#so my self-therapy session immediately turns into 'its always been like this it always will be and youre too much for everyone you meet' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

swag696942069 · 1 year

Text

The Blissful Paradise of a High

Hi, so this is ass. Like, genuinely. I wrote it when I didn't have wifi for two weeks, but this took me two days to write, and its 5167 words 😭 can you tell how bored I was? Any who, it's a Euphoria inspired oneshot that may or may not be turned into an actual fic. I make no promises. Thanks to @transdorcasmeadows for the help with it.

Tw: drug addiction, drug deal(s), self harm, suicide jokes, depictions of drug overdose, depictions of drug relapse, mentions of death (brief), cursing, fighting (they just like, yell at each other, but I know that can still be triggering)

James had made a lot of mistakes in the short seventeen years he had been on this earth.

His biggest one, was the one that ended him up in this place to begin with.

James was currently about to complete his 60th day in rehab, for his 'drug addiction' as his mother, friends, and doctors have told him repeatedly over the past few month.

James doesn't remember exactly what had happend the night of his overdose. No one had told him the full story no matter how many times he'd asked.

All he knew was, he was home alone, Lily got home, heard weird noises coming from his room, and when she went to go check on him, she found James facedown in the middle of the room, in the midst of a seizure, that was caused due to the overdose.

James remembers waking up in his hospital room with, his mom, Lily, and Peter asleep in chairs around his bed.

James remembers feeling a surge of guilt when he realized what was going on.

He didn't remember what happend, but he knew it had to be bad, by the way his mom immediately burst into tears when he shook her awake, and the way she wrapped her arms around his in a bone crushing hug, and refused to let go, even after Lily had ran to get the doctor.

Immediately after he was released, he was taken to a rehab center in the next town over. He was still in his hospital gown.

Peter, and Lily, rode with him and his mom on the way to the clinic, and James remembers singing along to some random song that he didn't remember memorizing the lyrics to, to try and get his friends to laugh, smile, do anything besides silently cry in the backseat.

James had one last group therapy session to go to and then he was home free.

James sat down in his normal seat, and did what he always did during group therapy, stay quiet, and whenever someone looked at him pretending he was doing what he was supposed to.

At the end of the session, the leader of the group, came up to him and gave him a hug, "We're so proud of you James. You've worked so hard. And I know in my heart you'll be able to over come anything after this."

James thought this woman was really fucking stupid. If she had been doing her job, she would be able to tell that half the people here were still doing drugs. Including him. James was high right now for Christ sakes!

James smiled at her, "Thank you, Susan. I really don't know what I would've done without this place. I probably would be curled up in a ditch somewhere by now." James thought that that wasn't such a bad idea actually. Curling up in a nice little ditch didn't seem that bad compared to most things.

She smiled at him again, "I'm just so happy for you James. This is the start of the rest of your life! And if you even feel like using ever again, you just look at this chip," She handed him a fucking drug addict anonymous chip, "and know that you can overcome even the strongest of urges!"

James had never wanted to hit someone so badly in his life before. How is looking at a fucking piece of plastic supposed to stop him from getting high?!

James smiles at her again, "Thank you Susan." He brought her in for another hug. "Thanks for everything." Fucking bitch.

James was escorted out of the building, he saw Lily and his mom parked outside of the facility.

"James!" Lily yelled as soon as she saw him. They both started running, and ended up almost knocking each other down when they met in the middle, wrapping each other up in a hug. "I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too, Lils." James smiled.

When they pulled away, James looked up and smiled at his mom, who was still standing by the car. James threw his arms up in the air, as if to say 'I did it!' His mom looked like she'd aged ten years, she had more wrinkles, her hair was beginning to grey, and she seemed really tired, but when she smiled back at him, James knew it was still his mom there.

On the car ride home, he sat in the back, letting Lily have the front seat, James always preferred the back, made it harder for people to notice how red his eyes were, his mom kept saying something about how proud she was of him, and how this was a good thing, and that this was a new chapter for him. James smiled and nodded along, not really listening to a word she said, too busy looking out the window, he saw a boy on a bike pass them, and for some reason, James couldn't look away, his high was coming down, it had been a few hours since he took anything.

After James put his bags away in his room he went back out into the kitchen and saw his mom sitting at the counter, busily typing away at something on her computer.

"Hey, so I was think of going out, to see some people." He said, trying to sound casual.

"What people?" She asked, not looking up from her computer.

"Just some friends." He said, opening up the fridge and pulling out the jug of orange juice.

When James turned around he was met with the sight of his mother staring at him suspiciously, "What friends? People I know?"

James knew what she meant by that question, were they going to be people he could get drugs from.

"I was thinking about going to see Marls and Mary, maybe Peter, I don't know. I just haven't seen any of them in so long and I," James knew just how to get what he wanted. "I just miss them so much," he let his voice crack a little and let a small tear run down his face, one that he dramatically wiped off, "and I just feel so guilty. They must've been so worried and I want them to know that I'm okay now. That I'm better. Cause," another tear, "I really am mom. I'm better. And I'm just so sorry for everything. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just-" he knew it was a dick move but, "I just miss dad so much."

That was it. That's what really sold it for his mom. "Oh, Baby." She got up and wrapped her arms around him as he cried. "I miss him too. Of course you can go see your friends."

"Really?" He asked, wiping away the fake tears.

"Of course, Baby. Just be back in time for dinner, okay?" She said, wiping away the rest of his tears.

"Of course, mom." He kissed her cheek. "Love you."

"I love you too."

James knew it was wrong to lie to his mom like that, but she would've never let him go if he told her where he was really going.

The Bottom was a convenience store a few blocks away from where James lived. It was run by these two brothers, Frank, and Neville. Frank was a bit of a dumbass, James figured it was all the drugs he did that fried the last of his remaining brain cells. Neville was a bit scary if James was being honest, he was like, twelve, and he knew more about drugs than anyone James had ever met, even more than Frank, and he was his dealer.

When James got to The Bottom, he saw Frank sitting outside on what looked like a old, rained on, couch that was outside for some fucking reason. "What's good, man?" James asked as he walked up to Frank.

"Wassup, man. How've you been? Heard you was in rehab?"

"Yeah, just got out a few hours ago."

"Oh no shit? How was it?"

"Well, ever since I gave my life over to my Lord and savior, Jesus Christ, things have been, like, really good." James joked.

Frank obviously missed the punchline. "Oh, that's what's up."

"Dude, Frank, I'm fuckin with you." James laughed.

Frank put his hands up in defense, "Shit man, I don't judge."

"But for real, is Nev in the back?"

Frank gave him a confused look, "What, are you serious? Didn't chu just get outta rehab?"

"What? You think just cause I went to rehab, I stayed clean?" James said with a raised brow, looking around just to make sure no one was around to see this exchange happen.

"Well, ain't that the point?"

"Yeah, well," James started walking backwards into the store, "the world's coming to an end, and I haven't even finished high school yet." James had his hands up as he spun around and made his way fully into the store.

James went to the back of the store, where the fridges are and opened an empty one.

"Hey." James said upon entering and seeing Neville eating a bowl of cereal.

Neville looked up with a dumbstruck, expression on his face, like he'd just seem a ghost, "I thought you were fucking dead."

"What the fuck? Why?" James asked with a look of pure confusion on his face.

"I don't know? That's just what people be sayin and shit."

"Whatever. Got anything?"

"Yeah, yeah." Neville put his bowl of cereal down and opened up a box and pulled out some of James regular. "Wanna try anything new?"

"Like what?" James asked, as he finished putting the narcotics in his pocket.

Neville pulled out two little pills that looked like they could be ecstacy "We got, 2C-T-2, 2C-T-7, and 5-MeO-DIPT."

James looked at him blankly, "I'm sorry, I have zero fucking idea what you just said."

Neville waved him off, "It doesn't matter. But this shit is fucking lit."

James looked down at the little pill in Neville's hand, "What is it?"

"N-diisopropyl-5-methoxytryptamine. It's a fast-acting psychedelic. Got some similarities to LSD, but with, like, key differences. Not as visual and shit, but definitely a sense distorter." Neville explained.

James shrugged, still not fully understanding anything that was just said to him, "Yeah, okay." he said anyway, he was willing to try most anything once.

"That'll be 120."

"Uh, Frank said he spot me." James said, already walking away.

"Frankie don't spot nobody." Neville said, never buying into James's shit.

"Well you should go ask him. He said it was a post-rehab discount." He lied.

"I will go ask him, cause I know you're full of shit." Neville said as James walked the rest of the way out the backdoor and into the alley behind the store.

James saw Frank and Barty Crouch jr, doing a drug deal. James politely looked away, as anyone should when they encountered such a thing. You wouldn't want someone staring at you as you do a drug deal, would you?

Barty got into his car and began to drive away, "Ayo! I do it for Potter!" He yelled as he drove past James.

James never really had any sort of real problem with Barty. There was that time that he tried to kiss him, drunk at a party without his consent in freshman year, but besides that they barely knew each other.

James decided to just wander around for a while before heading home, that was until he got a spam all text from Sirius Tonks, saying that there was gonna be a party at Evan Rosier's house in a few hours.

And that gave James the, brilliant idea, to 'pre-game' with all the drugs he had on him, except for the new shit Neville gave him, James decided to save that for later.

James didn't really know Evan Rosier all that well, he knew that he was Barty Crouch Jr's best friend, and that he and Mary had been going out for a little while, this summer. He heard that from Lily on the drive back home, who heard it from Peter, who heard it from Marlene, who heard it from Mary herself.

Now, it was currently six p.m. the party didn't start until ten, and James knew he had to be home for dinner or else his mom would send out a search party, but, James was also really fucking high. Maybe taking all those drugs at once wasn't such a good idea when he had to be home soon.

James somehow made it home without any real problems, he had gotten a little lost on the way, but James figured it was probably just because he hadn't been home in a few months and he just forgot which way to go.

James stumbled in the house through the back door, his mom was standing in the kitchen.

"Where have you been?" She asked.

"I was at Mary's." He lied, making his way down the hall to his room.

His mom followed him, "No you weren't. You're high right now! Aren't you?"

James rolled his eyes. "I'm not high mom. I was at Mary's."

"You're lying. You're always lying, James! Just tell me the truth!" She was beginning to yell.

She never used to yell.

"I'm telling you I was at Mary's!"

"No you weren't!"

"If you don't believe me call her! Call her and ask her if I was there!"

"You know what? I will, cause I don't trust you anymore, James. I don't." She had tears welling up in her eyes.

"Mom." James said sadly, walking up to her.

She shook her head and backed away. "I can't trust you anymore James. I never used to have to worry like this."

"You don't-" James let out a breath, "You don't have to worry mom. I'm fine. I'm not lying, I was at Mary's."

His mom got a stern look on her face, "I need you to pee in a cup."

"What? You wanna drug test me?!" He was starting to get really fucking angry.

"I can't trust you James!" She yelled, trying so desperately to sound stern.

"I just fucking peed! I can't take the drug test if I just fucking peed!"

"James you have to take it! It's not an option."

"How do you expect me to take it if I just fucking peed!?" James was speed walking into his room. James went to go shut his door and it slammed harder than he intended it to.

"Don't slam any doors in my house!" He heard his mom say on the other side of the door.

"It was an accident." He said, sitting down against it so his mom couldn't open it. James had noticed when he got home earlier that his door no longer had a lock.

"You gotta take the test, James."

"I just fucking peed!" He laughed out of frustration.

"Fine! Slam another door!" And James heard her walk away.

Now, theres a few ways to fake a drug test. You could do what James had done with every other drug test he'd taken in the past two months, and get a sober person to pee in the cup for him. But, since most at home drug test had heat sensory, it has to be warm. And since James was sure his mom was going to stand in the bathroom while he did it, he couldn't really do the sink trick. So he had to get it fresh.

James snuck out his bedroom window and hauled ass down the street, making his way to Peter's house.

James knocked on the door and Peter opened it. "Hey, James." He said, wrapping his arms around him.

"Hey." James said, hugging him back. James saw Marlene and Mary sitting at the kitchen table a little bit away.

"What're you doing here?" Peter asked when they pulled apart.

James gave him a desperate look. "I need you to..."

"What?" Not getting it.

"No, like I'm serious, Pete."

"What?" Still not getting it.

James rolled his eyes and leaned in and whispered into Peter's ear.

When he pulled away, Peter looked at him with a look of anger and annoyance, and, sadness. "Are you serious?"

"Please, Peter." James whispered. He was really fucking desperate.

Peter sighed, defeated. "Okay." And he walked upstairs.

"Hey Jamie!" Marlene said, after Peter began to walk upstairs.

James put on a smile. "Hey Marls, Mary."

"Hey, Jamesie." Mary said with a small smile.

James actually really loved Mary. Most people though really low of her, but she was actually really sweet.

"You going to Rosier's party tonight?" Marlene asked.

Mary smacked her in the arm and gave her a look.

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe."

"You should. Sirius is going and Fabian's gonna be there, so you know theres gonna be a fight." Marlene said with a smirk.

Sirius Tonks was Mary's best friend. He had been going out with Fabian Prewitt for a little over a year. They fought non stop and had broken up a zillion times.

"Nuh-uh, Siri and Fab broke up. Sirius says he's so over him." Mary informed.

"Yeah but he says that everytime." Marlene rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well he says this time is different." Mary did her best to defend her best friend to her other best friend.

James didn't really know all that much about Sirius. He had moved to town when they were freshmen, after his parents died or something and he like, lived with his older cousin? James wasn't sure. The only time they ever even actually spoke was when they both so happened to be hanging out with the same group of people, and even then it was usually just pleasantries.

"Whatever. The party's still gonna rock." Marlene said with a smile as Peter came back downstairs and slyly handed James the medicine bottle filled with pee.

"Heres that book you needed." Peter handed him some random book that James didn't recognize from the cover.

"Thanks Pete." He whispered to him.

"Whatever." He mumbled, looking away from him.

"I'll see you guys later!" He called out before leaving. He heard a chorus of 'bye's' as he left.

James ran back home, snuck back in through his window, snorted some more coke and then called out to his mom that he was ready to pee. "Mom! I gotta pee!"

Once inside the bathroom his mom handed him the cup.

"I wish we could do this in a way that didn't invade my privacy." James said holding the cup in the air with a sad expression on his face, one that he hoped would get his mom to feel bad enough to leave the room.

But his mom didn't budge. "You lost your right to privacy when you overdosed." She said.

James sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to win this one, and turned to the toilet.

His mom at least turned around, as to not physically watch him pee, which James was very grateful for. It would've been really hard to explain why he was peeing out of his jacket sleeve.

James knew how to do this correctly. Drop a little bit in the toilet so his mom thinks he's actually peeing, then just pour the rest in the cup.

"Do you know how worried you made everyone? And to have Lily, be the one who found you... the girl who sees you as a brother..."

James's eyes filled with tears, "Can we, not talk about that right now, mom." He asked, taking in shallow breaths to try and stop himself from crying even more. James hated himself for it having to have been Lily, who found him. He hated himself anyway, but he could only imagine what must've went through Lily's brain when she found him. Face down. Basically choking on his own vomit. As he seized out of control.

Once James was finished pouring the pee into the cub, he slid the medicine bottle back into his pocket and turned around, placed the pee filled cup on the counter, and turned to wash his hands as his mom put the sticks into it.

After about a minute, the result came in to show that it was clean.

"I told you I was at Mary's." James whispered.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry." His mom said quietly, wrapping her arm around him.

"It's okay, Mom...." an idea. "Can I stay over at Peter's tonight?" He asked as they pulled away.

"That's fine, James. Just, grab some dinner before you go?"

"Yeah. Thanks, mom. Love you." He said with a small smile.

"I love you too, Baby."

He made his way back out into the kitchen, took a few bites of whatever the hell his mom made, and was back out the door.

James was walking to the party cause he didn't have his license, cause he was smart enough to know that addicts shouldn't drive, and he had this rule where he doesn't skate and smoke cause like.... James got a flash of memories of him attempting to skate and immediately eating shit.... its fucking dangerous.

He was walking past The Bottom when a car started driving really slowly behind him.

"What the fuck? Is that James?!" He heard a voice say from inside the car.

"Holy shit! I thought he died!" Another voice said, making James frown.

"Oh god I hate ghosts." James recognized the voice of Marlene say that.

"Yo, Casper!" James turned around at that. "Need a ride?"

James walked up to the car and saw, Sirius Tonks, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon and Pandora Rosier in it. "Why thank you." He said when he approached the car, hopping in the back seat when Pandora moved over to the middle.

On the car ride to the party, Marlene vaped, Sirius and Dorcas fought over directions, and Pandora sang along to the song on the radio, as James layed his head on the window, he could've sworn he saw the same biker from before, ride up to the motel on 36.

"I telling you it's to the left!" Dorcas said, looking at her phone, which had the map pulled up.

"I've been to Evan's house a million times! I think I know where the fuck I'm going!" Sirius bit back.

"Why don't you ask Pandora? Since she, like, lives there?" Marlene said, already baked as fuck.

All eyes in the car turned to Pandora.

"I don't live with Evan." She said with a ditsy expression on her face.

"But he's your brother?" Dorcas said confused.

"Yeah, but he lives there with our mom, and I live with my dad. I have no fucking idea where we're going."

James was wondering why she was in the car with them if she lives with Rosier. Turns out he was wrong.

"Oh." Marlene said. "My bad. Go back to fighting I guess."

"We wouldn't be fighting if Sirius would just listen to me when I told them where to go!" Dorcas said angrily.

"And if you would shut up and let me drive we would already be there by now!" The fighting continued until they finally arrived at the party.

"Hey Marls, wheres Mary? I thought she would've been with you?" James asked as they walked up to the house.

Rosier was fucking loaded! You could tell by the size of his house alone.

"Oh, uh, Rosier came and picked her up a little while after you left." Marlene said, not really paying attention to James.

"Ah. Well. I'm gonna go... walk around. I'll see you," he put his hand up to his forehead in a solution, "later." And walked off.

James wandered the party for a little bit. At some point he made his way upstairs to the bathroom, and crushed up the pill he got from Neville earlier that night, and snorted it.

"Ffffuuck." James said, eyes wide. He blinked, his eyes unfocused, as he slowly shook his head, leaning against the wall for support. His vision was blurry, and spotty, no matter how often he blinked or rubbed at his eyes, the music and voices outside the bathroom door were fading in and out in an echo, like he was underwater and in the sky at the same time.

He felt fucking great.

James didn't know what was in that thing, but whatever it was, he wanted more of it.

James attempted to walk out of the bathroom. He kept tripping over nothing, and ended up having to lean his whole body against the wall to be able to walk without almost falling over on his face.

James saw Mary and Evan Rosier sitting next to each other on the staircase, talking quietly to each other as he walked by, still leaning, heavily, on the wall beside him.

James made it downstairs and out to the backyard, where he found Frank, sitting by the pool.

"Yo man, you owe me 120" Frank said when James sat down next to him.

James smiled sheepishly at him, "Shit man, I forgot."

"It's alright, but I got a business to run, y'know? Can't be givin out handouts."

"I- I know man, I'm sorry. I'll get it to you later. You know I will."

"Yeah, alright." Silence settled between them for a few minutes before Frank broke it again. "Man, I don't know what kind of fucked up shit you been through, and I don't know how to help. But, what I do know, is drugs, it ain't it, man."

James bit the inside of his cheek before he spoke, "Y'know, when I was, like, thirteen, my dad died."

"Is that it?" Frank asked. Genuinely asking, not saying it in some snarky way.

"If only it was that easy." James was nodding his head absentmindedly.

James genuinely didn't know why he started doing drugs. He just knew that they made him feel better when he did them. So why would he stop?

Frank shook his head. "Shit, man..."

James nodded along, "Yeah. Shit, man."

James then heard screaming coming from inside the house and looked over to see, practically everyone who was there, gathering around the kitchen. And, since James was always a very curious person, he got up, and made his way to the kitchen.

Upon entering he saw Marlene and walked over. "What's going on?" He asked.

"Bro! Some dude just tried to kill himself!" Marlene said with wide, glazed over eyes, obviously very high.

"What?" James was sure he heard that wrong, but, then again, this was a high school party.

"Yeah dude it was crazy! Barty came in, yellin, and told everyone to get outta the kitchen, but that guy wouldn't leave so Barty kept yelling and then the guy pulled out a knife and, like, slit his wrist or something. It was crazy!" Marlene took another hit of her vape and blew the smoke out next to James's head.

"Oh, wow. Uh, alright. I think I'm gonna head out." James said, beginning to walk away. He wanted to find that guy and make sure he was alright.

"You sure? I'm sure Sirius can drive you home once hes done fuckin that guy in the pool."

James didn't have time to unpack all of this tonight, so he stuck with the first problem. "I'm good, thanks, Marls. I'll see you later." He was already halfway acrossed the room.

"K, bye! Love you!!!" She called out to him as he was walking out the front door.

Once outside, James looked around, trying to find the suicidal kid Marlene was talking about.

He saw a guy standing next to a bike, with blood dripping down his arm and assumed that must be the guy she was talking about and walked over.

As he got closer, he realized it was the guy he saw earlier, riding into the motel. "Hey, are you, uh, alright?" James asked, looking down at the guys arm.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I could tell that was gonna get violent, and this was the first thing I could think of to get him to back off."

"Ah, right... I'm James." He stuck his hand out for the boy in front of him to shake, mentally slapping himself for being so awkward.

"Regulus." The boy said, taking his hand to shake.

"Where you, uh, headed?" James asked, hands in his pockets.

"Uh," Regulus gripped the handlebars of his bike harder, "home." He nodded.

It was a good thing James was high, or else he never woulda asked this. "Can I come?"

Regulus stared at him for a few seconds, mouth ajar. "Uh... okay..."

Regulus got on his bike, and signaled for James to get on as well, and then they were off.

The ride over to Regulus's house was silent. James usually hated silence, his thoughts got louder in the silence, but this time, this time it was nice. James was too focused on the smell of Regulus's shampoo to think about much else.

When they got to Regulus's house he turned to James, "We have to be quiet. I don't want to wake up my cousin. I don't think she'd be too happy with me bringing a random boy home."

James's felt his cheeks blush, "Sorry..." he mumbled, feeling embarrassed to be imposing in someone's house like this.

Regulus smiled at him. "Its alright. She doesn't have to know." And he grabbed James's hand and took him inside, up the stairs, and into Regulus's bedroom.

Regulus went over to his closest and pulled out a cropped t-shirt, and some sleep shorts and began to change. James turned around hastily, not wanting Regulus to think he was some kind of pervert.

When Regulus was finished changing, he walked over to his bed and layed down. James continued to stand, awkwardly, in the middle of the room. After a few seconds, Regulus lifted his head up and padded the spot next to him. James cautiously walked over and gently began to lay down.

Regulus was looking at his arm, where the cut was, blood dry by now.

"Does it hurt?" James asked lowly.

Regulus shook his head.

"I c-" James struggled to try and find a way to say what he wanted to without having to worry that Regulus might take it the wrong way or something, "I could, like, clean it for you...?"

Regulus turned over to look at him. "You would do that for me?"

James felt his cheeks flush again, "Y- yeah. Its, uh, no big deal..."

Regulus smiled at him. "Thank you."

James just nodded his head and cleared his throat. "No- no problem."

Regulus got the stuff James would need to clean the wound, and James got to work.

When James was finished, cleaning, and bandaging the wound, he laid back down next to Regulus and smiled at him.

"I got an idea."

Regulus smiled back, "What?"

"Wanna get high?"

9 notes · View notes

all-minds-matter · 4 months

Text

Hello everyone, Lucas here. I’m a 26 year old learning to live with multiple mental health diagnoses including; BPD, CPTSD and MDD with psychotic tendencies. This journal is my attempt at externalizing my feelings about my journey of healing and hoping that it might help some people who don’t have a voice about their own problems to know they aren’t alone.

My Discovery:

You know that inner voice? The one that’s like a personal GPS, guiding you through life’s decisions, like reminding you to look both ways before crossing or nudging you towards that lemon ice tea you can’t get enough of. It’s a mix of a coach and a critic, especially when you’re beating yourself up over a mistake. But here’s the kicker: I recently discovered that what I thought was just me… isn’t just me. I’ve been hosting an uninvited guest in my head, let’s call him “Jeremy.” This guy, Jeremy, isn’t the cheerleading type. He’s been with me since I was a kid, whispering sweet nothings of the not-so-sweet variety, convincing me I’m less than, leading me down paths best left untrodden.

This revelation hit me like a freight train during a group therapy session focused on the not-so-gentle art of self-talk. We were peeling back the layers of self-criticism when suddenly, my internal dialogue split right down the middle. For the first time, I could hear “Jeremy” as someone separate from me. The realization that I wasn’t alone in my head was terrifying. I mean, hearing voices is one thing I never wanted to check off my list, and here I was, thinking I had just unlocked a new level of “not okay.”

The aftermath of this discovery had me floored — literally. I was a mess, tears and tremors, caught in the grip of fear. It felt like my mind had turned against me. But, salvation came in the form of my psychiatrist’s timely intervention. He explained that “Jeremy’s” presence wasn’t as outlandish as it felt. For someone juggling BPD, CPTSD, and MDD, hearing a voice like Jeremy could be part of the complex tapestry of my mental health. It seems my brain’s eclectic mix of conditions created the perfect stage for Jeremy to perform his unsettling monologues.

A New Chapter:

Switching meds isn’t always smooth sailing, but in my case, the timing couldn’t have been better. I was already in the process of tapering off my old antidepressants when “Jeremy” decided to crash the party. Given the new developments with my diagnoses, my psychiatrist thought it was time to introduce anti-psychotics into the mix. It’s been 2.5 days since I started the new medication, and the difference is night and day. My mood has lifted in a way I hadn’t dared to hope for. “Jeremy” has been unusually quiet, and there’s a newfound sense of joy threading through my days.

While I’m savoring this peaceful phase, I’m conscious that the immediate uplift might be due to the novelty of the new medication. There’s a chance its effects could diminish over time. That’s where my therapy plays a crucial role. Thankfully, my diagnoses respond well to Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), which equips me with skills to maintain this level of mental peace alongside the medication. I won’t lie — it feels daunting. The path to managing my mental health seems like a steep climb, and part of me questions if the effort is worth the reward. However, the thought of the people who care for me, who support me unconditionally, reignites my will to push forward. I owe it to them, and to myself, not to give up.

1 note · View note

strangehorticulturist · 9 months

Text

You're Your Own Speeding Car (An original work)

Hypersexuality and alcohol do not mix well.

A short story centered around my original character and his struggle with sexual compulsions. Can also be read on ao3!

tw: cheating, alcohol, mentions of self injury and sui (brief), n$fw

If you feel yourself readying to act on this urge, perhaps a change of scenery could help.

Matt recalled his therapist’s words as he tossed his jacket into the passenger seat beside him. It wasn’t typical for him to unquestioningly follow someone else’s advice, but he figured the advice of someone he would be paying weekly was probably worth following , at least once.

He wasn’t much of a therapy person, which was probably reflected in the fact that he had had his first therapy session ever as a 26-year-old, but… the situation was becoming somewhat dire. Even he, an expert in avoidance, could see that. “Sexual compulsions,” his therapist had called them. He hadn’t heard that term before, but it sounded about right. The way he succumbed to seemingly random whims and urges… well, it felt compulsive. As if, once a thought had entered his mind, he locked onto it. A dog who, once its jaw tightened over the arm of a target, refused to let go. Or, maybe he was the target, gripped by a force so powerful that there was almost no hope in attaining freedom again, at least not unharmed.

There had been some freedom, though, in telling someone else. He still felt as if he was living a double life in some respects, but finally there was someone who was privy to a side of him that even he wasn’t well-acquainted with. But of course, his therapist didn’t know everything. Some would’ve thought that Matt purposely misled her, but he felt that that was a bit dramatic. It was only the first session, so of course there were some details he… obscured. Like – just for example – the nature of his compulsion.

Was it really that important to know the gory details? Sure, maybe summarizing his issues as “masturbating too much” was more of an outright lie than simple minimization, but still. The details weren’t that important. It wasn’t that far off, anyway.

Yeah, he wasn’t buying it either.

He turned on the car’s engine, thankful for the immediate entrance of heat amidst the creeping chill of autumn. The temperature had been so perfect earlier – he hadn’t even needed a sweater – but he supposed cuffing season was on his heels. He should’ve considered himself lucky for being partnered already, rather than having to hastily join dating apps and start swiping, hoping to find someone before the holiday season began and ended. Instead, his girlfriend, Ariana, was likely at home, maybe even hoping for a call or visit from him.

Warmed up, he put the car in reverse, backed out of his spot in his apartment building’s parking lot, and was on his way.

The first time he had gotten the urge to cheat, it was not so compelling of a force that he had even bothered to move an inch towards it. Nothing about this idea that had seemed to be airdropped into his brain was appealing to him, and despite the foreign nature of it, it was easily brushed away. That was when he was 20. By then, he had been in a number of romantic relationships before, but all of them were horny, hormone-fueled stints lasting only a few months at most. As intense as those relationships began, they would often go out with a whimper, distance and disinterest causing a premature end. While his various partners during that span of time seemed to still be fixated on him, Matt always found his gaze wandering elsewhere, stepping off of one rollercoaster and readying himself to board the next.

At 20, though, he had his first “serious” relationship. At the time, he hadn’t been able to put his finger on what exactly was different about this relationship, about this particular partner. He just knew that he was in love in a way he hadn’t been before. His eyes still wandered, but suddenly none of the other rides seemed quite so appealing.

At 26, he was able to look back and recognize that… the relationship wasn’t so different after all. It wasn’t that he had found “true love,” the way others might try to narrativize it. It was just that… this partner took care of him, like an absurd amount. It felt like Matt never had to even imply that he was in want of something. Before he could even register that he had a need, his partner was already fulfilling it. Food, drink, affection, touch, sex. There were so many mornings, before and after that relationship, where he would awaken to morning wood and have to take care of it himself. But, at 20, he would wake up with his boyfriend’s head bobbing between his legs, already barrelling him towards finishing. To receive everything he needed in exchange for merely existing… It was intoxicating. If it had stayed that way, it was possible that he would’ve still been in the relationship to that very day. But nothing gold can stay.

Even now, there was nothing major he could point to as being The Cause of the relationship’s eventual breakdown. There were no red flags, no hostile disputes. Just, suddenly, his then-partner’s presence became a subtle, consistent pressure, something that slowly suffocated him. It became hard to freely give affection, affirmation, or anything else. As his partner drew closer, Matt had to spend more and more time convincing himself not to stray. It was no longer something he did freely but out of obligation.

Or maybe, rather than obligation, he just wanted to be able to see himself as loyal and unafraid of commitment. Someone who didn’t see others’ needs as a rope tightening around his neck. He wasn’t even sure if he was afraid of commitment. Hypothetically, being with one person forever sounded beautiful. He wasn’t the issue, it was… the world. The reality of romance just didn’t line up with what he felt it should be, and that left him always searching for a back door through which he could silently make his exit, should the time come (and, often, it did).

He spent the relationships of the next handful of years in much the same way, convincing himself to stay 6 months, then a year, sometimes making it to a year and a half or thereabouts, even if his desire to stay had dissipated within one or two months. He knew that the partners he picked were objectively ideal partners. Nurturing, communicative, funny, intelligent, loyal. And that was why they deserved someone who could reciprocate their devotion, and that was why he tried so hard to do so. But still, he found himself often missing the days before he held himself to this particular standard, relationship-hopping because it was fun, easy, and expected from a teenager.

While the first urge to cheat had barely been a blip on his radar, the ensuing urges washed over him with an increasing urgency. He’d spent days at a time struggling against wave after enormous wave. What had once been an unthinkable act to him – infidelity – became a genuine temptation. And, after an extremely close call, wherein he almost completely gave in to the urge, he decided it was time to get help.

He had arrived. Idling in his car, he cast his gaze to his rearview mirror, reflecting the gay bar just across the street. He had an itch to scratch.

He grabbed the olive green parka beside him and considered it. For as chilly as it was outside, he wasn’t sure if it was cold enough to justify hiding his physique. He had purposefully donned a black, sleeveless shirt, along with basic gray sweatpants, an outfit he would wear to the gym as readily as he’d wear it elsewhere. Despite having what might be lovingly referred to as a bit of a beer belly , his arms had defined muscles, and the swell of his thighs could be seen even through the fabric of his sweatpants. He had reason to flex his assets tonight, and his jacket would probably hinder that. He decided to leave it in the passenger seat and got out of his car before making his way to the bar.

Going from the brisk evening air into the warmth of the bar was more than welcome, and it readied him for the accompanying heat a drink would gift him. That night, the bar was crowded to perfection. Not so many people that he would be struggling to find a seat, but crowded enough that it likely wouldn’t be hard to find someone who suited his interest and who was similarly attracted to him. He would leave the sport of eye fucking for later, though. Something to drink first.

Alcohol is tricky. There’s nothing inherently wrong with drinking alcohol, but if you have compulsions, it can lower your inhibitions and, thus, make it much easier to give in.

As he stood waiting at the bar, next to a group of people who were also waiting to give their orders, he remembered his therapist’s words. And, as if on cue, the guilt flooded in. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t actively making decisions he knew he shouldn’t, decisions that would only lead him closer to becoming someone he didn’t want to be, closer to transgressing upon Ariana. But why wasn’t the guilt enough to stop him? Why wasn’t it enough to make him not want this? Even though some part of him was aware that, if he just tried his therapist’s suggestion of delaying the urge for at least 20 minutes, he would eventually get over it, a larger part of him was convinced that that was why it was so urgent to get this done now. It wasn’t just that he wanted this; he needed this, and he couldn’t afford to let his better judgment get in the way.

“One captain and coke,” he said easily to the awaiting bartender. Handing over cash, he cast a quick glance around the room. Considering the dim lighting and the overlapping groups of people, there wasn’t much to take away. But he did spot a few places to sit or stand, perfect places to perch and look around for anyone else who might also be looking for some company tonight.

When the bartender placed his drink on the counter, he thanked them and sat at a stool a ways away, at the corner of the bar. While he couldn’t check out anyone on the back patio from here (his lack of a jacket limited that option, anyway), he had a decent view of the room. Some wallflowers were naturally out of sight, but he could see the majority of the people bustling through the bar and would have a better view of anyone who approached the counter, which would be most who entered. It wasn’t his favorite spot, often preferring to be a wallflower himself, but he knew from experience how intimidating he could seem whenever he was almost broodily leaning against the wall. Hot, surely, but not exactly approachable.

Looking around the room once again, his mind unwittingly flitted back to Ariana. What was she doing now, he wondered. Waiting for a text from him? Doing homework? Studying for an upcoming exam? He could imagine her cozily wrapped up in her paisley-patterned comforter, her wild, tight brown curls flowing around her. She always ran cold, and, considering how petite she was, especially compared to his large stature, he could easily fold her up inside of his arms. Rather than being here, he could’ve been there. Something about that was… sad.

Almost instinctively, he took out the straw from his glass and knocked back a quarter of his drink. The taste of the alcohol was potent enough to break through the sugary coke, but it was nice, refreshing. A reminder of what he was here for.

Finally, his eyes landed on someone. They had just approached the bar, a relatively tall, black, feminine person. They stood at around 5’10”, just a few inches shy of Matt, and had thin, dark braids running down the length of their back. Doing his best not to stare, or at least not creepily, he noted their outfit: a black mesh long-sleeved shirt atop a plain, black bra, paired with a dark gray denim skirt, black tights, and doc martens. Emo? Goth? Scene? Or maybe they just liked the color black? Matt hadn’t been well-acquainted with anyone who wore the aforementioned styles since high school, and it wasn’t as if his leisurely attire was especially attractive to anyone with a particular fashion sense. Either way, though, he appreciated their style.

Their dark eyes, made even darker by the purple shimmer of their eyeshadow, locked onto his, and they exchanged smiles.

Well, he really was going to do this, huh?

Generally, he liked to lock eyes at least a few more times throughout the night before approaching anyone, just to affirm that there’s likely mutual attraction, but he decided against waiting considering this person was already so close.

He could feel his pulse quicken and his stomach turn as he took the plunge, offering a husky, “Hey.”

Guess there was no backing away from this now.

He clumsily fumbled for his keys, unlocking and opening the car door as well as he could while this stranger – Tori was her name – clasped her lips on his, only breaking away so they could catch their breath every so often. Experienced at having to maneuver in this situation, Matt placed the palm of his hand on Tori’s back, and spun them around hurriedly, so that her back was facing the open door of the backseat of his car. Following his lead, they fall against the soft cushion of the leatherette seat.

He knew they should scoot into the car more and close the door, perhaps preserve some privacy and their own warmth, but he couldn’t be bothered. He usually spent more time in the bar before picking anyone up, had a few more drinks, so he was not nearly as tipsy as he was hoping to be by this point. He liked making mistakes when he was properly buzzed because the guilt, then, could be so easily tucked away. Everything was so much easier with the smoothness of a few drinks in him.

With only one drink in his system, he felt the full intensity of the moment. The harsh breaths passed back and forth between their desperate mouths, the lingering taste of Tori’s drink on her tongue, the pricks of her fingernails digging into his arms. Usually these details would’ve already become blurry, melting into a vague suggestion of an experience. One that felt good, for sure, but still vague enough that he would only be able to recall the broad strokes the next day.

Being so aware of his body and the person beneath it seemed to light something within him, making him impassioned, impatient.

He broke the kiss and tossed a glance behind him. They were still partially outside of the car, their calves dangling off the edge of the seat and into the open air. While there were a number of cars adorning the parking lot, there wasn’t anyone else outside as far as he could tell. He turned back to Tori, and asked, “You want head?”

“Fuck yeah,” Tori said, a wide grin on her face. Matt promptly got up and repositioned himself, bent at the waist over the seat, feet on the ground, with his face hovering over her crotch. “Oh, you don’t wanna… just get in?” she asked, surprised and likely more than a little concerned with getting caught.

“Nah, I got you covered.” He wasn’t sure what he actually meant by that. “Help me with your tights.”

Despite the initial hesitation, she hiked her skirt up and wiggled out of her tights and panties, pushing them down her thighs until they rested around her calves. Peeking from beneath her skirt was her short, chubby dick. Adorable.

She laid back, still casting a smile in Matt’s direction, as he dove between her legs.

As he parted his lips around the head of her stiff shaft, it registered in the back of his mind that he was now, officially, a cheater. If he had just stayed inside and made out with someone, like he had once before, he could’ve preserved a certain safety in edging up to the line in the sand without actually crossing it.

Well, it was crossed now, and there was no uncrossing it.

He slid his mouth up and down the whole of Tori’s shaft, steadily eliciting desperate moans from her. Some part of him (a big part of him, judging by the hardening of his cock), was pulsating with excitement. It wasn’t just that Tori, with her soft skin and plush curves, was hot as fuck, and he was sucking her off. It was that too, sure, but it was mostly that he was doing something so wrong . The pit in his stomach that had been there since the beginning was quickly getting snuffed out by the rush of the moment. Some part of him knew he should feel ashamed. He was doing something bad – he was a bad person . But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Why did being a bad person matter? He could do whatever he wanted. Why should he feel ashamed of stepping all over someone’s heart whenever he felt like it? The fact that someone could be hurt by this, by him, was what made it so enticing to begin with.

He felt Tori’s thighs tighten around his head as he sucked. Tori’s moans, high-pitched and lovely in their musicality, grew louder, almost frantic. “Matt–” she groaned, elongating the syllable like she really was going to sing.

For some reason, hearing his own name had briefly jarred him, but he carried on with his meal. Despite the efforts of his mouth being focused on Tori, he couldn’t not think of Ariana, how Tori’s exclamation of “Matt” didn’t differ much from Ariana’s. How she would squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the brightness of orgasm after orgasm.

How ever cruel this may be, he wished she could somehow see him now, know exactly what he was doing. Know that he was making someone else squirm in much the same way, even as she was probably waiting to hear from him. The idea of her helplessly watching the two of them, heartbroken and disillusioned of the idea that she was special to him in some way, that he would never do this to her, left his cock throbbing.

Unable to wait any longer, Matt made his fingers slick with the saliva and precum on Tori’s dick and sent his hand past the waistline of his pants and into his underwear, and he quickly began stroking himself. Judging by the crescendo of Tori’s voice, it sounded as though she was rounding the corner to climax. She may have gotten a head start, but Matt was fairly sure he could catch up.

When the afterglow of their concurrent orgasms had faded, they had exchanged numbers, and Tori had made her way back inside the bar. Now alone, locked inside of the backseat of his car with his jacket strewn haphazardly over him to chase away the biting chill, Matt stared at the ceiling blankly.

Fuck.

Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have done that.

He thought back to the last time he had gone against his better judgment. It was a circumstance similar to this one, wherein he went to the local gay bar and picked someone up, but he had mustered enough inhibition at the time to pull the reins and retreat after just kissing. Though he had driven away thankful that he hadn’t cheated (putting aside the fact that most others would’ve likely considered this cheating), he hadn’t felt relieved, at least not as much as he had expected to.

For one thing, the inside of his chest was still burning with the need to do something bad . His heart was pounding, and part of his mind was still desperately searching for some other way to satiate this craving: should he go back to the bar and continue things with the person he just ditched? Should he speed on the highway? Should he cut himself just for fun, just to see the blood dribble down his arm? He had done none of these things before, but still his mind was shuffling through a list of possibilities as easily as if they were regular, familiar hobbies.

For another thing, cheating or not, kissing someone other than his partner at the time (not Ariana but the one before her) was still several steps beyond where he had ever traversed before. The reality of that night had rested heavily on his shoulders then. There hadn’t been enough room in his mind to hate himself or regret what he had done. Instead, there was a numb horror that that had really just happened. He knew, logically, that he was the one to have done it, but it felt as though he were reacting to a stray fact of the world, something horrible that had happened and had irreparably changed the world around him. Something altogether separate from him that shook him all the same.

When he had finally made it home and the adrenaline had leaked out of him, he was able to grasp that, yes, he had done this. He had kissed someone. He had made it so that, whenever he would kiss his partner, he would never not recall his lips locking onto someone else’s, the private transgression he had committed against his partner. He had ruined it all.

After drafting and sending a hasty breakup text, his mind had briefly hovered over the idea of suicide. Briefly, but still much too long for comfort.

Now, though, he had done much worse than simply kiss someone. As shitty as that occasion had been, he wished he could rewind the clock back to when that was his only sin. He hadn’t had any idea how good things still were. Now that he had made numerous decisions to cross numerous lines since then, he was lost. And scared. He couldn’t undo any of the night’s mistakes. He couldn’t stop his life from slipping through his grip. How could he ever come back from this when he wasn’t even sure this would be the last time he cheated?

That was why he was going to therapy, of course, but what would he do during the 167 hours a week he wasn’t in his therapist’s office? How could he guarantee he would do things differently the next time he got an unwanted, unprompted urge?

Well, he couldn’t, could he?

Without warning, the vibration of his phone in his back pocket intruded upon his silent contemplation. He sat up and pulled the phone out as it buzzed a few more times. Oh, texts. From Ariana.

Hey baby. Im srry abt earlier.

I wasnt trying to be annoying. Or pushy. I just thought that it was about time, yknow?

But if you dont want to move in together, then we dont have to… OK? I love u

Right… Moving in together. He had forgotten that that was their latest issue. God knew it wasn’t Ariana’s fault, but it seemed like their relationship came to a screeching halt right before every milestone. It typically went like this: Ariana would initiate something major in the relationship (saying “I love you,” meeting each other’s family, exchanging copies of keys to their respective apartments), Matt would have a crisis and run away, Ariana would reassure him that they didn’t have to do whatever it may be, then Matt would calm down and they would hop the hurdle together. It… probably said something that these were just obstacles to Matt, something to either avoid or power through, while they were significant markers of closeness to Ariana.

The night before, Ariana had brought up the possibility of moving in together. Her apartment was much more spacious, so he could conceivably move in with her, or they could seek out a new place together. She had been so thrilled, a barely suppressed giddiness underlying her otherwise calm tone. As excited as she was, she likely had also picked up on Matt’s typical pattern and knew that he would likely get spooked, even more so if she showed excitement.

“I just think… it’s almost been 2 years since we’ve been together. Maybe it’s time, you know?” she had said, before hastily adding a quick, “But I don’t know. We don’t have to.” Despite her attempt to downplay her certainty, Matt had the sense that… this was happening, whether he wanted it to or not. This was just how Ariana lived her life: she made a decision, and she followed through with it. There was very little room for contemplation, at least on her end. She knew what she wanted, almost intuitively, and, the way Matt saw it, any amount of waffling on her part was feigned. There was no second guessing for her. She was an arrow, heading unquestioningly, unhaltingly, toward a single target.

That was what was so attractive about her. Compared to him, who followed random whims but often came up short when searching for an overall direction for his life, that level of ambition and dedication was admirable. Sexy.

A little less so when it involved his own life, though.

“Uh. Wow. Uh…” He had hoped more would come out of his mouth, but he was blanking on words, too busy scrambling for anything other than outright dismissal of the idea. He loved her, right? And they spent so much time together sometimes that it felt as if they already lived together. But… they didn’t, and there was something freeing about that. If he was pissed off at her, he could just head home or kick her out of his place, and they could talk later. If he woke up one day and realized he didn’t love her anymore and couldn’t stand the sight of her, he never had to see or speak to her ever again. His place was his place, and that meant he would never have to be truly beholden to anyone.

But if they became roommates, then what? There would be no back door, no easy escape to slip through. If he ever wanted to leave, there would have to be meticulous communication and planning. He would have to wait for freedom to be granted, to be handed to him. He wasn’t used to freedom not being something he could take whenever he wanted.

“I… need to think on that,” he finally landed on. As much as every part of him wanted to say, “hell no,” he had the decency not to. Still, he found himself extricating himself from their complicated cuddle bundle on the couch. Suddenly, the blanket around them was irritating against his skin and much too warm. As comfortable as he had been entangled in Ariana’s limbs just before this, it now felt like a web, trapping him in place. He needed to get out.

“You okay?” she asked, assisting Matt by pulling herself off of him. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” There was some desperation in her tone, like all of her desire to keep him close, which she was purposely curbing, was leaking into her voice. She knew Matt didn’t do well when he felt caged in.

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” he replied, standing from the couch and grabbing his phone. “But I have a shift later, so I should probably head home.” Did he have a shift later? He couldn’t remember, but it was the easiest excuse to pull out when he needed it, and it was one he was used to using by now. “I’ll see you later, or, uh, tomorrow, and we can talk about it then.” Not waiting for a response, and in fact propelled by the hope that he could get out before she had a chance to say more, he pocketed his phone and keys and hurriedly made for the door.

And that had been the last time they had talked, barring the stilted texts they had sent earlier in the day and, of course, the texts Ariana had just sent. He reread her words, silently cursing her for knowing exactly what to say to get him to calm down. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She would say all the right words, he would feel guilty for running from what was essentially The Perfect Girlfriend, and then he would agree to do what she wanted as an offering of repentance. And a sign that he was able to commit too, that pushing others away wasn’t all he was good for. If she was the perfect girlfriend, he could at least try to be a decent boyfriend.

But simply agreeing to move in together wouldn’t make up for his actions tonight – or any other night, on the off chance he fucked up again. More importantly, even if just that one action was enough to make up for everything else, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Unlike the previous milestones, which had felt large but had demanded relatively little of him, this called for a major change in lifestyle. That much was… beyond him.

Casting aside his jacket once again, he tapped the reply bubble and contemplated his next words to Ariana. This was something that would have to actually be discussed. Rather than continuing to avoid it or simply crawling back and giving in, this required talking. Real talking. Funny how something like having a real discussion with someone he had known for almost 2 years was still terrifying.

Well. First time for everything.

He began typing to her, deliberating over what to say, what not to say, backspacing and retyping the same words, backspacing and typing something new. It was a solid 10 minutes at least before he had something decent enough to send. Though, it… hadn’t been what he intended.

Hey. Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I love you too. But I don’t think I can do this anymore. Lately, I just haven’t been feeling the same, and I think we’d work better as friends. You can keep whatever you have that’s mine or throw it out. I’ll drop off your stuff sometime next week. Sorry.

Just a shitty cherry on top of an already shitty sundae, that text was. God, he sucked. But this was probably for the best. Ariana was a beautiful person, and she deserved someone better. Maybe he just wasn’t built for all of this. For relationships. For closeness. It seemed like intimacy was always at odds with what he wanted from life. He wanted, theoretically, to be close. To Ariana and to others. But, when it came down to it, he struggled to choose closeness over everything he stood to lose to it. Over and over again, he chose freedom. Even when he wanted to choose something else, his body demanded differently. He supposed that was why he cheated. His body couldn’t allow him to bend again.

Was it even worth it to keep going to that therapist when he already figured out his issue? He just kept trying to shove himself into things, relationships, that didn’t suit him. Maybe it was time to accept that. The idealistic future wherein he had a partner he didn’t feel trapped by and instead genuinely wanted to commit to from the bottom of his heart… It was a pipe dream.

He felt his phone vibrate again, and he didn’t have to check the screen to know it was Ariana. Whatever she had to say, he didn’t want to hear it. He was done molding himself into someone he wasn’t.

Despite his itch to glance over the text onscreen, he turned his phone off. No more of this.

Again, he looked up at the bar in the rearview mirror. Maybe it was time for another drink. He was feeling parched.

#original character #writers on tumblr #idk what else to tag LOL

1 note · View note

punkranger · 3 years

Text

Roof talk

(Fallen hero: Retribution, flystep, 1k, tiny bit angst but not really? it's just Antoine and Daniel hanging out on a roof ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

"Do you ever feel lonely?"

Daniel is looking dazedly out over the city, half-empty beer bottle held loosely in one hand, legs dangling over the edge of the roof. The question was soft, as if he was talking to himself.

You don't reply immediately and he shakes his head, throwing you a look and a half-embarrassed smile, as if he just remembered you were there. Or that it was you. After all, he knows your answer to that question already.

But this time it's not really about you, something which you are grateful for. Talking about yourself, or your past self specifically, always leaves you in a bad mood and with a headache.

So, you humor him.

"Do you?" You ask, looking at him while taking a swig from your own bottle.

He starts, perhaps surprised that you decided to continue the conversation, instead of deflecting and changing the subject like you usually do.

You really want to know, though. If he's lonely. He's got friends, coworkers that are almost like family. Or so you thought. You, if anyone, can tell he's usually happy, at least when he's been with you.

Daniel has been quiet for a while now, looking down at his lap. His thoughts are calm, soft like summer clouds, but there is a hint of hurt there.

"Sometimes."

It's a small, quiet word that you hear almost more as a thought than out loud. You take his hand, running your thumb over his knuckles, feeling the scars.

"I know that I have had a good life, have a good life. I should be happy, counting all the things that I do have, the friends I have and you…" He looks up at you, smiling a little, but it quickly disappears, the sun hidden behind clouds. "You were always my hero and I couldn't believe how lucky I was to meet you, to train with you. And then you became my friend too and I got to know another you, the real you… "

You avoid his eyes now. Does he know the real you? To be honest you don't know. You don't know anymore, if the real you is the one you've been trying to build up on the ruins of your old self, or if it's just a facade.

Or perhaps the real you is the one that shows up through your instincts, lashing out, hurting people, friends. You clench your hands, forcing your attention back to him. You can at least pretend to be a good person when you're not wearing the suit.

"...But still. Yes, there are times when I feel lonely. And I hate myself for it, for wanting more when I already have so much." He's not noticed your change in mood, as he's focused inward, trying to express his thoughts.

And you know that feeling, that emptiness inside that won't let you feel fulfilled, that keeps demanding more, that something is missing. You've also realized that it will never be satisfied. But perhaps that's okay, perhaps it's alright to feel like something is missing. If someone like him does, Daniel, who is the best person you know. If you think he deserves to feel a little lonely, then it should be alright for you as well.

You let out a sigh, this is getting uncomfortably similar to those therapy sessions. Fishing in your pocket, you pull out your packet of cigarettes and the lighter.

"Danny." You say to catch his attention, while lighting the cigarette. He looks back at you, a small spark in his eyes lighting up at the nickname. "You can feel lonely. No one can tell you what you are allowed to feel. Or well, they can tell you, but they are wrong and it won't change your feelings."

"It's not that someone's exactly told me that I can't feel lonely. It's more that they assume-"

"That's what I mean, same thing." You interrupt him, waving your hand vaguely. "Most people are very good at not really saying things, but making you think they have done so anyway. Makes them even less right since they're too cowardly to say things right out."

Too much anger bleeds into your voice, you can tell it makes him uncomfortable. Not that he's afraid of you - he should be - but he is still sad to hear how little faith you have in people. Despite your best efforts to hide it, to forget, the bitterness at the world is still there.

He doesn't say anything for a while, and you don't look at him, just watch the smoke curling up into the sky. It twists and turns, following the wind, eventually dispersing. You wonder if that will be your fate as well.

With a smile you flick the rest of the cigarette over the edge. You like it up here, it wouldn't be so bad to be part of the sky. Even if it would be lonely.

But you're not lonely now. Daniel is here.

His thoughts should be a constant reminder, but lately they have become less intrusive. In fact, you notice it more when he's not there, like a streetlamp, that when broken suddenly becomes apparent in its absence.

Leaving you in the dark.

You feel Daniel take your hand. Standing on the edge of the abyss, or already drowning. Either way you’ll probably take him with you, and he thinks he wants it. Maybe you should just tell him everything. Take the dive. The least you can hope for is meeting water.

It may be crushing, but it’s better than ground. Maybe.

But you’re still too selfish to do that. You want this to last a little longer, even if the fall will hurt more for both of you the higher you get.

You laugh suddenly. Because what else can you do?

Cry, scream, beg… You've done it all, so why not laugh. At yourself, at the world, at the ones who hurt you.

Daniel looks at you in surprise, smiling a little even though he doesn't know why you're laughing. You laugh at that too, but it's different. Not defiant, not desperate. Just happy.

You're happy, because he's here, because you made him smile.

And he's happy too. Not trying to be. For you, for the team, for the media. Just for himself.

#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #flystep #sidestep #herald #my writing #i've had this lying around for literally years #and it would have stayed that way but i was writing something else #not really related but i felt i should post this first..#ah yeah #cw alcohol #cw smoking

35 notes · View notes

cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

thank you for your request, you’re too kind ;-; and your english is good! <3 i hope you’re doing fine, sending you a big hug <3

trigger-warning: self-harm. please, if you’re going through a rough time, remember you’re not alone, even if it feels that way. ask for help to a friend, a teacher, your parents or anyone you trust. remember there’s no shame in going to a mental health specialist, whether it’s a psychologist or a psychiatrist. it’s going to get better. you’re going to be so proud of yourself in the future for making it through this rough time <3

Zen

He wasn’t home during your breakdown, so he just noticed when you changed into your pajamas

He saw the bruises and immediately asked about them, if you had fallen and why you hadn’t told him so he can soothe the bruises and make sure they don’t last longs you know he’s an actor

You explained quietly you had a rough episode a few hours ago. You had managed to calm yourself down, but after taking a shower you realized you had left bruises.

He put his arms around your body and whispered how much he loved you and that you shouldn’t that to yourself. He kept reminding you how much you were loved, holding your body close until you drifted to an easy sleep. He kissed your head and nuzzled his face into your shoulder, wishing this was the last time you felt that way.

Yoosung

He had his headphones on while playing so he really didn’t listen to you crying. But he got up to grab his phone charger, took off his headphone and heard you sniffling

He almost ran to the living room, where you were sitting on a coach, crying softly and idly punching your thighs.

Yoosung quickly stopped your movement and made you look at him. He was scared, but helped you calm down until you could manage to tell him what had made you feel so frustrated.

He prepared you something to eat and then snuggled you on the coach, leaving his videogames behind. His priority was to make sure you were safe now.

Jaehee

You were both in bed. She was working on her laptop while you were reading a book.

“Could you grab this for a moment?” she said, putting her open laptop on your lap, grabbing a folder from the nightstand. She noticed you winced and immediately took the laptop off.

“Are you okay? What happened to your legs?”

You tried to brush it off but it was really difficult to do so when your girlfriend looked so concerned as she did. You finally confessed you had had a breakdown when she was at work and that you had ended up with some bruises.

She took your hand as you told her how it all started and how you knew it was a bad coping mechanism. Jaehee suggested you consult with a psychologist, and that she could help you find one you feel comfortable with. You agreed to check with her in the morning.

She prepared you a cup of tea and then watched as you fell asleep easily after finally talking about what was on your mind. She would be right next to you whenever you needed to.

Jumin

He had wanted to surprise you, but it didn’t turn out the way he wanted. The first sound that came to his ears when he opened the door was you, crying.

Jumin quickly started looking for you, finally finding you on the edge of your bed, punching your thighs as your whole body trembled.

He almost ran to you and grabbed your wrists, stopping you from harming yourself any further. He kneeled in front of you asked you what was happening. You refused to talk to him.

Seeing you were too upset to explain, Jumin lowered his gaze, noticing your thighs were red and swollen and would most likely bruise. He felt his heart break. Without giving it much thought, he pressed the softest kiss on your right thigh, and then on the left. There wasn’t a drop of lust in his moves, just the desperation of a man not knowing what to do.

His gesture made you cry again, but now because you could tell how much he was in love with you. You held his face between your hands and made him look at you.

“I’m sorry” you whispered. “I– Okay. Let’s talk”

You told him about the gossip television show you had been watching, when suddenly they started talking about you. The new ‘mistress’ of one of the most desired bachelors of Korea. How she apparently didn’t care for her appearance (and you swore to God you tried to hard, but somehow they didn’t notice), how she was below average looking and how he could do so much better than ‘the western joke’ he paraded around.

Jumin listened in silence, not moving an inch from his crouched position. When you were done, he held your hands and kissed them.

“I don’t care what anybody else says about you. You shouldn’t either, but I know it might be easier said than done. But if you’re going to listen to anyone, listen to me now: you’re breathtaking. I can’t wait for you to be my wife so we can finally fall asleep next to each other. I can’t wait to see your face as soon as I wake up. You’re warm and kind, and you don’t expect anything in return. You made me open up my heart, which I didn’t think was possible. I can trust you with my life. So please, be kinder to yourself. Please” he pleaded.

You nodded and went in for a kiss.

Saeyoung

He knew what it was even before you could come up with an excuse to why you had bruises on your thighs. You were asleep, not noticing the sheet wasn’t covering your body any longer, so your boyfriend could see you in your pajama shorts and bruises on your thighs.

Saeyoung didn’t know when he started crying, but when some tears fell on your bruised skin, he immediately wiped his face. He started caressing your thighs, tears still falling. He didn’t notice when you woke up. As soon as you noticed he had seen your bruises you gasped, failing to cover them again.

“Saeyoung, I– I fell and…

“Don’t” he sighed. He wiped his face again and looked at you with a broken smile. “I know I’m not the most– I’m not good at opening up but… please, try for me? It hurts seeing you like this.”

“You have so much work and–”

“My work means shit” he quickly said. “You’re the most important thing I have, along with Saeran. And I don’t wanna lose either of you. So find me, talk to me. Okay?”

You took a deep breath. “Okay”

“I’m so sorry!” you whimpered when he finally found the bruises. “I– I thought I could manage on my own. I don’t want you taking care of me, you’ve done enough. I don’t want you to repeat the cycle of taking care of someone else’s problem” you explained, lowering your gaze. “I’ll ask for an appointment at the hospital, just– don’t think about it, I can manage”

“If you want to go to an appointment with a psychologist, it’s okay. I’ll drive you there every time you need to go. But MC…” he sighed, lifting your chin so you could look at him. “I think you were the one that told me I shouldn’t keep my problems to myself. You taught me I can’t manage it all on my own and that I should trust the people I love. So now… please trust me. We can do this together.”

“But you’ve been someone else’s caretaker for so long, it’s not fair” you sighed.

“Yes, that’s true. But this isn’t me being your caretaker. This is us being a team. I’ve been trying to be more open about my struggles, right?” he asked with a soft smile. You nodded. “So, let’s take care of ourselves. Together”.

Saeran

He noticed the bruises when you were back from the shower, a towel around your body. He didn’t say anything and pretended to be asleep. But he couldn’t get any rest that day. From someone who had been punched several times, he knew what those marks were from.

Saeran talked about it on his weekly appointment with his psychologist. She suggested that he talked to you, but he didn’t feel you were going to be honest about it.

Still, he tried. You assured him it was a one time only and wouldn’t happen again. You were frustrated about messing up dinner and things escalated.

Three days later, he pretended to fall asleep when you entered the shower. When you came back and sat on the bed, he opened his eyes a little noticing how you had scratches on your shoulder.

He couldn’t rest that night either.

“Remember when I said I wanted to get married?” he asked in the morning. You turned around to look at him. “And you said we should wait until I had made progress in therapy because you wanted me to be healthy so I could enjoy being married?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I remember that. Why?”

“I want you to be healthy too, you know. When I finally get better” he said, turning his head to you. You furrowed your eyebrows, playing dumb. “I saw your shoulders last night” he mentioned and you felt your face going pale.

You started talking about how it had started a couple of months ago. How you would get frustrated, sad, angry and it always ended up with you hitting yourself. But you wanted to prioritize him and thought it would get better on its own, but now you feared it wouldn’t.

He listened to you and then cradled you on his chest. He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

“I’m doing fine. Well– better. So, don’t worry. You had my back so much time, now I got yours. Forever”.

Saeran asked his psychologist for a recommendation at his next appointment. You ended up making an appointment in the same clinic at the same time, so you could be there for each other when your separate sessions were done. It was definitely comforting to go for ice cream with him, knowing it was, somehow, going to get better.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mysme headcanons #jumin han #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #jaehee kang #hyun ryu #mm zen #mysme zen #yoosung kim #jihyun kim #mm v #mysme v

428 notes · View notes

straightouttaneptune · 4 years

Text

You’ll come with me, won’t you?

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Reader

Warning: It’s different. Joker is a bitch. Reader becomes kind of morally weird as the fic progresses. People die.

Summary: Y/N is a baby psychiatrist, who just started out. Suddenly, she is trusted with the most feared case of all. Harleen Quinzel. Y/N thinks it’ll be good for her career, or will it?

A/N: I couldn’t find a good ending to this for the longest time, I’m so glad I did. Also, this is for my 500 followers fic queue :) Thank you for the love, darlings✨

—————————————————————

“Harleen Quinzel?”

That was a name you’d heard before. That was a name everyone’s heard before, at least once in their lives. But it was not the name that had surprised you, but it was the fact that her name was right there on top of your long patient list.

“Yeah, congrats Y/N. She’s pretty famous around here. Straighten her out and you’ll probably be in the big city in less than a year.” Your colleague, Megan peered into your books over your shoulders and patted your back affectionately.

You were one of the new psychiatrists in the business, and you had been dealing with criminal minors, the less mental mental patients and all the clients that newbies would usually handle. Being fresh out of university after holing up in the labs and libraries, you needed to gain some experience first before taking on the really hard cases.

Or... that’s what you were told.

“C’mon, Meg, you gotta know more than that. Why would they pass her case to me? She’s a rank SS psycho.” You pushed, looking up at her through your lashes in a slightly accusatory manner.

She gave you a look that asked; “Do you really want to know?” And you nodded.

“Well, I heard the other docs, the guys who were like 10, 20, hell, 30 years into the business, they all got their brains scrambled by... this girlie.” Her index finger landed on the profile photo of Harley Quinn, an apologetic look in her eyes.

You rolled your eyes, not necessarily at Megan, but at whoever it was that tried to deal this card to you. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s cruel, but you can always turn it down, y’know?” Megan set her books aside, her left arm cradling your slumped shoulders.

“Yeah... But I might not.”

Megan’s dropped gaze snapped back up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a good way to kick-start my career, I guess.”

\|/

“Hello, new doc.” The moment you entered the room, you regretted making this decision immediately. Harley Quinn sat in a big contraption-looking chair, her hands and feet shackled onto the armrests and legs of the seat. Her platinum blonde hair was untied and unkempt, its bottoms still dyed red and blue, although it seemed to have faded over time.

The only thing dividing the space between you and Harley was a metallic table bolted on the floor, wide enough so even if Harley broke off her arm shackles and reached for you, she wouldn’t be able to touch you. You swallowed your nerves and entered the room with a confident stride, smiling sweetly at the guards as they closed the door with eyes of concern.

“Hello, Miss Quinzel.” You thanked heavens that your words came out right, especially in front of a woman who could sniff out people’s fears from thousands of miles away.

“You’re the first girl I’ve had.” She mused, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But the light in her eyes has lost its original color, you thought. She looked much more lively in photos taken way back then. When she was just a psychiatrist.

“Hm. I guessed that it would be nice to have some heart to heart, female to female.” You reassured your anxious self calmly in your head, repeating the words ‘you got this, Y/N.’

“Do you know why I’m here, and not... Damien? Who usually comes in for your check-ups?” Stowing your clipboard away on your lap, you continued.

“Yeah. Before him was another guy, then a grandpa and just... a buncha stupid-lookin’ guys. But I didn’t like them.” She replied as if it was the most simple thing in the world. The files back in the company would argue differently. Every single guy, either was tormented by her psychotic attacks or totally gone insane from her mental tricks.

“Are you going to do the same thing to me?” You asked, not really knowing what answer to expect. Your eyes remained soft, a small smile gracing your lips as you waited for her answer.

“No. I like ya.” She answered quickly, shrugging and adverting her gaze away to look down at her shackles. “Can I sit down like you?” She shook her wrist lightly, the chains rattling against the armrest.

“Maybe next time, Miss Quinzel.”

“There’s a next time? Yeah!”

You internally smiled to yourself, what a successful human being she would’ve been if not for a man like Joker to ruin her life. Right then, you vowed to whatever higher power was out there, that you’d get Harley Quinn to break free from his spell.

The people in your office were surprised, to say the least, that you were able to keep up your visits to the prison, and that an amateur therapist like you could get the queen of Gotham in a tight little leash. You didn’t like to think about it like that, but rather that she trusts you better than any of the others.

The weekly visits became 2 days a week, and from weeks of good behavior, Harley was allowed to be without handcuffs during her sessions now. You weren’t afraid she’d leap up and strangle you, because of some sort of connection the two of you formed after all those times spent together.

“Hey doc, why can’t you visit me more ‘round here?” Harley pouted, interrupting the current therapy session with an abrupt comment.

You looked up from your clipboard, dumbfounded. Why would she want to have you around more?

“Harley, I’m just your therapist.” You tapped the end of your pencil against the material of the clipboard, locking eyes with the woman. Anyone could see that she was starting to look better, particularly her eyes. They looked more human, compared to the hollow shell they used to be.

“I know, Y/N. But I’ve been doin’ some thinkin. It’s pretty fuckin clear that Mister J isn’t coming for me, and the suicide squad was probably just a one-time thing. And... You’re all I have.” She admitted, slowly sliding down from her pipe chair and laying down on the concrete floor.

The wooden chair you sat on scraped against the hard floor as you pushed it back. Standing up from your seat, you walked over to her in 3 steps. You kneeled down beside her, her skin just inches away from you. “Do you want a hug?” You questioned quietly, your voice softer and more inviting than usual. Harley felt this too, sitting up in a millisecond just as the offer left your lips.

“Yeah.” She almost crawled over to you, her arms wrapping around your neck desperately. That would’ve been terrifying if it was out of context, but she actually wasn’t trying to kill you. She genuinely just wanted a warm embrace.

You felt her slender torso tighten and loosen as if she was trying to repress a sob. Hand carefully sliding over her back, you whispered; “Let it out.”

And she did.

\|/

Time flew by as you continued to work on her case, and you fell into the worst situation a psychiatrist could possibly be in while working. You grew emotionally invested in your client. As a friend, who cared for her well being and happiness.

Maybe... even more.

You still didn’t know if you could trust her though, you managed to keep a cool head and your mind was rational, but that only confirmed the fact that Harley wasn’t playing any tricks on you. That you were genuinely becoming attached to the beautiful prisoner.

Harley, on the other hand, did intend on ruining you at first. Make them run back to where they came from crying, so no one would disturb her again while she waited for her puddin.

But it was all starting to feel different with you.

“Hey, doc?” Harley called out from inside her electric cage. She was being a little bit mischievous that day, and she pulled an armed guard against the buzzing bars when he wasn’t looking. He probably died, she guessed.

But she didn’t like that she couldn’t be near you during your sessions. So a man died, big deal!

“Can you let me out?” She pleaded in the sweetest voice she could muster, calling out to you who was currently propped up on the usual desk, writing down some notes on your clipboard.

“No, Harley. I don’t have the keys to your cell.” You replied without looking up, but you could imagine the cute pout that Harley had when you denied her of something.

“But would you open it if you did?” You looked up at that question, seeing her smiling from ear to ear now, anticipation glowing in her eyes.

“Maybe. I know you won’t hurt me.” You smiled back at her, watching her facial expression carefully. How would she react if you showed some warm friendliness towards her? Could she possibly return to the life she used to have?

“Maybe I will, doc. You don’t know what goes on in here.” Harley leaped up to her cloth swing she’d made for herself, her now almost completely platinum hair draping down her back.

“I hope you won’t hurt me, then.”

You couldn’t forget that split second where Harley’s eyes looked more humane than it ever has been for many, many years.

\|/

“Warning. Warning. Escape Attempt in Sector 9H11.”

The sound of the speaker and the blasting alarm merged together in a chorus of chaos, guards and officers running around to stop whoever the escapee was.

It was 9:30AM and you were just about to enter the asylum for your shift, when this sudden noise almost blasted your ears off. Before you could process what was happening, a bomb went off right next to you, making you scream and clutch your head as you ducked.

The debris fell everywhere along with broken pieces of concrete, and you just stayed there trying to collect your thoughts. Right when a random hand grabbed you by your wrist.

“Hi, doc. I was lookin’ for ya. You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Harley pulled you to the side, hiding the two of you behind a few bushes. Her eyes were electric making you realize that the true “Harleen Quinzel” you’ve been trying to look for is right in front of you now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” You didn’t hesitate to take her outreached hand. Your mind had already been made up since the first time you laid your eyes on her.

#harley quinn #harleen quinzel #harley quinn x reader #harley quinn x y/n #harley quinn x you #dceu #dc #suicide squad #birds of prey #harley quinzel #harley quinn fic #harley quinn imagine

215 notes · View notes

softlyjiminie · 4 years

Text

black swan | two.

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ word count: 4K.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights… what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read for this chapter! angst, taetae on the verge of tears, angry joon, soft jungkoo, yoongi cursing and emotional distress rip.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey everyone!! chapter two is finally here, im so sorry for the delay :( i had a run in with t*mblr and they were hiding all my works from tags! it should be okay now so i hope you like <3

⇢ previous | series masterlist | next

taehyung sits quietly as he watches the tea cup to your left, lose its steam— the heat fading like the light that usually emanated from you. eyes falling to his lap, the skater’s fingers curl in the paws of his— joon’s... black sweater as a guilty feeling settles in his chest. his fingers were itching to reach out and take hold of your hand, but taehyung knew that you would only push him away, locking yourself behind a door and falling away into an empty shell. part of him was glad that you wouldn’t let him touch you; in fear that he’d break you again just like that day on the ice, whilst the other half missed his best friend, whom he’d drown in his arms and fond touches. he missed his YN.

taehyung was grateful that namjoon didn’t mind your affectionate relationship, how tae’s large palm would settle on the small of your back or how his lips would brush against your cheek or your hairline. it was something that gave you both comfort, and namjoon understood that— after all you had been there for each other in the darkest of times while the man himself was studying in the US. nonetheless, taehyung was restless. he needed to know if you were okay, he needed to hold you to tell you it was going to be okay.

but you were too far gone in your own little world, trapped in your chair that was tucked away in a corner by your old fashioned TV (in which he’d begged you to replace because he hated the static noise it made on certain channels), watching old performances of yours on vhs from when you were younger— you’d switch to your laptop from time to time to watch more recent ones. the chair had become your safe space, since you refused to walk around on your new crutches, all motivation lost with the end of the skating season approaching.

taehyung was worried, really worried.

he knew you ate less, a tired grey tint to your skin casting a shadow over your usually glowing tones. he knew because he’d brought all the teas and pastries you loved to snack on, with each of them growing cold. “please eat baby,” the boy tries, quietly prompting you to take a bite of the cream puff he’d brought this time. “just a little.”

you tilted your gaze from the tv to your partner, irises dull and heavy with an unimaginable amount of sadness. the expression read no, causing taehyung to frown sadly but he perked up as your lips twitched in order to speak. “toe loop, ina beaur.” you whispered, as the latter’s eyes fell to the screen behind you where your younger self followed the streams of classical music into the moves that trickled from your drying lips.

your partner slumps in his seat, defeated and heartbroken as you turn back to the screen, solemnly. “please... just eat something YN. it’s been days since joon or i last saw you—“

your fist slams down on the table where your pastries sit, jolting the china teacup taehyung knows that you love. he lurches forward to steady it, although his heart beats rapidly and he flinches at your sudden actions. “would you eat?” your question burns at your lips with a dark poison that stings your friend. “would you eat if everything you knew and loved had been ripped from you because of one stupid accident? i don’t think so.” you know better than to scold tae and put the blame on him, but anger at the world and your situation burns brightly behind your logical senses—clouding you’re judgement. “what if all you could do is sit and watch, sit and watch, sit and watch until your mind went numb? could you focus? breathe? eat? sleep? no! so stop asking me and leave me alone.”

you regret your words as soon as they’re said, turning back to your tapes as tears brim in the corner of taehyung’s treacle eyes. he withdraws from you completely, dabbing at his eyes quickly to rid then of his salty tears as the front door to your apartment opens and closes. namjoon steps through, carrying rustling bags full of essentials that you might need. your friends have been good to you, so good but you can’t help but be mad, be sad and hurt.

your best friend stands abruptly to help his lover put away the groceries, tucking cans and jars away— while hiding his soft whimpers. but namjoon is not a fool, the elder can feel the thick cool settling over the room as he tilts his head towards taehyung. “are you okay, love?” the blonde asks lowly, tilting his gaze between yourself and his boyfriend, immediately sensing that something is wrong. “what happened?” he says louder this time— as if he’s trying to gain your attention too.

“nothing, baby—we...” tae whispers quietly, clenching his fists and unclenching them. he’d always hated conflict between three three of you, he was too sensitive whilst you and joon were head strong and stubborn. “it’s nothing...”

“are you crying?” the elder slices through taehyung’s words as smoothly as a butter knife— making you flinch in your seat at his rough tone. your coach was never one to get angry, his temper was often cool and calm but one poke of the wrong button would start something you didn’t want.

“n-no joonie-!”

“what did she say to you?”

guilt trembled in your grip, hating that you were the reason taehyung cried, the reason that namjoon was angry. for goodness sake, YN, you were friends and this is how you were treating them? joon mutters to the younger about packing up his things before turning his steaming attention to you. thick arms and firm palms sink into the arm rests of the chair, making your gaze turn to your lap. the thing about kim namjoon is that, in away, when you were in the wrong— he made you feel like a child for doing so. “this is the last straw, YN,” he scolds, running a hand through the thick of his dyed hair. “tae and i have tried to be there for you, tried to support you in this time but all you do is push us away.” the anger that bubbled in your chest before has faded to a dull sense of hurt, mad at yourself for paining your friends. “it’s been weeks and you haven’t attended a single physical therapy session, we’re afraid that if you don’t— you’ll never skate again. we all know that’s not what you want, YN. so get your shit together and we’ll be back when you do.”

taehyung appears in the doorway leading to your bedroom just as his boyfriend ends your lecture. you feel your own tears burn in the corner of your eyes at the ultimatum you’ve just been given but swallow them down as your best friend gives you a weak smile. namjoon makes a non-committal grunt, prompting his lover to scurry out of your now open, apartment door. “think about what i said,” he mumbles, tone much softer now.

they leave not long after, leaving you to think about your choices— just as the award ceremony appears on screen while younger you wins her first olympic medal.

there’s a quiet knock at your door, just two days later. part of you hopes it’s taehyung as you hop over on your crutches— but you know namjoon better than that, you won’t get to see them until your coach sees that you’ve made some improvement , he was pesky and annoying like that. you also know that it’s to give each other some time to get ready to apologise, you for upsetting tae and joon for being so harsh. your friendship had always worked like that.

“noona, are you there?” you recognise jungkook’s voice from the other side of the door, struggling to open it with just one hand while you use your other to cling onto your crutches. it’s been hard, but you’re slowly learning how to use them better, joon would get a kick out of it for sure. “noona— oh!” the cherry haired boy beams brightly as you swing the door open, a matching hue adding further warmth to his melanin rich skin. “you’re here.”

the younger skater is wearing a heavy, oversized sweater despite the warming spring breezes that carry cherry blossoms outside, and black combat pants and matching boots to complete his outfit— his signature large backpack hangs loosely over his shoulder as he stares down at you, being at least half a head taller than yourself. “kookie,” you breathe, hugging him instantly. his sweet, floral scent brings comfort to your racing heart almost instantly as you bury your face in his broad chest. “what are you doing here?”

chuckling quietly, jeongguk pushes you back into your apartment and closes the door behind you both, being careful not to knock you off your unsteady feet. once you’re inside, he fully wraps his arms around you and buries his nose into your neck— finding comfort in your own simple vanilla scent. yourself and the boy always had something unspoken flickering in the air between you, ever since he’d joined your company at seventeen (there was only a year between you both, and jungkook had been a novelty skater until then). your partner always joked that the boy was into older women, whilst you argued that you both admired each other or found one another’s presence highly comforting.

nonetheless, you would be a fool to say you hadn’t noticed how nicely jungkook had grown up since joining you at namjoon’s agency but you could never make your feelings known, not when you were both well known competitors.

“ah— well, namjoon hyung sent me. he said you’d need a fresh face to keep you company...” the younger mumbles, sending shivers down your spine at his proximity. being the sweetheart that he is, jungkook mistakes your shiver for something of pain and guides you to sit on your small fabric couch, pressing a shy kiss to your hairline with burning cheeks as he pulls away. “is it alright if i use your kitchen, i brought some ingredients to make us— i mean you... some dinner!”

“knock yourself out, kookie!”

he nods appreciatively, moving off to your kitchen as you turn back to your tapes, watching over more of your older performances. this time, it’s one from an event just before your first olympics— crisp in quality allowing you to see your skating more clearly. you remember the day that yourself and taehyung qualified for the south korean team, the joy you felt put into every competition since then but now you looked on them with a forlorn expression, wondering what you did wrong? were your movements sloppy? did you bring taehyung down? why did your legs look like that when you jumped?

jungkook fumbles with a frying pan not far from your left as he cooks the meat, a question passing from between his lips that you miss due to lost focus. “hm?” you blink once and turn to face the boy. “what was that?”

“i-i was just asking how you were!” jungkook stammers as his doe eyes catch yours, he blushes deeply, almost as red as his hair before his gaze drops to the broth he begins to serve for the two of you. “unless...of course... that’s a dumb thing to ask...” he bites his lip, dishing out a healthy portion of meat into either of your bowls as he makes the meal look presentable. jungkook places both of your bowls onto a tray before bringing it to your coffee table with a set of chopsticks. “forget i said anything, eat up!” he concludes, taking a seat by your side and handing you your meal.

you smile to yourself, scooping some of the noodles into your mouth and humming at the salty taste. “it’s fine kookoo,” you comment warmly, wiping at your mouth. “i’m just... feeling a bit out of place, not myself... you know?”

the boy only nods, falling silent in favour of watching a younger version of you skate across the ice on screen. the pair of you sit quietly for a while, nothing but the sounds of bowls and chopsticks clanking together, and ice on skates resonating throughout the room. “you’re triple axels were always my favourite,” jungkook whispers before your figure even tumbled into the move, piqueing your interest just a bit. “you were how i leaned to do them.”

“how did you know that was next, though?”

jungkook blushes, setting his dish on the coffee table and thumbing his knuckles shyly. your heart warms at the gesture, causing your smile to broaden. “i-i watched you at the olympics... i’d never taken skating seriously until then so i used your routines to get better, good enough to qualify at the same company as you...”

you fall into yet another silence after squeezing the boy’s hand appreciatively— the red hue to his cheeks only darkening. the cherry haired skater excuses himself to the bathroom and in that time you decide to clear up as a thank you to him for keeping you company. the kitchen is only a short walk, you only have two dishes to carry, it should be fine. except it’s not, like a baby giraffe you are still unsteady in your feet— taking steps without your crutches has proven to be difficult, especially with an armful of kitchenware. if you could just make it to the doorway, at least. at least then you’d know, you weren’t completely useless.

but your concentration slips as the unused muscles in your leg choose this moment to seize up and suddenly you’re falling to the ground. ceramic bowls clatter against your hardwood floor, smashing into pieces while you use your hands to brace for impact— one that doesn’t come. warm arms encircle your waist, jungkook having returned just in time to stop your fall, and pull you closely into his chest. you can feel your body tremble from fear, from anger at yourself for thinking you were even near ready for something like this— so you end up crying before you notice.

“noona, baby please don’t cry,” jungkook lets the pet name slip without realising, clearing the broken shards away with his foot as he sinks to the floor with you in his arms. “it was an accident... you weren’t ready yet...” he coos into your hairline, kissing it gently as he tugs you into his chest.

you feel suffocated, trapped at home and trapped in the mindset that you’ll never be a skater again but jungkook is jungkook, he knows you more than you might have let on— dressing you up to leave the house and taking you to the one place that might soothe you.

the rink.

jungkook’s sweater swaddles you to warmth as you watch him enter the rink from the stands. it’s eleven pm and you have no idea how he got the keys— especially when namjoon closes early on a sunday. your finger tips are cold so you slip them underneath the sleeves, tucking your nose under the collar of the black cotton fabric as it heats up your cheeks and remind you of what it’s like to be in koo’s arms.

he waves at you from down below and truth be told your heart stops for a second before the younger skates to the middle of the rink. you don’t even know how he managed to get the music playing and the lights set up just for him, but jungkook has always been good at everything so you don’t put it past him. the song you recognise as ‘wild’ by troye sivan fills the empty rink and the hairs on your skin prickle with familiarity— a song you had used in your first ever competition with taehyung. it shakes you a little, in a meaningful way, to know that jungkook went to the depths he did to learn from you and develop his own style of skating— one of gentle touches but locked down movements. he was everything and then some.

‘been a while since i’ve been a fool, for you...’

just as the high not ends, jungkook takes off, leaping into a perfected quadruple axel that you didn’t even know he’d learned to do. he loops four times in the air but lands a little shaky, they were a risky move and very rarely completed in competition but seeing that he’d taken your signature move and completed it better than your own abilities makes you smile. with a spark in his eye he mouths the words of the song to you ‘leave this blue neighbourhood, never thought loving could hurt this good,’ as he extends his right leg behind him and twirls across the ice.

this easily allows the boy to adjust his position into a camel spin, his legs parallel to the ice as he falls in tune with the lyrics before pivoting. you remember the routine and it’s every element, tracing them in your head as jungkook executes them perfectly right into the climax of the song, he’s perfect— maybe even better than you. nothing going wrong as he falls to the lower ice for a hydroblade, finger tips just brushing over its surface while he sweeps past.

‘you’re driving me wild, wild wild,” your mind drifts away with the music— convincing you that the younger skater is better than you, hes clean and sharp and— what do you have on him now? a pathetically broken leg with you unable to stand on two feet. you barely realise when the song ends and jungkook has made his way to middle of the rink to close because you’re too distracted with the emotions that clog your throat and tears that litter your galaxy eyes.

you cry, pathetically because what else is there to do.

the younger looks up from the ice, lose long sleeve shirt is littered with sweat from his exertion but he pays no mind as he noticed your tears. they shine under false light while jungkook kicks off his skates as fast as humanely possible because he hates the way your tiny body shakes as if you’re cold, he hates how your soft cheeks dampen and how you’re going without his hold for far too long. dashing up to the gallery with only socks to warm his feet, the young skater slides into the seat beside you— immediately pulling you into his heated embrace.

“baby,” he coos gently, cupping your head as you whimper into his neck. “please don’t cry, not anymore...”

you clutch at his shirt with the finger tips that peek through the sleeve of his jumper. “i can’t...it hurts not to be—be on the ice with you, that’s where I—“ you cut yourself off as a sob crawls from between your chapped lips, you crave the tight squeeze of leather skates on your feet and the cold beneath your arms, they would console you more where jungkook couldn’t.

throat burning with heartache, you nuzzle further into the boy and let him toy with your hair. “i think you should go to physical therapy noona,” jungkook whispers quietly, as though not to startle you. “you’re hurting not being out there, i see that...but if you don’t try and heal— you’ll never get back on your feet.”

jeongguk is annoyingly wise for someone just below your age, so you nod and lace your fingers with his— tracing over the small tattoos that paint his knuckles, silently agreeing to his plea. you let him drive you home that night, clinging to him as he carried you through the door of your apartment.

he doesn’t leave, sliding into bed with you as he holds you close— comforting you once again.

“son of a motherfucking bitch,” you mumble through gritted teeth, as you attempt to step back up and down from the false steps yoongi (your physical therapist) has set up for you. he’s more of a dance therapist than anything, but his exercises are well known in your industry for rehabilitating skaters and namjoon did say he would get you the best. the pain subsides fairly quickly, unlike the months prior when you had first started with yoongi but you’ve learned well and gotten better— even making up with your coach and best friend.

“yes ma’am?” yoongi answers from a whiles away, causing you to chuckle whilst deciding to sit down for a break. you wipe the sweat from your brow and take the bottle of water that your therapist hands to you, gulping it down to ease your ragged breathing. “you’re doing so much better than when you first came in.” you look to yoongi as he sits next to you, a short ish man (compared to jungkook, taehyung or namjoon) but still taller than you, with warm brown hair and honey eyes along with a gummy smile that makes your heart melt. he’s strict on you, but also caring in the smallest of ways— he knows your limits but when to push you too and has helped you make a pretty fast recovery. “you’re even laughing more.”

you push at his shoulder, watching the hair fly from yoongi’s face despite his bandanna. “i laughed before!” you defend yourself with a smile.

“barely! i’m just saying, that i’m proud of you YN-ah. i’m glad you came to me in the end, it’d be a shame to see such talent go to waste.” his voice is smooth, not as deep as tae’s but soothing enough, your smile still falters at his words while he locks and unlocks his fingers, staring at the ground.

“you make it sound as if you’re leaving me,”

yoongi looks up at you with a cheeky smile, but his eyes remain slightly dimmed. “well, technically i am...” he sees the confusion on your face as your brows push together. “an opening came up for a dancer who’s pretty big in the states and over here too, he’s korean so his fan base is large over here and—“

“but you can’t leave me!” you practically yell, shocking both yoongi and yourself— he couldn’t go just yet, not when you were so close. “i’m almost fully recovered and if you leave? a-all my progress could come undone and i’ll never get back on the ice, let alone back in time to train for the olympics!” you feel the familiar emotion of panic bubble in the pits of your stomach, tightly gripping onto yoongi’s wrist as if he’ll disappear into thin air.

the older boy puts a hand over yours, looking to you fondly. “you know that’s not what our end goal is, we want you back on the ice remember?” he reminds you calmly but you slip free from his grip anyways— feeling defeat settle heavily over your heart. if yoongi left now, there’d be nothing for you to work towards and no physician would compare to him. “besides, i already talked namjoon into letting me bring you with me...” you perk up at his words, eyes lighting up brightly at the thought of not being separated this far into your progress. “figure skating is like dance for the ice and your leg is strong enough for you to move on it in that kind of way...”

you figure yoongi is right, it’s not like you hadn’t danced— ballet lessons were almost necessary to become a figure skater, aiding with the grace and light movements you needed. if yoongi was offering you an opportunity to use dance to get back onto the ice, who were you to pass it up. dance therapy would advance her recovery much faster than your regular routine.

yoongi can tell your answer by the look of joy on your face. “so is that a yes? you’re coming with?”

“of course it is, asshole... you should’ve lead with that!” you scold him playfully, pushing the older boy with a roll of your eyes.

a feeling of hope settles, comfortingly amongst your bones— this could be it....

this could be exactly what you needed.

⇢ taglist ! ( comment, like or dm to be added! )

@periminkle @ggukkieland @aishots @ownthesunshine @codeinebelle @taeass @trviahope @singular-itae @preciouschimine @yoongismykink @idiakh @honeyspillings @kimsdior @chimshoe95 @cypherft-v @tangledsparkles -@ultraanonymousey @rjsmochii @thenoblr

144 notes · View notes

granvarones · 3 years

Text

Sometimes we are late to the BBQ right? Well in the case of Ultra Naté (pronounced Na-Tay), I didn’t arrive at the BBQ til 1998. I was 15 years old and my teenage icon Filipinx Freestyle/Dance Diva Jocelyn Enriquez was sprinkled with Disco fairy dust along with dance divas Amber and Ultra Naté under the moniker Stars On 54. They revamped the 1971 folk classic “If You Could Read My Mind” by Gordon Lightfoot into one the most fascinating covers I’ve ever heard (just listen back to back and gag). This collaboration introduced me to Ms. Naté and piqued my curiosity.

youtube

Eight years into her career, Ultra Naté had landed five singles into Top 10 on the Billboard Dance Chart by the time I bought the single to her hit single “Free” at Tower Records (I miss you so much). As soon as I heard that guitar riff in the intro followed by those chords and 4/4 I was hooketh. I immediately grabbed a copy of the Situation: Critical album. I stared at the artwork fascinated by its silvery gloss and the acupuncture needles in her face. It was futuristic as fuck! The album’s photography was shot by the legendary Eric Johson who is known for iconic photos of Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill, Aaliyah, and Biggie. I wasn’t totally sold on the album at first because as a teenager I was infatuated with Freestyle music and this was out of my teenage comfort. However, the album grew on me and eventually I connected to each song on a personal level. At the time I was struggling with my budding sexuality, lack of interest in education, and a toxic-ass family dynamic. This album would eventually become my personal teenage bible.

“Somehow things must change, and it’s got to be for the better” the lyrics from the albums intro track “Situation: Critical” pierced my young gay soul. When my being sexually molested was brought to the light my parents were so wounded by life; none of them had the capacity to support me. My father was strung out on drugs, my mother’s mental health was dwindling, and my step mother struggled to keep a roof over our heads. I felt so fucking hurt by their neglect that all I thought of was escaping at 18. My then therapist Judy had a huge black and white picture of New York City and one day I declared “I’m going to live there!” Until then I endlessly played this album on my discman throughout my teens to keep my ass sane.

youtube

There was a rage building inside me and “Found A Cure” was that song that embodied what I felt. Lines like “Feels like I’m going crazy, feels like I’m going insane” were my everyday life and I wanted out but I was still underaged. “How many times have you been left alone and you feel confused?” solidified my connection to Ultra. This was the second single from the album which hit #1 on Billboard Club Songs. The music video was directed by Charles Stone III who would years later direct the epic CrazySexyCool: The TLC Story. Larry Flick of Billboard wrote “Naté fearlessly faces the challenge with a jam that smartly doesn’t aim to duplicate the tone of her now-classic hit…The diva is in fine voice here and is matched by a muscular bassline and keyboard/guitar interplay that oozes with funk flavor…Miss Nate proves there’s more than Free in her locker with a pure floorfiller. A Gloria Gaynor for the Millennium.” Mic drop.

youtube

“A New Kind of Medicine,” the album’s second track, and third single, lightened the mood after the dark yet realist ‘Situation’. During this era in House music Disco samples were a huge commodity. While this was purely an original song the Disco influence is prevalent. The single had some heavy hitters on the remixes and the first two being producers in Freestyle: Albert Cabrera, David Morales, and Danny Tenaglia. The Morales mix is quite festive especially at the 5:20 mark when you get that tidbit of Inner City’s “Big Fun” followed by a lyric not in the original: “Stop taking me down.”

My favorite track on the album was the last single released from the album, the Al Mack produced “Release The Pressure.” How can you not feel like you’re transpired into a film where the woman is struggling, breaking shit, cursing bitches out, lights a joint, a sip of wine, puts on her favorite 12” and gets her damn life. The production on this track has so many beautiful layers from the piano, to the horns, and guitars. It always felt like time froze whenever this track came on. The song was also featured on the soundtrack The 24 Hour Woman starring Rosie Perez. This is one of my forever tracks because it always remains true to this day: “You get up, It knocks you back down, Release the pressure, Let it out.”

youtube

The album itself pays homage to the 70’s and 80’s influence of staples in Disco, Funk and House which are very evident in: “Any Ole Love” (Indeep’s “Last Night A DJ Saved My Life”) and “Love You Can’t Deny” (Royal House “Can You Party”). The mellower affairs “It’s Crying Time” and “Every Now and Then” were so damn pretty that they seduced my young self who was anti anything slow. The last original track on the album “Divine Love,” produced by the duo Masters At Work, transports you to Sunday mass everytime. That 5 minute mark is pure gospel ear candy with those luscious rhodes and ab libs take you on a journey to the ether. This felt like the sequel to “Rejoicing (I’ll Never Forget)” from her first album Blue Notes In The Basement. At this point in time I was severely struggling with my belief in God however this song just anoints you, especially the 9 minute MAW Version.

This album took me on a musical journey. It became my bible, my salvation, my healing. In the spring of 2001 my life took a huge turn. I had fallen in the love with a man in NYC whom I thought I’d be with forever. After a huge argument with my parents I finally said “fuck this shit I’m out!” Ultra’s lyrics rang in my head “Now I know you’re no good for me, Now I got to find a remedy,” my remedy: move to NYC. After settling into my then boyfriend’s apartment I would blast this album on volume 5000 and the whole damn planet would shake. I didn’t give a fuck about the neighbor downstairs because I was ‘Free’ and living my damn best gay life. I didn’t leave my heart in San Francisco that’s for damn sure!

In 2012, I had a full circle moment when I was hired by Naté’s management, Peace Bisquit. It was completely surreal to be in direct communication with her, and an honor working under the brilliance of Bill Coleman (remember Deee-Lite? “Groove Is In The Heart”? Nuff said.). I was bestowed the task of managing the execution of the Hero Worship album to digital platforms. Miss Naté was the most humble artist I ever worked with. A memory I will always hold dear is a tender moment we shared at the Paradise Garage Reunion Party in 2014. The DJ began to play “The Whistle Song” in honor of the iconic Frankie Knuckles who had passed just months earlier. As the song played, Ultra began to cry. I put my arm around her and consoled her. The same way her music had done for me in all the years before.

Thank you for never giving up on your music Ultra because this album saved me!

“You might save someone’s life.” – Ultra Naté “Situation: Critical”

If you are experiencing or have experienced sexual abuse please call the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline 800.656.HOPE (4673)

Giorgio Alxndr (He/Him) is into music, modeling, activism, and plant fathering. He creates beats and playlists in his free time. Loves deep conversations and therapy sessions. Professionally he’s always in the mix between music and technology.

#granvarones #ultra nate #gay #queer #storytelling #1990s #music history #lgbtq #afro latinx #latinx #Youtube

24 notes · View notes

specterchasing-a · 3 years

Text

Hold On (Part 2) || Eddie & Alfie

TIMING: One month ago, directly after part one.

LOCATION: En route to the woods.

PARTIES: @yikesimonfire & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: Alfie and Eddie have a heart-to-heart in the car.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia tw

Eddie mindfully secured his filming equipment in the trunk of Alfie’s odiously yellow station wagon. As he took a step back to close the hatch, an idea occurred to him. He hastily ducked back into the trunk and unzipped his bag to pilfer for his camera. Now satisfied, Eddie slammed the door shut and walked briskly to the car’s passenger-side. The moment he settled into his seat, a pronounced frown settled into his features.

“When are you gonna get your AC fixed?” Eddie implored, his gaze settling on his chaperone. “Every time I get in this car, it feels like the air’s been replaced by uncomfortably warm dog breath.” He refrained from adding that it smelled like it as well. Alfie didn’t need to be subjected to verbal beration of that magnitude after agreeing to accompany him tonight.

While Eddie packed his gear into the back, Alfie hopped into the driver’s seat, helplessly turning the ignition repeatedly until the engine sputtered to life. Immediately, he was hit with a blast of cold air before the air conditioning unit forgot how to work. The ration of cool air was quickly replaced with a suffocatingly stale breeze. Alfie stretched over to unlock the passenger door and cranked the window open before rolling his own window down to allow a more comfortable airflow. Soon enough, Eddie was in the seat beside him.

A laugh reverberated in his chest at Eddie’s comment. “What do you mean?” Alfie asked, emphatically waving his hand at the dashboard. “It’s doing its best. Besides, parts are hard to come by.” That’s what he got for being cheap. What he needed was a new car altogether, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. The wagon got him from point A to B; that would have to be enough. It wasn’t like he needed a functioning air conditioner anyway, not that Eddie was privy as to why. “We can always take yours,” he offered with a small smirk.

“I hate to break it to you, but its best doesn’t cut it. It needs to do another car’s best,” Eddie riffed while opening the viewer on his camera. With the press of a button, it became a diligent archivist of its owner’s per view. Without warning, Eddie lifted the device to eye-level and pointed it in Alfie’s direction. He knew well and good his friend didn’t enjoy being in the crosshairs of his filming, but that never stopped him in the past. Why would it deter him now?

“Trust me, I would love to take the Mini, but it’s… well, mini, and you know that. As quirky as your car is, it has better storage options.” Eddie’s voice lacked interest—he found himself too caught-up in recording to have any to spare. “You have a nice profile, have I said that before?” he asked, slipping further into his seat as he rested his feet on the dashboard. Meanwhile, his eyes (and camera) remained fixated on Alfie.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Alfie chuckled as he shifted the car into reverse and eased out of his parking space. With his eyes now fixed on the path ahead, Alfie didn’t notice the camera focused on him. “You really should have considered that when you bought it. What would you do if I ever wasn’t around to lend my cargo space?”

The compliment that soon fell from Eddie’s lips made Alfie’s brow raise. His eyes flickered to look at Eddie, only to find that he was being filmed. “Wha— Christ’s sake, Eddie, would you turn that thing off?” A fire rose in his cheeks, coloring them a vibrant red. He quickly turned his head away, but was unable to avoid the camera’s watching eye. Damn it. He hated being recorded; Eddie knew that. “Or, I’unno… turn it somewhere else, at least?”

As the car reached the edge of the parking lot, Alfie applied the brakes and looked back at Eddie, the blush still prominent on his face. “And buckle,” he scolded — albeit playfully — with raised eyebrows. “Seriously, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Die, probably,” Eddie deadpanned. If he were to make an effort, his car could likely hold whatever necessities he needed it to. Alfie probably knew that, too. However, if he went that route, he wouldn’t be able to spend his time being a nuisance in the passenger’s seat. He much preferred reclining and filming to focusing on the road. A miracle happened the day he got his license, that much was certain.

Alfie’s reaction to being caught on candid camera inspired an impish grin from Eddie. He noticed the change of color in his cheeks—so did his heart, actually. It drummed desperately within his chest, as if also begging Eddie to rethink staring at Alfie for so long. Unfortunately, he rarely listened to what either of them had to say. “I can’t believe you hate art so much that you’d deprive me of my muse,” he said.

Eddie rolled his eyes, also playfully, when Alfie scolded him. “Not today,” he answered before he quickly switched his camera off and buckled in like he was told.

Deprived of his main source of entertainment, Eddie resorted to turning on the radio. Like everything else in Alfie’s car, the display refused to work properly. What should have been words and numbers looked more like hieroglyphs. Eddie briefly toggled through stations before a familiar tune (‘Hold On’ by Wilson Phillips) caused him to turn the radio off with evident disdain.

A strange sensation tugged behind Alfie's navel at the suggestion that Eddie would die without him. It wasn't true, of course. With any luck, Eddie would go on fine without him; he had to. Still, the thought made him feel… guilty? Alfie's time in this life was growing increasingly limited. He couldn't afford to think about it now. It would only make the time he did have left with Eddie less worthwhile, for fear of causing him any grief.

"Your muse?" Alfie nearly cooed. "Please—" his voice cracked. "I have complete faith that you'll find something better." Once again unable to make eye-contact with Eddie today, Alfie shook his head with a breathy chuckle and rolled his eyes. His attention was back on the road and as the seat belt beside him clicked into place, assuring Eddie's safety, Alfie merged onto the street to begin their journey.

It didn't take long for Eddie to begin fidgeting. He knew well enough by now that finding a suitable radio station in the station wagon was unlikely. Alfie wouldn't complain about the music as long as it kept the camera off him. But when Eddie abruptly cut the radio off, he successfully piqued Alfie's curiosity.

"What was that about?" he asked, an impish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes darting between Eddie and the road. "You trying to tell me you hate Wilson Phillips or something? And you were just getting onto me about hating art," Alfie teased.

Alfie’s insistence that Eddie would eventually move on to something better almost made him laugh. For years, his thoughts revolved around his reclusive neighbor and not much else. Alfie and Youtube; that’s what filled his days since he moved downtown. “No, I won’t,” he gently corrected him. “Besides, I don’t want to.” It didn’t worry him to voice his genuine fondness for Alfie, not when they had years of friendship behind them. At this point, it would’ve been more alarming if he didn’t love the guy enough to negate his self-deprecation.

“Wilson Phillips is not art.” Eddie emphatically pointed a finger at Alfie. “Not that song, at least. ‘Hold On’ is trite and cheap. And, all it does is make me think about the time I spent in group therapy as a teenager when our counselor insisted on performing an acoustic version at the end of every single session. Every session, Alfie,” he looked at his chauffeur with bewildered eyes. “She even made eye contact with us while she sang—who does that? I never felt like I could look away, not when she was tearfully pleading with me to break free from the chains. It was torture. Wilson Phillips is torture, not art.”

Alfie didn't want to argue about how quickly Eddie would (or wouldn't) move on. No matter how much Eddie didn't want to, there would come a point that he would have no other option. Besides, Alfie playing the part of Eddie's muse was clearly a joke. Or, perhaps more accurately, a metaphor for their friendship. All that mattered was Eddie had not meant it in a literal sense. So why had he allowed himself to become so flustered over it?

"Bullshit!" squawked Alfie, who was now fully prepared to enlighten Eddie about his previous love affair with the early 90s pop scene. Before he had a chance to share however, Eddie shared his own history with the song. Alfie's jaw slackened and he shot Eddie an incredulous look. "Every session?" he parroted in disbelief. His face scrunched as he imagined what kind of hellscape that must have been. Being forced to listen to acoustic covers was bad enough, but on top of awkward eye-contact?

"Okay, yeah… no. I see your point," Alfie softly spoke after a moment. "Who in their right mind thought she was still fit to be a counselor after the first time that happened, anyway? Like — I'unno, you'd think someone would've had to question her capability or whatever at that point."

"Still," he continued after making a point to showcase his disapproval with a series of disdainful facial expressions. "I stand by what I said. I think there's something beautiful in wanting to turn around and say goodbye — much like how you must have felt after being subjected to that special brand of hell."

Eddie adopted a tight-lipped grin when Alfie conceded. “Every session,” he confirmed. Looking back, he couldn’t remember liking anything about group therapy. Owning up to his issues should’ve never been something that required an audience. As extroverted as Eddie could be, he kept his cards close to his chest when it came to his emotions. Alfie knew him better than anyone else and even he didn’t get the whole truth half the time.

Eddie let out a terse laugh at Alfie’s final comment. “Real cute,” he snarked playfully before his expression became more serious. “It didn’t help that I hated therapy in general. Not only did it well and truly suck to talk about my feelings, but the only reason my parents even made me go was the whole… ghost-vision deal.” Eddie emphasized his annoyance by accompanying the tail-end of his sentence with a flippant flap of his hand. “Funny, that they pegged the one thing that made me happy as the problem.” His brow raised as he pursed his lips.

“But, uh, wow—sorry about the impromptu sharetime,” Eddie said when shame began to collect in chest. “Don’t mind me complaining about therapy while simultaneously making you my therapist.” He hoped levity would be the cure for oversharing.

Alfie’s face lit up at Eddie’s initial response. “I’m the cutest, obviously,” he chided with a lopsided grin. He couldn’t recall any previous conversations about Eddie’s group therapy, but he was well aware of his friend’s relationship to his parents. Maybe he had mentioned it before; it was truly a testament to how solid Alfie’s active listening skills were. “Fuck your parents!” his voice trilled. “Seriously — when have they ever cared about your happiness?” His commiseration was probably unnecessary; Eddie didn’t need another reminder that his family were awful. “Sorry… too far,” he added with a small frown.

With a clear road ahead, Alfie lifted a hand from the steering wheel and maneuvered it around to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t sweat it — really. I will gladly take an impromptu sharetime over an awkwardly silent drive to our inevitable doom.” His gaze shifted to Eddie as he gave him an apologetic smile, allowing his hand to linger a bit longer than was probably acceptable. “Besides,” Alfie added, gently squeezing Eddie’s shoulder before returning his hand to the wheel, “that’s what friends are for, right?”

It wasn’t often that Alfie referred to them as “friends”. The word was scattered few and far between, but that didn’t make it any less true. “From now on, that song is banned. We don’t talk about it. We don’t listen to it. It’s purged from our lives. What song? Wilson Phillips, who? Never heard of ‘em!” Alfie tilted his head in Eddie’s direction and peered at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of positive reaction to ensure he’d sufficed at making his friend feel better.

Eddie glanced at Alfie in surprised amusement after his initial outburst. “You’re right and you should say it,” he encouraged in a light-hearted tone that didn’t fit the topic. If he didn’t try to lessen the weight of the conversation, he might have to admit to how much it hurt to discuss. He couldn’t risk letting Alfie know the extent of his damage.

When Alfie’s hand landed on his shoulder, Eddie felt a lump form in his throat. Usually, he initiated whatever physical contact they shared. He didn’t know how to react to being on the receiving end. Alfie’s mention of ‘inevitable doom’ managed to ease his uncertainty. Eddie replied with a soft huff of laughter, his eyes shining with fondness.

Soon enough, Alfie deprived Eddie of his hand, but didn’t give him much time to be upset about it. He called them friends. “Oh, is that what we are?” Eddie asked with a teasing grin. “Could’ve sworn our relationship was more like whatever Bugs and Elmer had going on.” His expression softened, though his grin remained throughout Alfie’s condemnation of Wilson Phillips.

“You’re…. You’re a really good guy, Alfie,” Eddie said. “Thanks for humoring me tonight.”

It didn’t seem appropriate to continue down the path of shit-talking Eddie’s parents, no matter how much they deserved it. Eddie didn’t enlist Alfie on this adventure just to talk about all of his woes. If he was going to do this, then goddamn it, he was going to make the best out of it. Eddie deserved that much. “‘Course we’re friends,” Alfie returned with a playful sneer. “Though, I think you’re way off base with that one. If anything, we’re more like Bugs and Daffy.” His eyes focused on the road, but his mind was lost in thought. “Actually—” Alfie corrected, “come to think of it, that’s really fuckin’ accurate. Just, y’know, don’t ask me who’s who.”

In an instant, Alfie’s eyes were back on Eddie. Immense guilt crept over him for trying to turn down the invitation in the first place. It was glaringly obvious that Eddie was trying to involve him in his life; something Alfie tried to avoid with just about everyone who did. His heart ached. He didn’t want to refuse Eddie, truly. There just happened to be parts of his life that were better off private. But it wouldn’t kill him to hang out with the guy more every now and then. Well, given Eddie’s track record, it very well could. But it would be worth it… RIght?

“Listen, Ed… I know I’m a pain in the ass. It’s not — I don’t do things like this, y’know? I stay at home like the grumpy hermit crab that I am and that’s how I like it.” Apologies were never Alfie’s strong suit. It was rare that the words “I’m sorry” ever made it out of his mouth. “But I’m already pretty glad I came with you.” Once again, he was dancing the conversation dangerously close to heavy. Alfie mentally berated himself; he needed to keep things light. “But if we make it out alive, you do still owe me those Baby Ruths,” he teased, lightly nudging Eddie’s arm with his own.

#c: alfie #wickedswriting #hold on #internalized homophobia tw #// there's like two more parts to this still #i hope you guys like weekly installments #poaisdjfosdf

9 notes · View notes

cosmicclownboy · 4 years

Text

Me finishing something I struggled to write....wow it was actually likely :)

When his father is alive the idea of going to therapy is suffocating. It continues to be throughout his years in the air force until the day it's mandated because by that point everything was suffocating. Waking up. Doing his physio. Simple tasks.Hard tasks. He had survived against all the odds but a part of him felt dead. So a part of him was in this limbo where he always felt like he was dying. The first session he stares at the clock inching the minutes until the clock hand rests on the hour change. The second he stares at the glass of water. By the third session he's exhausted he hasn't slept he still hears the screams and the blast in his mind so he slowly lets the man in not to everything. Not to his dad but to the blast. He was diagnosed with Complex PTSD and he was offered many ways to help with it. He goes to his sessions. He does his physio. Alex slowly builds himself up then he goes back to work.

It goes well for the most part until someone slams a door shut and he has to spend an hour in the bathroom trying to eradicate the weight on his chest and how to stop feeling cold. His therapist offers anti-anxiety medication and whilst he nods his head eyes cloudy he hears his father's words.

"Manes men don't cry it's a sign of weakness. We are soldiers, not Sally's"

He tries different antidepressants settling on one that helps his thoughts slower and that helps him sleep. None of his friends knows it when he heads back to Roswell except Kyle after he's let in on the alien secret and he makes him his doctor in case of shenanigans.

His father dies and he thinks maybe things can be different better in a way he never thought possible. The statue gets put up and he has a panic attack so bad he spends the next two days in bed. It takes him two weeks to think about it really think about it. To face the battle he has to jump right in and the idea of therapy doesn't seem so suffocating any more he's no longer afraid just determined to make strides. With Kyle's help, he finds one that specialises in childhood domestic abuse as well as having experience with veterans. She helps him in ways he didn't think was possible and maybe a year ago the idea of the traffic light method would have had him rolling his eyes or silently repressing whatever emotions he had. But maybe this could be a good thing.

Michael is the first to notice they are on a recon mission together and he's passing across the really good coffee from Bean me up he raises his eyebrows at the sight of an orange bracelet.

"Didn't think you liked orange? expanding the airforce's colour scheme?"

He huffs at that. Who said he didn't like orange?

"My therapist said because of my upbringing and complex PTSD I have a hard time vocalising or communicating my feelings so she suggested a traffic light method. Green is a good day when my emotions are in check. Orange is okay I can manage the day. Red is when-

"everything too much"

"Yeah. On red days I write down everything as to why it's red including my triggers and talk them over with her. It also helps people around me recognise when I'm in that headspace"

Michael shuts his door purses his lips and blows into his own coffee cup.

"I'm glad you're talking to someone"

"Me too. Now, are we gonna recreate a buddy cop movie extraterrestrial style or what? Come on, Guerin don't tell me you don't want to unleash your nerd. This is a safe place"

Michael takes a swig of his own coffee shaking his head before chuckling and taking the wheel. Maybe they share a lot more longing looks then friends would normally. They've just always had a connection under the surface beating and bubbling all on its own.Unspoken and beautiful.

More often then not he wears the orange one. The first time the green bracelet graces his wrist is the day the homeless dog he found slowly offers her belly to be rubbed. Yeah, that day was worthy of a green one. The day Nova finds him and the days that follow which end in his house having a dog bed in pretty much every corner. He might end up replacing his leather couch but who cares it's just a couch. It has nothing on her.

It's only when the days veer closer to the fourth anniversary of that day he truly struggles. Phantom pain comes in waves and he grips every surface he comes in contact with. The days slowly blur together it's a cocktail of depression, sleep deprivation and nightmares that has him on the Tuesday reach for the red bracelet. He finds the Crashdown is a minute from where he is and he's in desperate need for coffee.

Communicating hasn't always been easy for him and Michael especially their fight and flight being fight or fuck over the past decade but they've been trying their hardest to strive to be better to build a foundation. The bracelets were always something Michael immediately sought out every time they were in each other's vicinity. He saunters into the Crashdown buckle first and smooshes himself into the booth without a second thought grabbing one of the menus and seeing what new alien pun food Isobel helped conjure. It isn't until he finishes his order smiling at Liz that he finally looks up to Alex who's completely dissociated. His eyes are dark and sunken his milkshake untouched and he just looks lost. Michael's eyes drift to Alex's fingers noting the tremors before his eyes peer up further and he sees the red bracelet. Michael has a choice at this moment he could leave Alex to it but something in his heart tells him that the days of leaving are behind them. So he slowly reaches for the right hand that tremors and lightly laces the fingers between them. By the time he's halfway through his fries, Alex is more self-aware. He looks to their joined fingers and Michael's mouth completely stuffed with fries and looks softly at him. He doesn't unlace them.

"Want to get out of here?"

They end up in their spot the desert vast and unnerving.

"Did I do the right thing driving us here does it bring up anything we can go back if you want? You never really told any of us what to do on a code red day".

He's right he didn't say to any of them what to do. Truth is anytime Alex usually has one of these days he locks himself in a room and allows every ugly emotion to override him until his body tells him otherwise. Today was a new one in that he wanted connection. He wanted to be with Michael and despite the fear of the unknown he confesses this to Michael.

"It'll be four years Sunday"

"Since your leg?"

Alex nods he doesn't really know how to delve into it the only people who know what happened are the people at the airforce. People don't ask they don't want to know and the people who do aren't worthy of the conversation. Not to mention a lot of his job is classified he can only offer what he can.

"It was meant to be a simple job. Twenty of us in and out.Forty minutes on the dot. I was meant to hack a server. We got to the room we swept the entire place we didn't realise there was a pressure-sensitive bomb until Avril took his foot off. He was the youngest".

Recalling it makes his body shiver his hands shake but he needs to do this.

"Only eight of us made it out. Everyone else had spouses and kids. I had a dad who when I woke up from a two-week coma said I couldn't get blown up right. I didn't understand it. I'm good at compartmentalising stuff it's what he taught me to do my whole life but that day...I felt everything then nothing."

They lay there for a while staring at the stars tracing them with their fingers with one hand lacing the other. There's a light breeze softly swaying in the air Alex softly turns his body to Michael's until they are laying on the side facing one another.

"I get that feeling"

The confession Michael makes his heart ache and tighten he ushers the cowboy closer his fingers searching for his curls to slowly run his fingers through. Michael ends up the little spoon and judging by the little hum he makes he thinks he doesn't mind a little bit. Michael had the essence of a cat it's one of the many reasons he loves him.

"I know you do"

He pulls Michael tighter resting his head on his curls lightly pecking the crevice of his head.

"I think it's probably why we push each other away so much. I don't want the painful stuff I've been through to trigger or touch your stuff and neither do you so we pick a reason to walk away thinking the other one will be better off. I haven't been better off have you?"

Michael removes himself from his hold much to his disappointment and sitting up because he needs this conversation to be that of what it is a conversation.

"There hasn't been a day you've been gone where I thought that Alex. I'm just sorry for so many things"

"me too"

By the time he makes it to his house Alex is wiped he needs to feed Nova before she barks the house down. He also should really clean his prosthetic liner doesn't want to wind up getting sick. Not to mention taking his pain meds. Trust Michael to recognise all of this and tells him he'll feed her. He wants to argue but his eyes are drifting.

When he wakes up there's a glass of water his pain and anxiety meds on the bedside table and he's trying to remember how the hell he made it to his bed. Last time he checked he KO'd on the sofa as Nova was yipping at Michael's feet.

Michael.

Alex fumbles for his crutch and heads for the living room maybe he shouldn't make a presumption but he's pretty sure he knows his alien from the back of his hand and sure enough, he comes across to Michael and his Nova sharing the couch or Nova dominating both these things as if they are her own. It's the first time in a long time he's slept and he's hoping it's the first of many times he wakes up to Michael in his house. By the time he makes it back to the bedroom, he's staring at the red bracelet on his wrist and the notebook Michael also placed by the pill bottles sticky note on the top with a drawing of a lopsided penny. He spends twenty minutes writing it all down his triggers that day the way he felt all to make sure for his next session he can talk about it continue to make progress. By the time he's put the pen down and taken his anti-anxiety pill, he's greeted by his girl in the zoomies frame of mind.

"Hey, girl. Do you want to play? Give me a minute to put the leg on sweetie and I'll take you to the garden"

He stares at the three bracelets all meaning different things. Today isn't a red bracelet day so he turns to the orange one. It makes the most sense, doesn't it? Today he can manage yet there's something calling him to the green one. Can he go from red to green from a couple of hours? He'll make sure to ask in his next sessions but Nova excitedly barking wanting to play is reason enough for him to tie the green braids to his wrist.

"Do you always feel the need to dramatically lean against doorways".

His Michael senses are tingling he can't decide if it's a loving Michael thing or maybe the whole cosmic alien soulmate thing.

"You're wearing green today".

"Observant too"

He takes the coffee on offer delighting in the way the black bitterness soothes his soul.

"I think today could be a good day. Nova's happy. Plus you and I had an actual conversation which didn't end in tears, fucking or brokeback mountain angst"

Michael's not wearing his hat or his belt he's just leaning against the door frame with bedhead of the ages curls veering in every destination. He wants to run his hands through them and hold him. Fuck it who says he can't. He curls his head into his shoulder much to his surprise and tucks his arm to hold his waist. He feels the chuckle rumble against his ears

"We've had what ten years of it angst is overrated. You know what's underrated?"

"What?"

"Having breakfast. Holding hands. Watching a movie. Being boyfriends"

Alex feels a kiss against his head and peaks up to Michael softly cupping his cheeks he makes sure Alex's eyes are on his not looking away.

"I love you. If you aren't there yet that's okay. I don't want to mess with your recovery. If you don't want to be with me after everything that's okay too. I just want you to know I'm here and I'm not going anywhere"

Alex puts the cup of coffee down and brings his head up so their foreheads touch.

"I love you too".

Alex knows love won't cure everything and being with Michael doesn't mean it's automatically going to be green bracelets all the time. The red bracelet won't cease to exist. He still gets red days. But he does know this. Whatever the day and whatever colour he wears Michael will rub circles into his hand and hold it just the same. Some days he has a depressive episode or an anxiety attack and between his therapist and the people he loves they help him recognise it's okay. It's okay to be loved. It's okay to need and want people. His father's words can stay in the ground with him. Alex is finally content.

#malex #malexfic #this ended up really long #woops

46 notes · View notes

talesofealdancynedom · 3 years

Photo

Uncle Cetus knitting; There is a matching picture, where Morgan is wearing that sweater by the way...

Tale 21: What The Wagon Was For (chapter 8 - On The Radio 8/8 ) part 6. Stories of wizards

no warings

Wool and yarn; Soft threads tied together to keep warm. Self soothing, and expressing creativity. Natural fibers, twirled into textiles that are plush, yet strong. The smell of plastic from the store, that turns into a soft warm sent, as fingers pull it between needles and hooks; As it is transformed into a variety of adornments. Bright as red, or white with dots, thick as rope, or thin like thread; There is no limit to the yarn available to those who seek it. Each loaf, pulled from its inner loop, and wound into balls that seem to always escape, tangle, or go missing. There is always too little, or too much of it around. With a few years practice, a hat can be made in under an hour, with argyle of red and navy, against a confetti white base; Complete with ties and pom-poms. The secret ingredient is time and love; Weaved into something comforting, to be gifted and cherished by someone. A gift of warmth that shows you care.

There is an aesthetic, sensation, smell, and rhythm, in this ancient textile art. Not only calming, but also protective and embellishing. This is why when the couples’ knitting group was over, uncle Cetus kept knitting for the family, while Jupiter kept finding odd amounts of wool in the linen cupboard. While she groaned about the plethora of thread, each autumn, Morgan and the rest of the family, eagerly awaited what Cetus had spent the year crafting for them. Made with love, thought, dedication, and material that costs more then they should. these treasures were meaningful; Because they were made by hand, just for them.

At the end of the semester, some important paperwork finally got processed and aproved. Magic politics can only function within the common laws of a land; And the law prioritizes children in need of homes, over opinionated wizards. Cetus, after struggling to organize finances after his mother died, finally got guardianship over his sister’s precious son. The problem was that Morgan was bonded to Tiberius Gate, living in an ominous tower. With Emilia. Aunt Jupiter was no quitter; She suggested they move into the tower as well. They already lived in town, and Reginia was going to be sent to magic school anyway. She was to be Morgan’s peer support. Though cousins, they were the same age and like siblings. As magical as Pepperidge was, Cetus and Jupiter were perfectly mundane; Born to magic houses, but unqualified to care for young mages. But they were qualified to provide a supportive and loving family, to two growing youths. Cetus was up to the challenge of helping Morgan overcome his trauma, grow, and be himself. Mage or not, Morgan deserved to feel safe after everything he went through.

Thus, Cetus became a great aid in Morgan’s recovery. A male role model, as well as an incredible barrier to the corrupt wizard counsel. Morgan, as the mage of Tiberius Gate, was the way of getting to Pepperidge, and its mages. So, if anyone wanted to get rid of mages there, they needed to control Morgan. But now, they also had to threaten the wellbeing a commoner, who had common law on his side. Cetus knew it. No one was getting their fingers in any peanut butter jar, that would mess up his family’s happily ever afters. Every advance made to contain Morgan’s abilities, was being thwarted by an increasingly close pro mage community, in the tiny town of Pepperidge; From the bus driver, to every teacher and student. If he didn’t feel it, Morgan was completely safe.

After school, mid week, Cetus dropped Morgan off at therapy, and Jupiter would come to pick him up after sessions.

“We have a family meeting, and child welfare check next week. As always, do your best, sport.” Cetus said, ruffling Morgan’s hair. It gave him joy; After almost a year of adoption, and counseling, Cetus could finally touch Morgan without him flinching. Cetus didn’t know what Leo was doing, or if it was even Leo and not life in general; But it was working. He saw Morgan off, before taking Reggie and Emilia home.

“Hey, want to get ice-cream on the boardwalk after dinner?” Emilia said, leaning out the back window. She pulled Morgan over to kiss his check. He nodded, and shyly returned the gesture. Cetus and Reggie tried not to giggle. Morgan slowly walked into the office, checked in, and sat in the depressing psychiatry waiting room.

The fluorescent lights flickered, but at a rate that wasn’t noticeable until there was a migraine. There was the smell of bleach, and old drywall. The receptionist was taking a line of calls, as other families came in, and everyone tried not to look at each other; Because every chair was awkwardly placed facing inward. The walls were mustard, and the chairs plastic. The water cooler bubbled, and the thermostat was set low. Morgan was wearing a forest green, salmon, and black argyle knit sweater, Cetus had made it. Fall had come around, and it was almost his birthday. Morgan reflected on how it had been nine months since his uncle took him in. He loved his uncle. But it wasn’t the same as his mother and father. He hadn’t seen his parent in almost three years.

Leo came to the front, and h led Morgan to his quiet office, while holding Dolly. The light blue walls, smelled of ambiguous air freshener. There was a stack of papers, bulletin of inspirational posters, bowl of fidget toys, and a Yuka in the back. It had started to become comforting and familiar. Morgan relaxed into the chair, holding Icarus on his lap.

“Never seen you so relaxed,” Leo smiled. He took his seat, causing the office chair to squeak. “What would you like to talk about today?” He started. Morgan sat there, looking around the room. He wasn’t feeling anything in particular at the moment. Nothing was really bothering him. Well, maybe the embarrassment and excitement of getting his girlfriend with child WAY too early, or the stress of balancing the world of fey with homework. Also, the upcoming equinox dance at school, and his birthday. Actually, there was too many things to talk about.

“How about you and Emilia, or Cetus? Your aunt and uncle are getting a review from what I hear.” Leo prompted. He had an agenda. Morgan being relaxed was good, but there is always more work to do. Morgan shrugged, like usual.

“How about what you’re feeling right now? I can bring out the chart if you like.”

“I think I’m sad? Out of all things, today I miss mom and dad a lot. They send me paint, books, and clothes, to help my uncle. Mom still knows exactly what I like. Cetus is super nice, and he’s always there for me; He worked really hard to take me in, even with all the magic politics. I appreciate it. Oh, he actually got pulled into some quests, even though he’s common folk! Now I get to graduate early under professor Hara, researching Griminthropes. Aunt Jupiter wants to do a good job too, so she’s-” Morgan mumbled on.

“Stop there. This isn’t about Cetus’s life; This is about built-up trauma, and missing your parents, in spite of your recent happily ever after,” Leo interrupted. “I’m glad you’re confident enough to talk to me, but every conversation is about a fairy tale, not a feeling. You might need to break your habit of relying on magic, legends, and individuals, to avoid problems. I just want you to have a quality of life, feel loved, and care for your yourself. Without relying only on mystical outings or old books. You have the opportunity to do so, and I encourage you to focus on yourself.” Leo suggested. Morgan was leaning inn, looking mildly confused while he listened. At least he had Morgan’s attention.

“I get so frustrated with your avoidance problem. You walk around with so much pain and suffering; And it keeps you up at night. Yet, instead of processing it, and using your support system, you go to the shadow veil, stay silent, act reckless, and harm yourself. Your gratitude is wonderful, but happily ever afters are meaningless if you desert them. Avoidance is not a log term solution, and I don’t expect immediate change. But you need to start embracing things around you in the moment.” Leo said, fizzling out into a whimper, as he tried to stay professional. Morgan looked at him, unblinking.

“Yes, Leo. That’s what the wagon was for.” Morgan said, nodding his head. Leo gave a look of complete defeat. He already knew that.

“So you’re telling me, it’s more then a scheduled avoidance quest? That now it’s something meaningful; A source of fulfillment as a seer. Thus, Honestly Morgan, do you actually still need the wagon to find friends and joy? I don’t think you need to runaway anymore; Everything you need is right here, if you’ll sit with it.” Leo continued. Morgan liked that perspective; It sounded like enjoying life, without sacrificing his dreams. Morgan smiled a bit. The meaningful stories of each object in that wagon, were tales of is growth. That wagon had helped him. But his new life was doing that too. A simple, worn, faded, treasured wagon. In primary colours, the offend the senses. Something that was purchased at a toy store, to carry children on family outings. It is easy to say what the wagon was for, and what that means now. The wagon helped Morgan runaway, and become an accomplished mage. Now the wagon reminds him of good things he experienced, and is for visiting friends.

“Thanks Leo.” Morgan said. “I’m sorry I accidentally mislead you with the wagon. It’s very distracting.”

“Your most welcome, and forgiven. Oh look! We still have thirty minutes left.” Leo laughed. Morgan groaned. He still had to unpack his relationship with his parents with feeling words, now that the wagon was gone.

TABLE OF CONTENTS--->

<---PREVIOUS

#tales of ealdan cynedom #short stories #story 21 #fantasy #morgan #art #icarus #dolly #leo #emilia #regina #jupiter #cetus

1 note · View note

kiarcheo · 3 years

Text

It’s All Coming Back to Me Now 6/?

To read on Ao3 click here (if lately you had the same problem with links on Tumblr as me, try removing the https://href.li/? part from the URL)

You can read the previous parts on Tumblr click here

DISCLAIMER: In Plato’s words. I know that I know nothing. It doesn't stop me from writing. As always this is fiction and what I write is what suits the narrative I want.

Also I feel like there are a lot of expectations about this one…not sure I met them, but this is what I got.

--------------------------------------------

For all the scenarios Katherine had thought of, her song putting a halt to the musical writing process had not been one of them. She doesn’t notice at first. Cathy’s song is the next one and she just assumes she is taking her time with it. She knows how careful the writer is when choosing her words (picky, Anne had teased her while telling them how long it took Cathy to decide on what to write on Kat’s birthday card). So it takes Kat a while to realise that Cathy never brings up the musical anymore. None of them do.

Their reactions to the song had been...strong. They have all come to care deeply about the youngest queen (and each other in general) and hearing what she went through...Rage does not do justice to what they felt...among many other feelings.

Catalina’s legs had given away beneath her halfway the first verse, a strangled noise alerting Anna, who had lunged forward and had barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Then Catalina had literally used her friend’s body to support herself and climb back to her feet. Anna had not minded, the contact grounding her. Even somehow knowing what to expect, it did not make listening to it any easier. So she had stood there, an arm loosely around Catalina’s shaking frame, ready to hold her up if need be.

As Katherine concluded her song, all you could hear in the control room were muffled sobs from all the queens. Until the girl stood up.

‘Get yourself together.’ Catalina had hoarsely growled. ‘It’s not about you.’

Cathy had not been sure if she had been talking to them or to herself. If she had to be honest, she had not expected such a visceral reaction from her. From Kat’s cousins, maybe, but not from Catalina. And not because she cared less or anything like that. Anyone spending some time with them could easily tell that Catalina loved Kat. Just…in a different way compared to Anne or Jane or even herself and Anna. Almost…maternal. Which makes sense if Cathy thinks about it. Catalina had been the only one of them who got to be a mother. And Kat was the youngest queen, in the past and also now that they came back, even if not by much (Cathy herself was just a few years older). But the first queen had always strived to maintain a certain degree of composure, even around them, while Anne and Jane had been more open with their emotions. For Catalina to let go, to let them see her so raw and exposed…

As soon as Kat had stepped into the room, Catalina had engulfed her in a tight hug. When Anne had tried to step in, she had immediately recoiled at the glare she had received. But after a while, with no sign of Catalina letting Kat go any time soon, Anne had given up on waiting for her turn, and just decided to try her luck and join the hug. With no protest forthcoming, it quickly became a group hug.

They had made sure to make crystal clear to Kat their support and willingness to listen or do anything she might need them to do. But what resulted was also an unsaid agreement among them not to bring up the topic unless Kat did it first. Which included not bringing up the musical since her song is all about that and what started everything.

Everyone took it hard, but nobody took it harder than Catalina. She knew 13-year-old Katherine. She remembers 13-year-old Katherine as if it was yesterday. To know what happened to her. Because she left her. Before, she had thought her death had indirectly led to Katherine’s marriage and consequently her death. But now…To know that as soon as she left her, everything bad started to happen to the girl she considers a daughter...The nightmares, which had petered off, come back with a vengeance.

That’s the main reason it takes a while for Kat to realise she hasn’t really thought or talked about the musical since she presented her song: all her focus and energy are on Catalina. She is back at spending her nights at her side, after arguing that she would be awake in her room anyway, so at least they can be awake together. It takes its toll on their days too. Not just because they are tired from sleepless nights. The only reason Catalina can still face Katherine is that she knows how hurt she would be if she were to go back at avoiding looking at her like when she first arrived. Catalina’s guilt is overwhelming and colours every interaction.

They are both aware of how it is affecting their relationship and decide to take remedial actions before it becomes too much and ruins it permanently: they are going to therapy.

It is not the first time the topic comes up. It had been one of the suggestions on the online forums they had looked at when Catalina had decided that it was time to start to deal with what they deemed, for the sake of brevity, ‘the Mary issue’. They had found some support groups for families of offenders. Among the advice on how to come to terms with a loved one committing terrible crimes, a common one was therapy. Except that Catalina could not exactly talk about her daughter burning people at stake for religious dissent without A) breaking the NDA she signed about not revealing her true identity to the public B) likely being considered deranged. That’s also why she never attended any group in person, limiting herself to research, reading and self-help with Katherine’s support.

But now, that is not enough, and Catalina is willing to try anything to save their relationship (and she thinks Katherine might benefit from talking about her trauma, properly…and with a professional). They decide to ask their ‘handlers’ for recommendations, taking advantage of their help as long as they can before potentially pissing them off with their musical. Considering the NDAs they had signed, it is likely in their interest that they don’t go to a random therapist and spill the beans. Indeed, they get a handful of names of approved professionals who are used to work with people not always able to fully disclose their past, or even their present (they didn’t get details, but their guess is something like witness protection or law enforcement) and thus won’t question weird gaps and omissions in patients’ histories.

They do some research and choose a practice with multiple therapists, all women, with different specialisations. The first meeting is with a senior partner who will get the laydown and decide whom, among the associates, refer them to.

‘My name is Doctor Sonya Newton, I’m going to ask you some questions to assess the issues and decide the best way to move forward, okay?’ the doctor starts after the prospective patients sit down. ‘It is important that you are as truthful and open as you can. If you don’t wish to answer, say so and we’ll move on, but please don’t lie. Lying will only, at best, undermine our efforts and at worst hurt them...or you. You are free to leave at any point, to decide that you don’t wish to continue, to look for another practice, again – I can’t stress this enough – at any point. We are here to help you, and if it’s not working for you…well, what is the point then?’

She waits for a response, and only after she gets a pair of tense nods, she moves on. ‘Now that ground rules are done. Let’s start with the basics. Can you tell me your name and your relationship with each other?’

‘My name is Katherine and I’m her-’ she hesitates.

‘Daughter. She is my daughter and I’m Catalina, her mother.’

The doctor scribbles something down. She didn’t miss the hesitation in Katherine’s answer nor the glance she sent the older woman, but neither she missed the elated look when Catalina took over and replied.

‘Who did decide to come?’ It’s the following question.

‘We both did.’ This time is Katherine who answers for both, Catalina nodding in agreement.

‘That’s good. When both parties are willing to put in the work…the first step is half the journey.’ Sonya smiles at them. ‘What are you hoping to get from these sessions?’

‘There are some...issues that are affecting our relationship and we realised we needed help to deal with them properly.’

‘That’s also good. Recognising there is a problem is the first step and doing something about it is the best second one.’ Catalina’s reply gets another approving nod from the doctor. ‘What do you think those issues are?’

They share a look, a response not coming as quickly as the previous ones.

‘Let me ask a different question. What do you hope the other will get from this?’

‘I hope she’ll realise that what happened to me was not her fault. She literally could not do anything about it. She feels guilty for stuff that was completely out of her control. I’ve never blamed her, not then, not now, and I wish she could see it.’

Sonya hums. She had not expected Katherine to take the lead. It is shaping up to be an interesting and perhaps rather unusual dynamic.

‘What about you?’

‘I know she feels guilty for me feeling guilty.’ It’s basically a self-feeding circle. Catalina feels guilty for what happened to Kat leading to nightmares and her instinctively trying to distance herself from the girl. Kat feels guilty that Catalina is suffering again from nightmares because of her, despite it not being her fault, and she is hurt because of the distancing. Which leads Catalina to feel even more guilty because she is hurting her. ‘But actually, the thing I really want is...for her to feel confident and secure in my love. Stop living in fear of disappointing me, in fear I’ll leave her-’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know-’ Kat had not realised she knew. ‘I know you would not do that, I don’t want you to think that-’

‘I know. I got you back and I'm never letting you go. No matter what. There is nothing you could do that could make me love you any less. Especially not something that was not your fault. It just breaks my heart every time you look surprised at me being proud of you, or you second-guess calling yourself my daughter-’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was hurting you, I-’ Katherine starts again.

‘That’s what I mean.’ Catalina interrupts her gently but addressing the doctor. Then she turns to Kat again. ‘You’re not responsible for my feelings. Just like you’re not responsible for my nightmares.’

‘I have some points I’d like you to elaborate a bit more on, if you don’t mind.’ Sonya says looking at her notes after waiting for some moments to be sure they don’t wish to say more on the matter. ‘But first. Do you agree with what the other said about you?’

She gets twin resigned sighs and nods.

‘Okay.’ She jots something down. ‘Now. You both referred to something that happened and you were not at fault for. Can you tell me what those things are?’

Catalina defers to Katherine with a look clearly saying ‘that’s your call’.

The girl swallows. ‘Sexual abuse.’

‘Child sexual abuse.’ Catalina growls.

The doctor looks down at her notepad. No matter how long you have been on the job and how much horrible stuff you hear, it never gets easier. She takes a moment to digest it, before moving on because she has a job to do. 'Do you blame yourself for that, Katherine?’

‘No. I know it was not my fault. I was a child and even later, I didn’t really have a choice.’

‘And you were still a child.’

‘Can I ask how old you were?’

‘It started when I was 13.’

The doctor nods. The girl looks in her early twenties at most, so that was not such a long time ago, especially if it went on for a while.

‘Do you feel or ever felt that your mother would think it was your fault?’

‘No. Not that. Just...that...she’d be…disappointed? Ashamed? Lots of people didn’t believe me, you know. Or thought I deserved what I got. Went looking for it.’ She gets lost in the memories for a few moments. ‘But I never thought she’d be one of them. But I also knew that it was not what she had hoped for me.’

‘Of course, it was not.’ Catalina almost spats out. ‘I would not wish that on my worst enemy, of course I would not wish that for my child.’

‘I always wanted to make her proud.’

‘You do.’

‘And I struggle to believe that. She is right.’ Katherine admits, referring to what Catalina listed as the main issue she hoped therapy would help her with. ‘It’s just that I’ve always looked up to her. I know she is not perfect. She doesn’t have to be. Not with me.’ She sends her a pointed look. ‘Look. I don’t know.’ Her tone is slightly defeated. ‘I’m generally quite confident in lots of things...but I just...feel like I don’t deserve her? After my mother died, she has been the only one who ever truly and genuinely loved me for myself without ulterior motives. Some days it’s just hard to believe that she did. Does. Since nobody else ever did.’

Catalina clears her throat. ‘I know four people who would argue about that...’

‘Until recently, I guess.’ Katherine corrects herself, a ghost of a smile appearing on her lips.

Sonya hums. ‘You mentioned your mother dying?’

‘I adopted her after we....reunited.’

‘That’s a lot to unpack.’ The doctor mumbles almost to herself as she keeps writing quickly on her notepad. ‘Am I correct in saying that you feel guilty about not stopping the abuse from happening?’

Catalina nods while Katherine mutters ‘Literally impossible.’

‘Can you give me some background? How did you meet? What happened...’

‘After her mother died, she was in my care,’ they had gone over what they could share and what not. Saying that Kat was taking care of Catalina would be strange, but the opposite made more sense and was expected, and it could explain their bond just like the truth would. ‘Then I had to-’

‘Leave.’

Catalina swallows and nods. That’s a way to put it. But she is glad that Kat did it for her...and like that. Her death is still a difficult topic for her. At first it had been more about the circumstances in which she died, but now, knowing what happened after...it’s even worse.

Sonya raises an eyebrow, as if to let them know she is aware that they are not telling the full story, but she nonetheless motions for them to continue.

‘I was sent to stay with some relatives. That’s where it started.’

‘Did you choose to leave?’ The doctor addresses Catalina.

‘No! It was,’ she takes a breath, ‘circumstances beyond my control.’

Sonya nods. It is not uncommon to know something rationally but emotionally still feeling guilty. ‘What happened after? Things seem to be better now...’

‘We were...brought back together.’ They beam at each other. ‘I officially adopted her.’

‘The last years had been the best of my life.’

The doctor can’t help smiling at the obvious happiness and love they radiate while talking about each other being together again. ‘Is there a specific reason you have decided to seek counselling now or is it just...right time, circumstances, things coming to a head now...’ she wonders.

‘Up until recently I had not shared what happened. Like, she knew how it ended, they all did. But not everything that came before.’

‘That’s a very brave thing to do. Sharing is never easy. Especially if you have done so in the past and have not been believed. And considering your fear of losing her love.’ She adds since that’s specific to her case. ‘Also I commend you for reaching out and looking for help. Both of you. Often admitting that you need help is the hardest step.’

---------------------------------

Therapy now joins Spanish, writing and creating a musical, and adoption in the list of things I wrote about in this fic I know very little of.

#six the musical #catherine and katherine #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #fic: It’s All Coming Back to Me Now #six fic #six the musical fic #six catherine of aragon #six katherine howard #mywork #my ideas #six writing #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #my six posts #my posts

8 notes · View notes

hecohansen31 · 4 years

Note

hey! if you’re requests are still open, could you do a small piece with the foursome! maybe the reader finally talks about her own trauma (daddy issues?) and opens up for once.

(A/N): Hello there, lovely!

So I hope you won’t mind that I changed your request: I previously had an idea, and I thought this request was perfect to develop it (also because I am costantly scared to write badly any mental health issues, even ‘daddy issues’!).

Still, as always, if you feel uncomfortable or you didn’t like this, you just have to send me an ask and I’ll rewrite this again!

WARNINGS: Talk About Mental Health/Trust Issues/Problematic Relation With Therapists/Light Stalking/Poly-Relationship.

You had started seeing a therapist, before you had started your relationship with Duncan, Michael and Jim.

Although you weren’t ashamed of such thing, you hadn’t told them about it, more out of the constant habit of dealing things on your own than because you felt uncomfortable talking about such a thing.

And it hadn’t been a problem for you, you could juggle up perfectly your business and most of the time you could count on a perfect excuse to justify the hour you spent with your therapist, each Friday.

You therapist actually knew about your relationship and hadn’t pressured you into revealing them your problematics or the fact that you visited her weekly, but she had highly suggested that you talked with them about it.

‘There is nothing to be ashamed, (Y/N)’ she had told you, meanwhile you fidgeted with your hands ‘You know well that they aren’t the judging type and that, what you do here, is absolutely nothing illegal or wrong’.

You had nodded, but every time, right when you wanted to talk with them about it, the words died on your tongue and you quickly changed the theme of your chats and shifted their focus away from you.

But soon your small absences were noticed by your lovers: Duncan sometimes would call you to check on you, just to find your phone switched off, which was strange not only because nobody switched off their phones anymore, but also you were pretty active with it.

Jim and Michael had tried to propose some interesting activities to do on Friday afternoon, so that you could spend some time together, but you would always shake your head, and suggest either another time or another date, coming up with new excuses each time.

But they noticed that you would always keep each Friday at 4:30 p.m. free, and one day, they had chosen to follow you, although Michael had insisted that it was extremely stalkerish.

‘It isn’t stalkerish if done with love’ had muttered Jim, and Michael had just shot him a look before muttering about how ‘he shouldn’t have let him watch ‘You’ on Netflix’.

They had followed you, ‘discreetly’, although they were lucky that you hadn’t noticed them because you were too much on cloud nine, since they did nothing more than tripping onto things and running into people, but they had made it to a small building, which looked pretty normal.

Were you meeting with a friend?

Both Jim and Michael were surprised about you meeting with a friend, without telling them.

But they weren’t one of those ‘always together couple’, but they didn’t understand why you would hide them an outing with friends.

… but maybe it wasn’t simply an outing with a friend.

Were you cheating on them?

That would explain the secrecy and the fact that you were entering that building.

They also managed to enter it although clumsily, asking one of its resident to open the door, faking to be the friends of one of the other tenants, but once they were inside they weren’t able to actually look where you had gone and ended up exploring rather clumsy.

But their eyes were immediately caught by what looked like a private studio and they wandered inside, mostly because everything was better than the thought of you cheating on them: maybe you simply were having some problems you were too ashamed to talk with them.

They knew lately you had been writing some stories, maybe you had chosen to publish them and this was a talent scout or a publishing house…

Once they were inside, they realized it wasn’t a simple studio, but it was a therapist one, the secretary looking at them confused before she dared to ask them whether they had an appointment or needed to book one.

“Ahem we are…actually… in need to book one” lied Jim, and Michael was half thankful that the secretary didn’t seem to care enough about them to avoid noticing the fakeness in Jim’s tone, who continued on setting a fake appointment, giving the woman the same date of (Y/N)’s strange absence.

“I am sorry, but that spot is already busy” she mumbled and Michael managed to catch a glimpse of the timetable discovering that your name was signed down for that spot, showing that you were seeing a therapist.

That for all that time you had been seeing one, without telling them anything.

Were you ashamed?

Had they given you the idea of not being able to take care of you?

Had they given you the idea that they would make fun of you, if you told them that you were seeing a therapist?

They hadn’t certainly been truly angelic with you, but they were open-minded enough not to judge you about feeling the need of seeing somebody that might help you.

Michael couldn’t help but be both slightly disappointed and both a bit self-conscious of his behavior towards you.

As Jim finished settling the appointment, he grabbed him by the shirt, to let him know they had to leave, before you finished your session, saluting the secretary as she reminded one last time to them the date of the appointment.

“Please don’t tell me I just signed up for nothing” mumbled Jim, once they were outside.

“(Y/N) was here” mumbled Michael was they were inside of the car, gaining a skeptical look from Jim “… she is… she is seeing a therapist, I saw her spot on the timetable, meanwhile you were booking the appointment”.

“Why is (Y/N) seeing a therapist?” asked Jim, much more naively than Michael, meanwhile he rode off quickly making sure not to attract any attention on them “… do you think that it is because we make her crazy”.

“Jim, why do you have to make this funny whereas it isn’t in the slightest!” Michael’s outburst of rage made Jim tremble lightly and the blond man tightened the grip onto the steering wheel, coming to an abrupt stop “… I am sorry, it just… baffles me… that she…”.

“…that she doesn’t trust us?” completed Jimmy, before he softly pushed an hand onto Michael’s white knuckles “… Michael we hated her till a month ago… she has every right to keep us out of some things she thinks are personal”.

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to stalk her?” shot back Michael.

“Because I thought she was hiding someone, but… Michael… how long did it take you to open up with me and Duncan about your problems with your grandma? Or for me to open up about my substance abuse” Michael didn’t answer “… it took us long, and you can’t blame her”.

“So, we have to pretend nothing happened?” Michael didn’t know if he could do it and was thankful when Jim shook her hand.

“No, we need to talk with Duncan and her, at least to apologize, and to show our support towards her and her journey” replied Jimmy, meanwhile he quickly held and gripped Michael’s hand on the steering wheel.

“Then I think we should get some cake”.

You had come home after an entire afternoon of crazy errands, although you had wished, for the entire time, nothing more than to come back home, mostly since the therapy of that day had been rather serious, and again, your therapist had explained the importance of letting your partners know of your journey, both to help you and to be sincere with them.

You had actually thought about coming clean, and in the end swore to confess it to them at least before Sunday, but when you had come home, the climate… was strange.

Michael was avoiding you, without putting into it too much effort to hide it and Jim was exceeding with his usual cuddles, even going as far as to stick at you when you got up to get the dinner ready, awakening also Michael, who came to stand into one of the stool at the kitchen island, beside Jim, as if they wanted to talk with you.

“Did something happen, guys?” you asked, wondering whether you had forgotten some anniversary or birthday “… are you mad at me?”.

“We followed you today” spoke Michael, almost spitting out the words as if they were on the tip of his tongue “… Jim has seen too many ‘You’ episode and decided to finally discover what you do each Friday at 4:30 p.m.”.

You were petrified on the spot and Jim continued, Michael’s speech, with much more sweetness to the tone:

“I didn’t mean to, but… I just… I thought you might be seeing someone else” your expression quickly changed to baffled, mildly offended “… I am sorry, you know we have abandonment issues… but this is another problem, we have discovered you are seeing a therapist”:

Well the truth was now out and you couldn’t help but be nervous at their thoughts, although you were ashamed, you knew people had mixed reaction about you seeing a therapist, you had been even wary about sharing this with some of you more distant friends.

“Why did you hide it from us?” Michael’s accusing tone was enough to made you cringe, and he saw it, immediately backing up and muttering a light ‘sorry’.

“I… I don’t know… it just never came up” you replied, hiding slightly in yourself, shrinking a bit to appear smaller.

“Don’t you trust us?” asked Jim, his tone definitely lighter than Michael, but the accusation heavy on his tone.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, but…” you tried to mumble “… it’s difficult for me to talk about it… it took me years to approach a therapist, and I am not ashamed of it, but I tend to deal… with things… on my own, have always been”.

“You don’t have anymore” a deep voice, surprised you and you all turned to catch Duncan staring at them, and you couldn’t help but blush further, hiding in the kitchen “…I am sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I just wanted you to know that at least for me… this is a judgement free place”.

“Thank you” you stammered, meanwhile your other two lovers nodded.

“I am not going to lie I felt a bit heartbroken when I discovered this, but…” spoke Michael, and held out an hand for you to take, a true peace offering “… I understand now why you might not want to talk about it with us, but… if you need anything, you are more than welcome to let us know”.

“Yeah, exactly!” backed him up Jimmy “… is there something you want to talk about with us? Is there something we need to avoid? Or any way we can help you?”.

You appreciated Jimmy’s questions, although you couldn’t help but be slightly nervous, gently encouraged by Duncan, who came behind you and hugged you softly, letting you know his presence in this.

“I might need wine to speak up a bit” you joked, and Michael joined the laugh before he promptly mumbled.

“We have a chocolate cake to share” he mumbled, before he promptly added “I mean you have one and I have my own”.

“I think that you also need an appointment to a therapist or some doctor to check on that sugar flow”.

“You are just jealous of my perfect weight, Jimmy!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that and cuddled a bit tighter into Duncan’s arms: you might have had bad and heavy days, but you had three lovers always ready to make you feel better.

You were glad to have them in your life.

102 notes · View notes

snarkybluechristian · 4 years

Text

Hazbin Hotel: Yandere Alastor x Vaggie Chapter 45

Angel laid in his chair, staring at the ceiling while the monsters discussed their plans to torture him into being normal.

It made Angel sick to his stomach. His family never loved him for who he was, even after they had all died. It was their cold and abusive behavior that made him turn to burying himself in his mafia work, then to drugs, to sex, and eventually, to Valentino who made his life so much worse. The sins were his, but the self-hatred came from them. It was all their fault. It always was.

Now, their prejudice had enabled Alastor to do the same thing to Vaggie and Sir Pentious to Cherri.

It was the cycle of continual hatred like Charlie had talked about in one of their therapy sessions. First, you decide to hate a person and then you do everything to hurt them more and more and more until eventually you destroy them and everything they care about.

Their hatred hurt him and extended its reach to the people he loved the most just to hurt him even more. It was bullshit, and it had to end.

Angel closed his eyes in the first prayer he had said in decades and felt his resolve grow stronger.

His family wouldn’t win. They couldn’t. Angel wouldn’t let them or Alastor or Sir Pentious for that matter. Even if he got sent to Double Hell in the process, he wouldn’t.

Angel would beat them all. All he had to do was wait.

“I’ll come upstairs to join you for breakfast once I get Anthony fed and into his bath,” Dr. Red said, calling Angel back to reality.

“Good, we’ll see you then,” Henroin replied, walking up the stairs. “See ya later, Anthony.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you on Friday, little brother!” Arackniss called over to Angel from the bottom of the stairs. “Please be a good boy for the doctor while we’re gone.”

After that final plea, Arackniss followed his father up the stairs and left the basement, leaving Dr. Red alone with Angel.

Dr. Red stood over Angel’s chair and studied his face for a moment before adjusting the chair so that Angel was sitting up again.

Angel hardly lurched forward at the sudden movement since his restraints kept him so snugly in place. He bowed his head down to stare at the floor with the most pitiful expression he could as Dr. Red pulled out his bag of medical instruments and started rummaging through it.

Once he found what he was looking for, Dr. Red turned back to Angel.

Much to Angel’s surprise, Dr. Red placed a finger under his chin, moved his face so that the two of them were looking eye-to-eye, looked at him with a warm and comforting expression, and said, “Don’t look so hurt, my patient. I know this process hurts now, but as soon as it’s over, you will be normal and so much happier. I promise.”

Dr. Red wiped away a few tears and the corner of Angel’s eyes with his thumb before he let go of Angel’s head.

Angel continued staring at the ground, feeling completely confused and taken aback and trying his best to hide it on his face.

Without any warning, Dr. Red pulled out his stethoscope, reached the cold end inside the straitjacket to the skin beneath the fur on Angel’s chest, and said, “Take a deep breath, Anthony.”

Despite the uncomfortable sensation, Angel immediately obeyed, breathing as deeply as he could muster in his straitjacket.

“Good,” Dr. Red said moving the stethoscope down to Angel’s heart while looking down at his watch. “Just as I hoped. The electroshock therapy has calmed your breathing and your heart rate.”

Dr. Red stuffed the stethoscope down into his doctor’s bag, walked over to a cart with a covered plate in the kitchen area that Angel didn’t notice before, and said, “Now, Anthony, it’s time for your breakfast.”

Dr. Red uncovered the plate to reveal a steaming breakfast tray with eggs, ham, and toast cut into small pieces with butter and jam on the side and orange juice with a straw sticking out.

“Let’s get some food in your stomach and we’ll get you ready to take your medicine,” Dr. Red said, spraying sanitizer into his hands before cutting up Angel’s food with the fork and knife on the side.

The gargoyle demon picked up a piece of ham with the fork and offered the food to Angel.

Dr. Red held the fork in front of Angel’s mouth and cooed, “Here comes the airplane coming into the hangar now. Easy does it…”

Angel opened his mouth and bit the ham off the fork, swallowing all his pride with the food in his mouth.

“Alrighty then,” Dr. Red said, putting down the fork to jot down some notes on his notepad. “Subject now seems to be obedient.”

Dr. Red quickly rubbed some sanitizer on his hands before he returned to feeding Angel and said, “I’m so glad to see that you’re now obeying me, Anthony.”

Angel didn’t respond, except to sit back comfortably in his chair and open his mouth so that Dr. Red could continue to feed him like a baby.

Dr. Red picked up another fork full of food, fed Angel, and said, “You don’t know how happy you’ll be when you’re straight. I know the treatment feels harsh now, but you’ll thank me for it later. At least, I hope you will. None of my other patients ever thanked me when I was alive…”

Without changing his facial expression in the slightest, Angel chewed his food while Doctor Red prepared the next bite and continued, “…You see, I was part of the Eugenics Movement at the turn of the last century, a movement dedicated to improving the genetic quality of the human population through selective breeding and the sterilization and suppression of the inferior and unfit. One way I helped keep the fit, superior members of the white middle- and upper-class strong was by helping parents whip their wayward sons and daughters into shape whenever they were more interested in pursuing their lusts than in doing their duty of increasing the white superior stock with advantageous marriages, if you know what I mean…”

It was all Angel could do to hold his tongue. As he received the next bites of food, he chewed his food into mush without swallowing just to keep himself from saying anything.

“…I kept these rebellious children from eloping, from committing miscegenation, and of course, from engaging in sexually deviant relationships, like you. I did such a good job with them. They married advantageously and produced genetically superior children. But none of them ever thanked me. I can’t figure out why…Anthony, you need to swallow your breakfast or you’re going to choke on it.”

Angel reluctantly swallowed and bit his lip while Dr. Red picked up his knife and spread jelly and butter on the pieces of toast. If it weren’t for his restraints, Angel would have been fidgeting uncomfortably.

Completely oblivious to the discomfort Angel was feeling, Dr. Red continued, “Anyways, I don’t know why none of my patients ever thanked me. I mean, most of them didn’t want to be there. Sure. Others tried to fight me and had to be given medicine and special treatments like you. But still others seemed willing and left happy. I don’t know why they didn’t thank me. Those ingrates! Some of them even committed suicide!”

Angel couldn’t take it much longer. Thankfully, Dr. Red fed him pieces of toast before and after he continued speaking.

“I don’t understand why God sent me here either,” Dr. Red said, gently feeding Angel a piece of jelly toast. “I directed human evolution in a positive direction for him. I did so much to improve the white race and the black race when they gave us the opportunity to improve them. I helped people defy their base desires for the greater good of reproducing a superior stock! Surely, that’s a noble cause that heaven must recognize!”

Angel finished eating his toast and Dr. Red placed a straw in a glass of orange juice and offered it to him.

“What an ungrateful bastard he must be to deny that!” Dr. Red raved while Angel managed to get the straw in his mouth. “If it weren’t for the Eugenics Movement, there would be even more burdens than there are now. It’s not our fault that Adolf Hitler decided to go as far as he did…Wait, Anthony.”

Dr. Red pulled the straw away just as Angel was about to take his first sip and said, “I almost forgot. I need to give you your medicine. Hold on a moment.”

Dr. Red took out a white prescription bottle and took out a red-colored pill that looked like no pill that even Angel had ever tried before.

He eyed it nervously while Dr. Red took it in his fingers and said, “Open wide, Anthony, and don’t worry. This pill will help you feel better. I know. I made it myself.”

That hardly reassured Angel. Despite his usual penchant for drugs, he didn’t want this one. Even if it did what the good doctor said, Angel knew there was more to it than what he said there was. It was meant to keep him under their control, just like Val kept him under his…

“Anthony, you don’t need to be nervous,” Dr. Red said, interrupting Angel’s thoughts. “Open up…Oh.”

Angel opened his mouth wide and allowed the doctor to drop the pill in his mouth.

“Good boy,” Dr. Red praised while offering Angel his orange juice again. “Now, drink this and wash down your pill so we can get you into your bath.”

Angel obediently sipped his orange juice through the straw until it was all gone.

When he finished the drink, Dr. Red put the cup back on the tray, petted Angel’s head, and praised, “What a good boy! You’re behaving very well.”

Dr. Red then picked a napkin off the cart and wiped the crumbs and juice off Angel’s face.

Once he was done, Dr. Red took the tray to the sink. While he wasn’t looking, Angel opened his mouth, lowered his tongue with the pill wrapped around in it, dropped the pill, and let it fall onto the floor.

Angel smiled to himself. That was a trick he had learned long ago when dealing with Val. It was one of the few tricks he rarely caught on to.

“Alright, Anthony,” Dr. Red said as he finally made his way back to the chair and started unbuckling Angel’s restraints. “It’s time for your bath. For now, your baths will be lukewarm to hold down your urges until you are strong enough to resist temptation and expose yourself to hot water again.”

Angel nodded silently and sat patiently while Dr. Red unbuckled the last of the restraints.

Dr. Red then helped Angel to his feet, put a hand behind his back, and guided him gently to the bathroom.

The bathroom was a plain one with white tile and a white toilet on one side, a sink, and a shower with a tub to match on the other side of the room. There was no color to be found except for the soap bottles on the shelf beside the tub. Even the towel hanging on the rack below the shelf between the wall and the door and the mats on the floor were white.

Dr. Red turned the faucets on and put in the stopper. The lukewarm water began filling up the tub while Angel watched patiently, resisting every urge to kick Dr. Red into the tub himself.

Dr. Red turned to Angel, requested for him to turn around, and finally undid the straps of his straitjacket.

“There, we go,” Dr. Red said with a warm smile as he pulled the jacket off and carried it out of the room.

Angel moved his arms around in relief at finally being able to use them again. He retracted his third pair of arms and stretched his two other pairs of arms around to get the blood flowing.

Angel turned and looked at himself in the mirror. The white shirt and black pants Alastor put on him the other day were still there looking slovenly yet classy, too classy for his taste. As soon as he got the feeling back in his arms, Angel began unbuttoning the shirt to let his fluffy chest breathe.

Unfortunately, before he could get too comfortable, Dr. Red walked in and coughed to get his attention.

“Anthony, you should wait for me to leave before you start undressing,” Dr. Red reprimanded.

Angel looked at himself in the mirror, summoned the most defeated look he could muster, turned around to face the good doctor, and said, “I’m sorry, doctor.”

Dr. Red’s disappointed look slid back into a warm smile and he said, “All is forgiven, Anthony. Now take a look at your new clothes.”

Angel looked down and tried not to grimace at the clothing in Dr. Red’s arms. It was the gray uniform that Vaggie described.

It was a gray long-sleeved t-shirt, long gray slacks, a white undershirt, a gray pair of underwear, and a gray pair of flats to cover his feet. By anyone’s standards, the clothes were atrociously dull.

“Do you like your new clothes?” Dr. Red asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, they’re just fine, Doctor,” Angel replied shyly as he held his arms open to take the clothes.

“Excellent,” Dr. Red said, dropping the clothes into Angel’s arms. “You have seven other uniforms just like this one in case this one gets dirty. I’ll wash them weekly to make sure you always have a clean outfit to wear.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Angel replied.

Dr. Red smiled and walked past him to turn off the water in the tub.

“You may take your bath now, Anthony,” Dr. Red said, reaching outside the room and placing a white basket in between the door and the tub. “I shall go upstairs to eat breakfast with your father and brother. Then, I’ll come back here and clean up your kitchenette. Please do remember. Turning on hot water is not allowed yet, so don’t turn it on.”

“Yes, doctor,” Angel said submissively.

“As for the clothes you’re wearing now, please put them into basket you see there,” Dr. Red said, gesturing with one hand while holding the other hand behind his back.

“Yes, doctor,” Angel replied. “Is there anything else?”

In one swift movement, Angel felt the gargoyle doctor’s stone arms wrap around his chest and hold him close. Dr. Red’s lips curled into a smile as he shut his eyes and leaned against Angel.

If Dr. Red could see Angel’s expression, he would have seen his face contort in confusion at the sudden mood swing. And Angel thought Val had wild mood swings…

“I’m so happy to be working with you, Angel,” Dr. Red whispered. “I know this is hard, but I’ll get you through it. I promise.”

Angel’s mouth fell open in absolute bewilderment and his eyes stared down at the doctor holding him for an uncomfortably long time.

They stood there like that for over a minute with Angel at a complete loss for how to react. He literally felt like he was embracing a statue and he might as well have been. The stony body was hard, cold, and confining.

Angel looked down at Dr. Red’s face and grimaced. The doctor’s expression was a genuinely warm and comforting smile that he found more unnerving than comforting.

Angel kept his form rigid transferring the clothes he was wearing to his lowest pair of arms to make his position more comfortable. Apparently taking that as a sign that he wanted to be comforted even more, Dr. Red moved even closer and held Angel more tightly for yet another long, uncomfortable minute.

So, Angel stood still, not knowing whether this was a test or an honest-to-God attempt to show compassion.

Finally, Dr. Red let go and said enthusiastically, “Enjoy your bath, Anthony. I must go meet with your father without any further delay to discuss your treatment plan.”

Without another word, Dr. Red left the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Angel stood there completely dumbfounded until he heard Doctor Red climb up to the top of the stairs and lock the basement door behind him.

When he was sure Doctor Red was gone, Angel stepped back until he reached the toilet and sat down. He sighed deeply for a moment before setting his new clothes down, undressing, and climbing into his lukewarm bath.

#hazbinhotel #hazbinhotel angeldust

2 notes · View notes