian in the cuddle puddle.  “Ryan bounced up to me in his bunny costume and I was so happy to see him” she described their embrace as she disclosed into Ryan’s ear “Sebastian has a boner!”. Ryan and Ngairi both giggled and shared a cheeky grin as he bounced away. Sebastian was fingering Ngairi the whole time the interaction took place. As it turned out, Ngairi and Sebastian had fooled around in the cuddle puddle and had intercourse before Ngairi returned to her bunk with Ryan. Later Sebastian would tell me he thought I had known that him and Ngairi had slept together the night before when I asked him if he wanted to go for a coffee. ‘yeah I thought you knew and were still asking me out. I thought wow this polyamory thing is real eye-opening stuff

Ryan in turn had hooked up with a large percentage of the party, me included. When Ryan and I had hooked up I was taken back when he stopped our encounter and told me he was going back to the party. It was interesting to initially feel rejected he did not want to take things further like I thought we were going to. I am thankful for the experience of having someone stop me in my tracks sexually. Anyone can stop any sexual encounter at any time. I guess I was just flabbergasted momentarily as I have never had any male stop me before. I stayed in the bunk and rested after this. Ryan came back to check if I was okay. I was so exhausted, and my brain was very fuzzy at this stage.

I will not deny that I was disappointed when Ngairi had told me about her encounter with Sebastian. In fact, I will go as far as to say I thought “fuck you Ngairi, you have the best boyfriend can’t you be happy with that”. I reflected on this thought process and by the end of the week I was disappointed in myself for thinking this way.

Ngairi Newton chose to live her life this way. She was in a committed polyamorous relationship with Ryan Mcgregor This relationship allowed her to explore any other relationship in any way she liked and vice versa. I had found her perspective on relationships so exciting initially.  Polyamory was a new concept for me, and I had found myself in the household of the most exceptional and liberating relationship id ever heard of.

So how did I find myself in the position I was in? Unemployed, depressed, anxiety ridden and barely coping, living with two of the most inspirational and functional people I have ever met?

I was living with Ngairi and Ryan for the second time. The first time was only a three week stay while I was in between places. I am always in between places as you will find out. I am in between places right now as we speak. And will be 5 times over by the time this story is done.

Emilie my flatmate at the time had invited me to a Halloween party. Emilie was a very bizarre and unnerving woman but one that was difficult to say no to. I remember feeling instantly connected to her when I first viewed the room. We engaged in deep conversation incredibly early on, I mean I do not believe I was there longer than half an hour. We both identified our fathers as the cause of all the turmoil in our lives.  She did not hear me when I first knocked on the door even though I was bang-on on time (sat outside in the car for 20 minutes because I was early). She was on her kitchen floor pulling all the contents out of the cupboard. Her current flatmate had told her about a book that was about de cluttering your life (literally). She had just flown back from a disastrous 3-month trip in France and was experiencing some severe jet lag. She had just cleaned out her wardrobe and I left in a state of glee with all the gorgeous garments this exciting woman no longer wanted. Two weeks into moving in with Emilie I knew I had made a mistake. We found ourselves in a very messy situation in the end that was further complicated by my close friends taking the room I was not quite ready to give up.

 I had realized that I could not live with her. She had taken it to heart when I told her this and somehow my telling her I was thinking about looking for a new room turned into me giving her two weeks’ notice. I guess there may have been a miscommunication. Little did I know how scarce accommodation in Nelson was at this point.  Anyway, through all of this we managed to stay civil and she invited me, like the Gemini she is, to a party the weekend before I was to move out.  We found it difficult to find the party and when we did it was really humming. Turned out to be a party of a woman who I had met before. Again, on the path to finding the right accommodation.  Chrissie and I had met at Claudia’s house. Claudia owned a house I had fallen in love with, the room available was Christie’s room. I did not get the room. This party was a housewarming for Chrissie’s new place. I had enquired about this place as well.  Chrissie had told me over text that she was looking for a new house because she wanted to take drugs over the summer and have more of a party living environment. She then said that she thought it would not really suit me as at that point I had intense social anxiety. Since then I have befriended several people in a circle of friends that Chrissie and I now share. We have encountered each other a few times. Each of those times I have been unwell. She is beautiful, funny, Canadian and she is an engineer. Its hard not to be starstruck by her. I imagine Chrissie and I would get on like a house on fire if I were at my best when I ran into her, I always seem to be unwell though. Emilie is gone within moments of us entering the sea of costumed people. I make a bee line to the table of snacks. And I start munching on chips and dip as if my life depended on it. I am not sure how it happened but I found myself in a conversation with a woman in an amazing shiny pants suit, the blazer atop a sequined bikini top, her face was painted in a Mexican skull design and she had a platinum blonde bob. What a bad bitch. (id never actually say that in real life. Real hero behind a keyboard type stuff)

When Mel, a fellow volunteer from the Wellness Movement, suggested asking her if she would rent out her spare room, I was not picturing Ngairi as the woman in from of me.

I had imagined a 40 + year old slightly chubby Maori woman with a couple of cats. As it turned out Ngairi only had one cat named Espresso. I am fairly sure Espresso wouldn’t have had me if she had had a choice in the matter. Fair enough too as it turns out.

[irksomeirene]

Days Untold

Chapter 5 is published!

AO3

Should I have at least glanced at this before publishing? Absolutely. Will I make any actual attempts to edit it? lol fuck no. Will this potentially write me into a corner in the future; track record says yes.

Enjoy this first draft bullshit.

While Sebastian Moran was probably Molly’s first adulthood friend, Caroline had by far been Molly’s longest friendship. Caroline and Molly had met at uni and were friends for a little over twelve years before Caroline just sort of up and left. Caroline was… an odd sort. She could play well at being all sorts of normal but when it was just the two of them, the weird came out in full force. It was probably what made them such good friends for so long. Instead of an odd look or an awkward silence when Molly made her rather infamous morbid jokes, Caroline would snicker right along with her. They could talk about death and decomposition and all sorts of interesting things over lunch without either having their apatite spoiled.

Despite all their years together, all the good and bad they’d shared with one another, Molly always felt as if Caroline kept a part of herself out of Molly’s reach; hidden and off limits. Molly thought she might have caught glimpses of it whenever they people watched at the park and Caroline’s made of stories on those they observed had more than a gentle ring of truth to them; or when Caroline would get frustrated, her temper snapping, manic energy filling her friend up to the brim, a certain look in her eye that made Molly think maybe—just maybe—Caroline might be very capable of not letting her leave the room alive.

And then, of course, there were the changes in appearance. For the first two years they knew each other, Caroline always looked like Caroline: Large black rim glasses, auburn hair (in a terribly messy bun or down with a little curl at the ends but always with the perfectly straight edged bangs), red lips, jean jacket (that Molly often found fun little patches for), leggings, and a brightly colored comfy dress underneath. Sometimes, when they had study sleep overs, Caroline would steal one of Molly’s comfy jumpers to wear over her dress in lieu of her jacket to wear to their favorite breakfast place. It was comfortable. It was familiar. Until the day Caroline showed up to their weekend people watching spot twenty minutes late in practical office worked kitten heels, fishnets, a pencil skirt, silk blouse, posh coat, brown eyes, and platinum blonde hair in a stylish bob.

For a long few minutes Molly just stared. There was not one bit of her familiar Caroline in the woman sat next to her—not a single drop. But Molly had known the minute she sat down it was Caroline. She tried to put together a compliment—Caroline really did look amazing—but all that tumbled out of her mouth when she finally maned to open it was a squeaky, “What?”

The woman looked over with a cool and sophisticated air and for one perilous moment, Molly thought she might actually be mistaken. Maybe this wasn’t actually Caroline. All visual evidence said this very much was not Caroline. Oh god, and now she’d made this posh woman think she’d had the misfortune of sharing a park bench with a crazy person. Worse, Caroline, in the year and a half they’d taken to people watching, had never been more than a handful of minutes late. And if this wasn’t Caroline, twenty minutes late but with a fantastic makeover as an excuse, maybe her best friend was in trouble. Maybe she’d been hurt or harassed on her way here. Maybe she was dead. Neither one of them had mobiles—neither one of them really had any people to call besides each other and they were so expensive, it was hardly worth it when they quite comfortably oscillated between practically living with each other and Caroline’s occasional vanishing acts. Did Caroline even have Molly as her emergency contact?

The panic came and went in a flash. Because in the next moment Caroline blinked and Molly was certain again; this was Caroline, blonde hair, brown eyes, and all.

“Job interview?” Molly tried again.

“Why would you think that?” Caroline asked, and Molly was rather relieved to hear Caroline’s voice coming out of this near-stranger’s face.

“Office clothes, new look; posh job interview, yeah?”

Caroline hummed, considering as she took a sip from her coffee (Molly hadn’t even noticed it), “Something like that.”

It was strange and mysterious and met with exactly no further explanation; but it didn’t put a dent in their people watching. The next day Caroline was back to her familiar Caroline self (complete with past the shoulders auburn hair and blue-green eyes). Molly would have been content to forget about the whole thing—simply write it off as a little one off of extra weird on top of Caroline’s every day weird.

But it kept happening.

Not every day. Not even every people watching weekend or even every month. There was no rhyme or reason or schedule to Caroline’s occasional full body transformations. Sometimes it would be months between incidences, other times there were four in a single week.

At first, it was deeply unnerving and made Molly nervous about how little she actually knew about her best friend. But like so much in her life; Molly gradually adapted to it. It slowly became just another odd aspect of Caroline. Molly even gave little compliments here and there when she spotted aspects of one look or another that looked particularly good on Caroline.

I think the longer hair suites you better.

You should keep that dress—we can have a posh girl’s night after finals.

Those shoes are adorable, you should keep them.

That’s a good colour on you.

And so on and so on and so on until Molly hardly even noticed it anymore. It seemed to make their friendship stronger somehow. And for a while, Molly thought she might have found a friend that would stay by her side for the rest of their lives.

But all things must change and the good always comes to an end.

Months before Molly’s slow descent into cigarettes and alcohol and pills, Caroline pulled one of her usual vanishing acts. Only this time, instead of days or weeks or even over a month (though that had only happened once before), Caroline was gone for years. It wasn’t until two weeks into her new post at St. Bart’s (three weeks since she’d taken her very last pill) that Caroline decided to swan back into Molly’s life.

It wasn’t fair that Molly looked worn down and just generally rather terrible while Caroline looked pristine even in her nurse scrubs (though Molly could see the manic edges fizzling about the seams). Their friendship was rekindled—though it was sometimes somewhat strained and there were more sharp edges to Caroline than Molly remembered—and they even added a third to their group; Meena from oncology. Caroline didn’t always seem to exactly enjoy Meena—perhaps “tolerated” was the closest polite term for what existed between Caroline and Meena. It really didn’t help that at some point in their group friendship, Caroline had taken to obsessing over a hedge of all things. And “obsessing” was by no means an understatement. Caroline could hardly go a single interaction with Molly without going into a small murder-rant about this bloody stupid hedge.

Molly tried to listen. Tried to understand—was pretty sure this hedge wasn’t actually a hedge but more likely a bloke or a neighbor or something because Caroline would often slip up and call the thing a “he.” But when Caroline plopped down across from her in the break room—didn’t even seem to notice Molly had been crying her eyes out over Sherlock’s most recent deductions of her apparently gay boyfriend—and launched straight into her stupid bloody hedge; Molly snapped. She would forget the majority of her rant as blind hurt poured out of her but later, when she learned and knew, she would remember all to vividly the final words she said to Caroline:

“You can throw it off the bloody roof for all I care; just stop bitching about your stupid bloody hedge!”

She stormed off to the ladies, shaking with hurt and rage. She paced in the locker room for a few minutes before she’d calmed down enough to cup some cool water to her face—holding it there for a while, wondering briefly if it’d be entirely possible to drown like that—before regret crept into her gut. But by the time she’d dried off and returned to the break room, Caroline was gone.

The next time she met Caroline, it would be Molly Hooper in an unrecognizable new skin and Caroline who bore her true face. Next time she met Caroline, Molly Hooper would not immediately know her friend as she once had; it would take time and still, she would doubt. The next time she met Caroline, her name would not be Caroline, it would be the name of a god.

And it would suite her.