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1kook · 3 years

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commercial break ; NINE

this is part of my netflix & chill series!

SUMMARY “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?” WARNING angst with implied smut at the end!!, flashbacks, low self esteem, alcohol consumption, jk is (implied) a virgin in this, there’s a lil fondling by oc u know the usual MISC they r soulmates <3, our queen doyeon returns, i tried to use symbolism👁 in the dialogue so yes everything drunk oc says has a meaning hehe RATING m bc alcohol WC 2.2k

NOTES i said once a long time ago that n&c couple were prolly at the same party once but didn't realize so hERE WE GO ! its not proofread bc um. yeah<3

Homecoming week.

Jungkook doesn’t even think his university’s football team is good, but he had read somewhere that part of the college experience is obnoxiously supporting this team all four years. And well. Jungkook wants to fit in. Frankly, Jungkook feels a little dumb having accepted this invitation from Kim Taehyung from his first-year writing class. He’s only known the man a solid four weeks, probably won’t know him this well once Taehyung finds real friends, ones who suit his outgoing personality, and decides Jungkook is too boring, but Jungkook will make the best of it while he can because, again, he wants to fit in. Badly. It’ll be different this time, he had told himself while getting ready. You won’t be awkward anymore. You’ll make friends.

And then it’s nearing midnight and Jungkook has spoken to a whopping two people at this party of over a hundred. Not including Taehyung, it’s down to one. Even that had only been to ask where the bathroom was. He feels severely out of place, like he’s both too large and too small to be in this area, to be at this party, so he shuffles into the kitchen when he hears them call for another match of beer pong. He’s actually pretty good at the game, has refined his skills at get togethers with his older cousins. But it’s not like anyone here wants to be Jungkook’s partner anyway. Or even knows who he is for that matter.

Taehyung had bumped into him a little past ten, had had two girls clinging to his sides when he had greeted Jungkook. One of them had almost looked tempted, Jungkook wanted to believe, brushing her hand against his arm. But he didn’t act quick enough— what would he even have done? what did he even want? —and Taehyung disappeared with both girls soon after, leaving Jungkook by himself once more.

The kitchen is empty, the drinks long since having migrated to the living area of this huge frat. With a defeated sigh, Jungkook sinks back against one of the counters, setting his lukewarm cup of beer down beside him. He’s buzzed, drank in a feeble attempt to ‘lose himself’ as all the movies claimed. But now all he can feel is a pounding headache threatening to consume him. He doesn’t even like drinking— why did he drink this much?

He should go home.

Events like this, parties like this— they weren’t meant for someone like Jungkook. He was too quiet, too shy to let loose like everyone else. He doesn’t do well in social situations, or at least not as well as his therapist had told him he would. He hesitates too much, never speaks when he needs to. Haerim from his freshman basics class had even said so. “You’re quiet, huh,” she had smiled, and when her notebook had touched his elbow, he flinched. She didn’t take it to heart. Just like Taehyung wouldn’t if he left right now. They know how he is. He doesn’t belong here. These types of parties were made for outgoing people, people who lived on the edge, people who weren’t trapped in their own thoughts all the time, people like—

Like the girl who stumbles through the doorway now. “Woooo,” she slurs, and then promptly faceplants into the dirty tile of the kitchen, the same tile littered with sticky footprints and random debris. He can’t even imagine what else is on the floor of a frat house mid-party. Jungkook flinches at the sound of her knee hitting the ground, before rushing over to help her up.

She’s a giggling mess, eyes half shut by the time Jungkook gets her into a seated position. “Are you okay?” he flounders, hand on her shoulder when she wobbles again, nearly falls back down.

“Just peachy,” she sings, flashing him a sloppy thumbs up. Her neck isn’t doing a particularly good job of holding her head up and when Jungkook places a hand on the back of her head, she leans into it, blissful smile on her face. She’s really pretty, it makes Jungkook’s cheeks burn when she aims it at him next. “Pucca loves Garu,” she lets him know, eyes finally fluttering open. “He’s a pretty boy.”

Jungkook blinks. He has no idea what you’re talking about. “Huh?” he stutters, glancing back at the bar stool by the counter instead. It’s probably infinitely times better than the sticky tile beneath your bare legs. “I’m gonna stand you up,” he tells you, taking your loud cackle as a sign that you’re okay with it. Jungkook’s been working out all summer, so you’re not heavy in the slightest, arms thrown around his shoulders while he slips his own around your back. Your proximity leaves him drowning in your scent.

The giggles don’t subside when he sits you down, not even when he begins opening random cabinets in search of a glass to get you some water. He’s had his fair share of experiences looking after drunk people, so he has a pretty good idea of what to do now. However, your sudden bout of commentary certainly doesn’t make it easier. “Isn’t it, like, super cool how the sun and the moon are, like—“ a hiccup, Jungkook settles on tap water “tooootally different beings, but, like— they, like, both maintain the earth?” Your hand reaches for his forearm when he returns, gives him this little squeeze in your excitement. “Like— Like they both have to, like— work together? To keep it perfect, y’know?”

Jungkook pushes the water into your hands. You’ve got this sparkly sheen to your eyes, the one that most people get after one too many drinks, but it’s accompanied by this childlike wonder that leaves Jungkook breathless when you meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he says quietly. You beam. It’s blinding. So blinding that Jungkook promptly looks away, nudging the cup in your hands. “You need to drink this.”

You frown. “Boooo, so boring,” you huff. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t heard before, but it is a little disheartening to hear it from a stranger. He stamps the feeling down, pursing his lips as he gives up on letting you drink yourself. The cup is swiped from your hand and Jungkook tasks himself with making you drink it instead. And of course, like all wasted young adults, you put up a fight. “Ew, what is that?” you spit.

Jungkook sighs. “Water.”

At his defeated tone, the exaggerated grimace slips off your face, replaced with a rather solemn expression instead. Jungkook tries to take advantage of it and pushes the cup against your lip again, but all he really accomplishes is sloshing it down the front of your dress. You don’t yelp, but he does. “I’m so sorry,” he panics, sliding the sleeve of his shirt down around his thumb to wipe your chin.

You let him, head tilted curiously to the side. Jungkook tries to ignore your analytical gaze until: “you’re cute,” you announce, and abruptly send him into shock.

He recoils, face a blazing mess. “I’m—“ he chokes, swallowing when you wipe your hand down your own chest, leave a glistening layer of water over your sternum and down between your breasts.

“Cute,” you repeat, downing the glass he had been trying to coax into you like it’s nothing now. With it gone, you don’t waste any time, throwing your hands around his shoulders, fingers brushing through the hair at the base of his neck. You pull him close, so close in fact, that he ends up having to hold the back of your chair to keep from accidentally crushing you with his weight. “Your name, pretty boy?”

He can’t think. You’re so drunk and smell so good and are just so pretty— his brain short circuits. “Um I’m, uh, Jeon J—“

“Jeon,” you repeat, silly smile back on your face. You’re not technically wrong, so he nods along with a blush high on his cheeks. “Well, Jeon,” you purr, but you’re still so drunk, eyelids fluttering in a rather funny way. “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?”

Jungkook doesn’t even know what that means, and honestly, he doesn’t really hear you over the thundering of his own heart and the bass in the other room. “Um, but you’re really…” he stammers, leaning back but a finger loops around one of his curls and he gasps when you pull at it. “You’re drunk,” he rushes out, lower lip trembling when your nose knocks against his.

A soft hum, the sound sending electricity down his spine when you cup his cheek. “But don’t you think I’m pretty?” you murmur, eyes flickering to his mouth.

“Yes,“ he chokes out, “you’re a very, very pretty girl. But I really shouldn’t—“

“Hey,” you shush, tilting his head just the slightest. Jungkook has never had a girl touch him like this, has never even touched a girl before either, but, well. He really wants to kiss you. And that’s saying a lot considering Jungkook has never kissed anyone before.

Despite how good it feels, he knows you’re still really drunk. It’s with a decisive huff that he pushes away, hands on your waist to keep you from touching up on him any further. You’re not that strong anyway. And then he’s met with the biggest pout he’s ever seen, an absolutely distraught look on your face.

Something in him says you’ll cry if he doesn’t explain himself soon, so he launches into it right away. “You’re very pretty,” he says, almost laughing at the way your entire face lights up immediately. “But you’re very drunk.” You huff. “You deserve to be treated like a queen.” Mostly regurgitating something he heard in a motivational video.

It works. Eventually, you stop being fussy in his arms and settle with a frown. “You’re too nice,” you grumble, forehead on the countertop. He doesn’t see how it’s much better than the floor but he lets you be. “You got a girlfriend, don’t you?”

At that, Jungkook laughs. “No,” he reassures you, hesitates, and then gently pats your back. Jungkook actually feels you melt under his touch. That sultry look is gone, replaced with this rather tranquil look that he doesn’t quite understand.

“That was pretty,” you murmur, but Jungkook doesn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I said your smile was pre—“

“There you are!” someone hollers from the kitchen doorway, the shrill tone of their voice making both you and Jungkook jump. When he turns around, he’s met with the sight of a rather tall girl angrily stomping your way, eyes a blazing fire, fists clenched by her side. Jungkook realizes only a second too late that she’s looking at him. “Get off of her, you sweaty city-owned dumpster,” she hisses, using the strength of three football players to push Jungkook away. “You make me sick—“

“Doyeonie,” you beam, launching yourself into the angry girl’s arms. Ah. The Help had arrived.

Said angry girl (Doyeonie?) is still using every mash-up of words possible to degrade Jungkook as she hauls you into her arms, shooting daggers every step of the way. “I can’t believe you would try to take advantage of a poor girl when she’s this drunk,” she spits.

“What?” Jungkook coughs, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t—“

“Tell it to Campus Safety when I report you, you wannabe, dollar store Rain.” Jungkook clutches his chest at the acidity of her tongue, surprised anyone could be so mean.

All things considered, this was actually good. Someone who knew you had come to take you to safety, meaning Jungkook didn’t have to look after you anymore. When this Doyeonie turns around, he’s met with your smiley face smushed against her shoulder.

(It’s weird. He’s a little sad to see you go.)

“Bye, Jeon,” you giggle, hand brushing down his arm, squeezing his hand, before you’re abruptly yanked away. Jungkook manages one weak wave, cheeks lit ablaze once more when you send him a silly air kiss from the doorway, urging him to catch it. He does, and he feels really silly when he puts it in his pocket, but he can hear your laughter for a second more before he loses you.

The last few minutes being so hectic, he decides to go home. Parties weren’t really his thing. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever go to one again.

Until a few years later.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” you slur, lips against his throat. Another invitation, this time, Taehyung’s birthday. His friend had practically begged him to come, knowing how Jungkook was. In the end, it had been you who had accepted on his behalf.

“Baby, not here,” he laughs, hand on your shoulder when you try to shove your hand down his pants for the third time that night.

Taehyung had been ecstatic to see Jungkook here. And then had quickly become annoyed when he caught the two of you making out in his storage closet an hour later. “Bro, don’t be that couple at parties,” he had groaned, locking the door behind him.

Jungkook had laughed. “I wouldn’t know what ‘that couple’ is at parties,” he reminded him.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m sure your girlfriend can fill you in.”

Apparently not. You’ve been trying to kiss him for the past three minutes but keep missing because you’re so drunk. “Just one,” you beg, so pretty but so drunk. The fake lashes you’d worn today make you look like a doll, batting them his way until he’s giving in, slotting his lips against yours. You’re probably going to throw up in his bathroom when you get home, so he should make the best of your kisses now. Jungkook pushes that thought aside as he reaches a hand out to wipe at the sweat accumulating on your chest. There’s something weird about the gesture, like he’s done it before at another party. But that doesn’t make sense; he couldn't have— this is his first party with you.

“We should, like, leave,” you whisper against his ear, fingers burying themselves in his hair; when you pull on a strand, he nearly moans. “Go home. Maybe netflix and—“ a hiccup that makes him smile “—chill?”

Jungkook kisses your temple. “Sounds good to me, pretty girl.”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jjk fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fic #mine

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floraltypes · 3 years

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Old Beginning Pt. 2

pairings - aaron hotchner x reader, jethro gibbs x reader

chapters - one

summary - the news of a dinner party arrises, but there are some little challenges before the actually night

wc - 3k

an - sorry this took awhile, my summer is over and my writing schedule will be a little wonky now. i’m taking a break from answering requests, so I apologize if I haven’t answered yours, but i eventually will

Penelope and you both looked back at Aaron, taken back by his repeating of the word ‘boyfriend’. You didn’t plan on telling people so soon, considering he was your boss from your old line of work.

“I want to know everything about him, you have to invite him!” Penelope quickly went back into her loud chatting, attracting other faces at her comment. “I also may have mentioned to some of the team that you do have a boyfriend, it just slipped! You know I can’t keep secrets!”

“It’s okay, Pene,” You smiled softly. “I can’t invite him though, you know, since I’m not the one holding the dinner event.”

“You can invite your partner, everyone else can as well, considering it is a catch up,” Dave walked over, a cup of coffee in his own hand as he used the other to scratch at his stubble. “I’ll even invite the woman I’ve been seeing. Feel free to all bring a plus one, I have enough room and everyone deserves a taste of my Italian dishes, will change their lives.”

“Thank you, Rossi, but I simply can’t. It’s so soon, and he’s such a busy man,” You laughed, waving your hand. “It was a kind gesture though.”

“L/n, don’t tell us you’re embarrassed to show your new boyfriend to us?” Derek walked back over, poking your shoulder. “Penelope told all of us down here, just wanted to wait and see when you would tell us.”

“I’m not embarrassed, that’s absurd. He’s truly busy.”

“Invite him, I’ll make sure Will comes and hire a babysitter for Henry, so that we can truly have a adult night,” JJ chuckled. “Everyone is bringing a date, so it would be odd if you didn’t.”

“Actually, I don’t have a partner at the moment due to how invested I am in my studies and the factors of that many young woman my age only focus on the factor of conventional attractiveness rather then the complexity of brains and deep-”

“Don’t worry, Spencer, if you don’t have a date, then I’ll just bring two,” Emily joked. “You don’t need a date, I’m not bringing one either, but Y/n is for sure.”

“I’ll be like the tw-”

“You are dating someone, we aren’t, so you’ll bring that someone. Come on, L/n,” Emily continued on, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. “I’ll walk you out,” She turned back to wink at her coworkers, leading you to the elevator and soon the parking lot.

“Aaron,” Rossi looked towards his friend, a man who had his glare fixated on your exiting figure. “Will you bring Beth, the more the merrier.”

“Yeah, I suppose I will,” He answered, retrieving his cellphone from his pocket, pulling up her contact picture, thumb hovering over the call button. “Let’s finish up this work, so we call all get home.” He shoved it back in his pocket, commanding everyone else while moving back up the stairs to his office.

Meanwhile, you were outside of your car, looking at Emily still was right by your side.

“Bring your boyfriend,” She commented, watching as you fished for your keys and unlocked your car. “I want to meet him, I haven’t really talked to you in a long time.”

“We’re both so busy. Him as well.”

“Seriously, Y/n, I’m not gonna ease up on you. I’ve noticed the new tint in your eye, new considering the last time it was severely dulled. It’s amazing to see your real smile again, you closer to your old self despite the past losses. He really has helped you, so I want to meet the man who helped my dear friend so much.”

You contemplated her kind words, getting down to the point that everyone probably was happy to see you again, yourself physically and mentally.

“I’ll call him, see if he can come. Can’t promise anything, his work is very important to him, so if it needs him he’s there.”

Emily smiled widely, leaning over to kiss your cheek before you moved to open the front door and start your car.

“Great, I’m actually bringing someone. Poor Spencer might be the only one.”

“Aaron is as well?”

“Hotch, yeah,” She laughed. “Meet her at some track meet he had, Jack really likes her.”

“That’s good, I’ll see you soon then,” You smiled, shutting the door as Emily watched you back out, waving a small goodbye.

Leaving the facility, while at a stop light, you found your flip phone, finding the contact of Jethro and quickly dialing the number.

“Gibbs,” He answered.

“Hey, are you on a case?”

“No, are you driving?”

“Yes, safely. What are you doing? Building a boat,” You chuckled, imagining him in the basement with the tool and sweaty shirt.

“Yeah. Did you meet up with your old team today?”

“Mhm, all surprised to see me today. It was humorous in a sense. But, Rossi invited me and everyone to a dinner, telling us to bring a partner.”

“Who are you planning on bringing?”

“You.”

“So, we’re being more public with our relationship?”

“Just with the old team, my old team, they don’t have contact with anyone apart of NCIS, or at least not personal only professional.”

“I thought you were going to come and see me, instead of making me drive,” You could almost sense his smile on the other line, a mocking one.

Gibbs would obviously accept the offer, the man truly holding a strong affection for you, a soft spot personally for you, so he would agree to drive the hour or two.

But just because he would, it doesn’t mean he didn’t have to mess around a bit, act like he wouldn’t.

“I know, but then you can see my new apartment. And after this weekend, who knows when we’ll be able to see each other again. Both of our jobs involved sporadic cases that start and end at no specific time, hard to plan around. And, everyone is pressuring me to meet you.”

“I’m already popular, huh?”

“I suppose,” You huffed, rubbing your temple, exhaustion starting to take over you, wanting to get some rest, a calming bath to combat earlier feelings that seemed as if they were creeping up once again.

“I’ll come, don’t worry. Get home safe, call me when you have the address and date.”

“Okay, bye.” You hung up, tossing the phone onto the empty seat as you continued to drive, playing the music from the CD already inserted in your car.

Time leading up to the dinner seemed to fly by, especially considering that it wasn’t much time and you weren’t having to work. You decided to take the free time to get fully settled in, figure out your nerves, make a phone call to your therapist, and even read. Trying to get prepared for all the days that are to come.

Your hair was now being changed from its normal du to a new one, fancier in a sense. Applying a nice coat of makeup, new lip color, trying a new pallet and the old eyelash curler that hasn’t been used in a while, you finished ‘upgrading’ your face. A outfit was simple, considering you didn’t have many fancy ones, so with not much to choose, it was a quick decision.

Sliding that on and fixing the straps to be a bit tighter, messing with the bra to fit correctly, and pulling it down a bit, you grabbed your go to purse, shoving needed materials a into it as you moved to the kitchen.

Within the kitchen, there was a certain door within the wall of the pantry with a password. Quickly typing in the combination the door swung open, choosing between a small but handy knife, you put in the pocket of your bag.

You weren’t too worried about dangers at the dinner, but with years of catching/fighting murders, specific people after you, and even very powerful assassins, you carried certain weapons for safety.

Hearing the sturdy knock of someone’s knuckles on your front door, you rushed to shut the the secret door in the pantry, heading to your front door where someone was waiting.

A quick peak through the hole, your eyes widened in surprise and opened the door, allowing the man to walk in.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, till uh, later tonight,” You mentioned, looking him up and down to see him more dressed up. “Are you not able to attend anymore?”

“No, I’m still going,” Hotch denied, sliding off his shoes and following you to the couch. “I just wanted to chat before than, a chance for just the two of us.”

“Is something wrong?” You walked over to your teapot, filling it with water, and placing it on your stove, heating up the water. “This is very unexpected.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just want to talk to you, see the apartment, hear what’s new with you.”

“Things,” You shrugged. “Obviously I’ve had a new job experience, similar in ways and also not. Grew closer with a new group of teammates, people, lost a few. Yeah, lost a few,” You repeated, remembering Jenny Shepard, even Kate, both amazing women, who did amazing things.

“That’s always hard, I guess my most recent loss was Haley,” Aaron hummed, soon the kettle making a high pitched noise, you rushing to take it off and grab some tea bags.

“She was also a amazing woman. Wonderful mother, cared so much for that little boy.”

“She really was.”

“Did you come to chat about her, it’s been a while since we had. Last time we really talked was five months after she passed, after the funeral.”

“It really has been that long?” Aaron questioned, taking the tea that you time handed him. “But it’s not the reason I came. I should have made more of a effort to keep in touch, after your transfer, after your loss.”

“You stayed with me for three months, allowing to lose some time with your son so you could change my dirty sheets and pick up all my snotty tissues,” You laughed, sitting down across from him with your own cup. “You had to get back to your family, make up for loss time.”

“You still helped me with my divorce during that time, and I still saw Jack,” He reminded you.

“I could’ve moved in with my father, but you allowed me not to do that.”

“Your father is a good man, but might not be the best to live with,” He laughed, a deep chuckle, something you didn’t see much. “You look nice.”

“Now you just notice,” You chuckle, taking another sip. “Thank you, you look nice as well. I was actually just going to call Jethro and tell him to meet me there, a bit of a drive and he isn’t happy about having to find a new team,” You spoke freely, feeling comfortable with the old friend, one you used to spill everything to years ago, him ranting to you too.

“Jethro? He has his own team? Sounds like a boss of some type.”

“Uh, technically. It’s complicated. I need to get going, to make it to the dinner on time and, finish, um, cleaning up my room before leaving.”

“I could take you there.”

“No thanks, I’ll see you there, bye.” You helped guide him to the door, a curt wave before he exited and shut it, locking it in a rush and moving back to the dining room table to clean the mugs.

You didn’t want to tell him all that, always insecure due to Gibbs being the prior boss of you and how people looked at that. Rumors were always spread about your and Aaron’s relationship, mostly about it being romantic.

Joining the team, you two easily hit it off due to your personalities. Always being filled with determination and stubbornness, refusing to give up till everything was done and right, even with files. Eventually you joined together, talked, spent most days with each other due to cases, and truly gained a very close friendship.

When rumors were getting around, glares were thrown your way, comments, left out by members who weren’t your immediate teams. People thought you were the cause of Haley and Aaron’s divorce, somehow word got around quickly, drama always does.

It was frustrating, already dealing with many different things at home, and even being in a relationship, it put so much unneeded stress and anxiety onto you.

So, getting into a relationship with Gibbs was a very reluctant thing on your part, he expressed his feelings first, but it was hard to accept them, despite the nerves he faced to do it.

Locking up the apartment, having all of your items with you, you made your way out the door and too your car, starting the drive to David’s house.

Upon arriving, you could hear light chatter in the home, lights on, and soothing music playing in the background. It sounded like everyone was having their fun, you couldn’t make out all the shadows of everyone indoors, just waiting outside for Jethro to arrive.

“Y/n?” You turned around at the sound of his voice, keys jingling in his hands as he walked up to you with a sly smile, shoving them in his pockets to place his arms around your waist. “What’s wrong, love?” Be snaked them around, a kiss to your somewhat clothed shoulder.

“Nothing, just a bit nervous to introduce you to everyone,” You smiled back at him, he squeezed a little tighter, catching your lips in a quick kiss. “Looking at your team, yet?”

“Nevermind that,” He grumbled, removing his hands to now interlace your left one with his right. “We should go in, right?”

“Maybe we could head back, to my place, say you are sick or something?” You looked back at him with a pleading look, to which he just chuckled at, starting to move to the front door, pressing the doorbell as you groaned a little.

“You’ll be fine,” He looked back at you as Rossi answered the door, cheerful smile on his lips, glass of scotch in hand as he moved out of the way to let you in.

“Ah! Y/n!” He cheered, leaning over to kiss your cheek and then pulled back. “Glad you made it! This must be…”

“Y/n! Oh where is the man?” Penelope rushed in, coming right by you with her own fruity drink, then leaning to whisper in your ear. “Is this him, oo!”

“Uh, Jethro that’s David,” You pointed to the man who first greeted you, him and Jethro shaking hands. “This is Penelope, the one kind of like Abby,” You smiled, as she gave you a little look, turning back and enveloping him in a little hug. She quickly turned back to you.

“He looks a little intimidating,” She whispered as you just laughed.

“For sure,” You nodded.

“Can I offer you a drink?” David turned to you two, gesturing to the one in his hand. “Something like Garcia for you Y/n, and what about you Jethro?”

“Just call me Gibbs, and yeah that’s fine,” He corrected Rossi, taking your hand as the two of you walked more inside of the magnificent house.

It truly was so well designed, very expensive, and the appetizers adorning the oak wood table looked very delicious. You wanted to go and grab a bite, before you were actually led to the living room where everyone was currently sitting.

“L/n, finally made it,” Derek laughed, beer in his hand as he pointed at you with a little chuckle. “You always know how to be a bit late.”

“Fashionably late, I believe that’s what it’s called,” JJ corrected them with her own wine glass in hand, Will sat right besides her on one of the couch as most of them in that room joined in laughter.

“What can I say?” You laughed, walking over, feeling less nervous with the factor of introducing your boyfriend, taking a seat on another couch in the large room, Jethro automatically sitting right besides you.

“So, introduce us,” Emily motioned over to Jethro, sly smile playing on her lips.

“This is Jethro, but he goes by Gibbs, and, uh, this is the team,” You started to name everyone off while pointing to them, leaving off a few names due to your members introducing their own partners to you.

Emily, Derek, and JJ had all brought partners. Spencer and Penelope decided to ‘go together’ as if they were partners, and Hotch hadn’t arrived yet. Rossi also had his girlfriend helping him cook in the kitchen, making drinks for you and Gibbs now.

“So, you work at NCIS, right?” Spencer questioned. “The Naval Criminal Investigative Service, very interesting considering the type of crimes you investigate. I would love to hear more about some of your cases and how you went about it,” Spencer smiled, a small notebook being pulled out of his pocket with a pen.

“Yeah,” Gibbs just nodded, looking at you a little questioning, which you just chuckled at.

“Why should we talk so much about work, it’s something we all do too much of,” You joked, everyone laughing, as Dave came back out, handing some drinks.

“Fine, fine, what do you do for fun Mr. Gibbs?” Derek asked, putting a arm over the couch and pulling his girl closer to his side, the woman just on her phone.

“I like to build boats, a type of hobbie I’ve been doing for years.”

“Building boats? Where?” Will wondered, intertwining his fingers with JJ.

“My basement, a private workspace.”

“How do you get it out then?” Penelope inquired, now back by Spencer and her face in her hand, leaning closer to show her interest in Gibbs statement.

“I’d be no fun if you knew that,” He shrugged, taking a drink with a small smile as Penelope gasped, Emily mouthing how ‘I like him’. It was sweet how everything was going well.

They all continued to converse with Gibbs, easily accepting him apart of the conversation, it was sweet and you were now on your second drink, practically all nerves gone.

“Sorry we’re late,” A voice mentioned in the hallway, dressed in a fine suit with a beautiful woman standing besides him. He shrugged off the last of his coat as he hung it up, taking her hand and walking into the hallway a little.

“This is such a nice place, Aaron. Oh! Your friend, wow, so grand,” The woman admired, now truly getting in your line of sight.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, eyes interlocking with yours before falling onto Gibbs. “I’m Aaron, call me Hotch.”

“I’m Gibbs,” Your boyfriend stood up, moving over to the other man with his hand stuck out. “Call me that.”

You had a feeling this evening wouldn’t be as smooth as you hoped.

——————

taglist - @wolviesbabes @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

(comment to be added, or a tag list for all my gibbs post)

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haikyuuuuuhypeeeee · 3 years

Text

Chapter 7

⚠️WARNING: Mentions of previous characters' deaths, swearing, mention of unhealthy coping mechanism

• ────── ✾ ────── •

You gasp as you wake up, your eyes attempting to discern anything in the dark.

What the…

Not even two seconds ago you were playing volleyball back in the Aoba Johsai gymnasium. It was a silly two on three game, Oikawa and Mattsun vs you, Makki and -

Oh.

Tears well up in your eyes, fast and hot. They flow down the side of your face, into your hair and the pillow. You do nothing to stop them, crushed by the sudden wave of sadness.

It was a dream. It was a freaking dream.

You’re alone in your apartment in the middle of the night. You’re a college student at Sendai Uni. You don’t play volleyball.

And Hajime is dead.

The sobs come out unconstrained, as you were too heartbroken to try to stop them. How could you, as it was the only way for you to let out the sorrow and anguish coursing through your blood right now.

C’mon Y/N, get yourself together. You will yourself to calm down, getting the sobs to subside. The tears don’t slow though, as you sit up to grab some tissues from your bedside table. You clean yourself up, sniffling and grabbing your phone.

It’s only just past 1am, and you can’t fathom the idea of falling back asleep. Not when there’s the chance of you falling back into that dream. Not when you can be fooled into thinking that you’re playing volleyball, still trying to receive Oikawa’s serves and laughing when Hajime yells at Makki to take this seriously -

Your eyes well up with fresh tears and you clutch a tissue to your mouth to muffle the cries that want to escape.

The only thing you’re sure about right now is that you don’t want to be alone. You can’t be alone, you just can’t.

You unlock your phone but staring at your screen you don’t know who you can call.

Ok, that’s not true. You have a lot of people you can call. Your parents, Oikawa, Mattsun, Makki, hell even your therapist gave you her cellphone to call if you need her. And you know that all of those people wouldn’t hesitate to listen to you and help you.

But do you want to call any of them?

This isn’t a life or death situation, and you don’t feel like you are a danger to yourself so it would be irresponsible to call your therapist. It’s the middle of the night and your parents still work so you don’t want to wake them up.

That leaves your friends, the people who honestly could still be awake and maybe even wanting to talk to someone. But Makki has Mattsun, and vice versa. Which would leave Oikawa, but honestly? He’s been more than unbearable lately, and you’ve been walking on eggshells around him, scared that anything you say will set him off.

So you’re here, laying in your bed with no one to call. And the one person that you desperately want to call is dead.

Sniffling again and wiping the fresh tears from your eyes you pull up your texts. Maybe you can send a funny meme to Makki and start a meme war - it’ll take your mind off your current predicament at least. But your eyes fall to the chat you have with Osamu, close to the top of your messages.

Huh, you didn’t really think of him.

Not that you wouldn’t want to talk to Osamu. He’s actually very funny, with his dry humor and easy banter. Your friendship, despite its more than unusual beginning, has blossomed into something you’ve come to cherish.

But you can’t bother him with this, no no. You guys can, and have, confide in each other about your struggles and your complicated feelings and emotions. But it’s mainly been small bits and pieces shared over coffee.

But it couldn’t hurt to text him, no?

You wouldn’t say anything about your dream. Maybe you can find a funny meme to send him, or ask a question about lunch tomorrow.

You methodically type out your message, finding a meme to almost perfectly capture your mood (but not too accurately.)

You send the text before talking yourself out of it. It wouldn’t surprise you if Osamu didn’t text you back - it’s late (or early, depending on your opinion) and he should be sleeping.

You sigh deeply, finding yourself back in square one. Square one plus a stuffy nose, aching head and absolutely broken heart. You close out of the messaging app and decide to find some show to binge while you wait for the sun to rise.

Your phone begins vibrating and you’re surprised to see what comes across your screen.

Osamu doesn’t text you back. He calls you.

You pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“I hope that photo isn’t a subtle request to have me come over and cook for ya.” The soft, calm voice coming through the phone makes your chest tighten. It brings a wave of relief because you’re not alone but drowns you in guilt at inconveniencing your friend.

You clear your throat and sniffle. “No, sorry.” Your voice cracks and you wince at how obvious it is that you were just crying.

Osamu picks up on your current state. “Hey, are ya alright?”

He sounds so concerned, the teasing lilt in his voice instantly dropped. Your eyes start to water again and you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips in time.

“Hey, Y/N are ya okay? Where are you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. Your voice sounds horrible, extremely hoarse and tight as you try not to let more sobs spill out. Gritting your teeth helps keep them at bay but it does nothing to stop the flow of tears. You sniffle, loud.

“Where are you? Are you in danger?”

“No, no. I’m at my apartment. I’m okay.” You take in a shaky breath, sniffling again and clearing your throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s okay,” Osamu replies. He doesn’t sound as frantic as he did before but you can detect the worry in his voice. “I was still up so it’s no bother. I don’t even know why I called honestly. I think I just wanted to see what ya were doin’ up.”

“It’s fine, you can call me whenever,” you reply earnestly. “I….just had a dream.”

A split second of hesitation is all you’re allowed to mentally scream at yourself for breaking the one condition you set when you decided to text Osamu. “A dream?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yeah, and I’m sorry for bugging you because it’s not fair to you but I just have to tell someone or else I feel like I’m going to fucking suffocate. I know I should just call my friends but they don’t want to hear me go on and on and -”

“Hey, hey Y/N. Calm down and take a breath.” You listen to Osamu, taking a pause to breathe. Your head is now throbbing painfully and your throat feels wretched. “What was yer dream about?”

“I was playing volleyball with my friends and...Hajime.” You are silently screaming at yourself. You were not going to do this to Osamu, you were not going to burden your friend, who is already facing struggles of his own, with your problems.

But...he did ask what your dream was about.

“We were playing volleyball together,” you go on. “And it felt so real, like one minute I was in the middle of a play and the next I was waking up in my bed, searching for the ball. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was all a dream, and, and,” your breath hitches again and you feel more sobs bubbling out. Again you feel the grief take control of your body and you start crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay Y/N.” Osamu is trying to soothe you but it’s not doing much to calm you down. If anything the added reassurance was making you cry harder “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s so far from okay that you can’t even imagine how you would get to okay.

“I’m sorry,” you sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Ya don’t hafta apologize,” Osamu replies. “Just let it out, Y/N.”

Oh boy, do you let it out. You cry and cry, curled up in a ball in your bed, lamenting the loss of your best friend and trying not to drown even more in your sorrow.

But you’re not alone, really. There’s not another person in the apartment with you, but you have Osamu on the phone right now. He’s reaching out to you, reaching through the dark and trying to get to you.

You’re not alone.

You feel the sobs subsiding as your breathing returns to normal. Your entire head is throbbing, you have no chance of breathing out of your nose and your eyes are painfully dry.

“Are ya alright?”

“Yeah,” you rasp out. “I’m sorry again, for that.”

“Ya don’t ever have to apologize to me,” Osamu says immediately. His insistence brings a small smile to your face. “If ya ever need to talk about yer dreams or anything, that’s what I’m here for.”

“Thank you,” you reply. Your voice is nasally but you try to get as much sincerity in it as possible.

“Of course, and ya can call whenever. I don’t sleep so there’s a good chance ya’ll catch me anytime.”

You pause in wiping your face with your tissues as you take in what Osamu is telling you. “You don’t…sleep?”

“Nah.” Osamu's nonchalant answer makes your cock your head in confusion. “I don’t think I can remember the last time I actually slept through an entire night.”

“So,” you pause, still not comprehending. “What do you…do?”

“I do my homework, I’ve got a job at the convenience store and I usually work the night shift. Sometimes I read or binge watch a new show.” He laughs. “Usually every three or four days I just pass out for 14 hours or so, and then repeat.”

“Osamu,” you chastise. “That’s not healthy.”

He laughs again but it’s not the light chuckle from before - it’s a hollow laugh with a hard edge. “Yeah, well it stops me from havin’ the kind of dreams yer havin’. The kind where I forget that my brother is dead.”

You’re taken aback from the harshness in Osamu’s voice. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound like that. It could be considered in the same category as his usual tone - dry, sarcastic and nearly apathetic. But his regular tone is part of his sense of humor and how you two converse. You’ve never felt unease from those conversations, but now you do.

“And ya know what's worse than those little dreams?” Osamu doesn’t wait for input. “The worst is when I’m not even asleep and my stupid brain will give me random reminders from when my brother was alive. Like ‘don’t forget to wake up early and shower before Atsumu uses all the hot water!’ Or,” Osamu takes in a harsh breath, the noise making your phone speaker crackle. “Or the reminder to grab another sports drink at the store for Atsumu because he’s a scrub but he’s my brother and I love him. Or to save the mushrooms from my dinner even though they’re gross but Atsumu will trade his broccoli for them.”

Osamu blasts on, speaking fervently. Someone listening in would think he’s mad at you, but you know his frustration isn’t directed at you.

“But then I remember that I live alone, and I don’t need two bottles of sports drink and my plate is full of fucking mushrooms for no god damn reason.”

“And then, after feeling like the world’s biggest idiot for forgetting that my own twin brother is dead, I remember how alone I am.” He lets out another laugh, but it’s not light nor is it bitter. It’s worse, full of self-deprecation and pain.

You wait with bated breath, waiting for any sign on life through the phone. But when Osamu speaks, a small, broken voice comes through the line and nearly breaks your heart.

“It’s like - finding a life raft in the middle of the ocean but when you get to it it’s just a bundle of seaweed - it gets me every time.”

You inhale quietly. You want to reassure him but you can’t find the right words to say.

You can’t, because you know exactly how it feels.

The cold hard truth is that Iwaizumi Hajime is dead. There is nothing in the world that can bring him back, and there is nothing you can do to change that fact. Some days you can accept this fact easier than others.

On the easy days you feel most like yourself carrying a small rock. The weight of Hajime’s death will be something you will always carry with you. But on those easy days you can slip the rock in your pocket or hold it in your hand and carry on through life.

On the hard days it takes way more effort to lug the boulder around. You don’t know if you should drag it, heft it over your shoulder, tie a rope around it and yank hard. Sometimes you’re left to your own devices, sometimes your therapist or your parents can tell you the best way to carry it. Even your friends have stepped in to help you carry it, despite their own rocks to hold.

But the absolute worst days are the ones where you lose the rock, but you haven’t realized it. Where are you going to find it? In your pocket? Your bag? Will you trip over it?

Or will it come crashing down on you like an asteroid hellbent on wiping you out?

And it’s not even the impact that’s the worst part! Sure, this asteroid comes down on you with enough force to kill you, but the shockwave is what really destroys you.

When you have those moments when you forget that your Hajime is dead, the realization of his nonexistence is the asteroid’s impact on you. The cruel realization that his nonexistence is permanent for the remainder of your life is the shockwave.

This cruel one-two punch is devastating. It knocks you down and out, merciless in it’s destruction.

For what it’s worth, Osamu’s solution to dodging that one-two punch is not terrible, although it will have major consequences for his body and mind that he will have to face someday. But you can’t blame him for doing something to avoid the heavy blow.

It does destroy. It does make you feel like you’re drowning. It does nearly kill you.

“Ah, I think she fell asleep.” You’ve been quiet for so long that Osamu thinks you’ve fallen asleep on the phone.

“No, I'm here.” You murmur. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Ah, a dangerous pastime.” Osamu jokes, but it doesn’t quite land. Could be from his full disclosure or from the strained laugh he gives at the end of the sentence.

“It is,” you agree. “But I was thinking about what you said.” He doesn’t respond, letting you continue. “And I just wanted to say...I get it.”

There’s silence on the other end. It’s so quiet that you fear for a second that Osamu has hung up the phone in anger, or maybe he’s drifted off to sleep. But then you hear another breathy exhale, a laugh from a person who is the furthest from laughing.

“Ya know Y/N? I think you’re the only person who does.”

You exhale and close your eyes. You find it hard to open them back up, pure exhaustion taking over your body.

“We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?”

“Of course,” Osamu answers. “But ya gotta rest now if ya wanna wake up in time for it.”

A small smile crosses your face. “Sure. Promise me you’ll try to get some sleep too?”

A noncommittal hum is the answer you receive, not ideal but you don’t push him. You feel brittle and fragile, and you’re sure he’s the same.

“Osamu, thank you.” You want to convey how thankful you are, not only that he called you tonight but for coming into your life at a time where you needed a friendly face. You know your gratitude doesn’t come close to covering the vast expanse of your gratefulness but you hope you’ll have time to show him.

“No worries, get some sleep. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Good night Y/N.”

“Good night Osamu.” Your eyes slip close, and you let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: 😔😔 y’all this story is making me Big Sad and I wrote it. 🥲 Thank you so much for reading!!! I should probably mention that the time stamps in the chat and on the tweets and such are accurate - the story is moving right along!

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito

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gotham-ruaidh · 3 years

Text

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

This story takes place during the summer of 1987. It’s the time of the Cold War, and heavy metal, and Just Say No.

Ten chapters, each with a specific song as its soundtrack.

I’m so excited to finally share it with you.

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Also posted at AO3

—-

Chapter 3: Dancing On Glass

I've been through hell // And I'm never goin' back // To dancing on glass // Going way too fast...

Need one more rush // Then I know, I know I'll stop // One extra push // Last trip to the top...

Soundtrack: “Dancing On Glass,” Mötley Crüe, 1987 [click here to listen]

Three P.M.

Group.

Claire’s hands wrapped around the hard sides of the plastic chair, holding herself upright, watching about two dozen fellow patients? inmates? addicts? shuffle into the room.

Two people stood at the door – greeting others as they entered, handing out small packets of tissues and bottles of Coke.

Today’s facilitator – a middle-aged, bearded man – stood to one side, chatting with a few people.

“Hey!”

Claire startled – and turned to her right to see Jamie slide into the chair beside her.

“How’s it going today? Day two, right?”

She nodded. “Met with my therapist this morning.”

“That’s great! Who’ve you got?”

“Gillian.”

Jamie cracked open a bottle. “Oh, she’s great. Been here a long time. She’s married to the director – did you know that?”

Claire’s eyebrows raised. “No, but that’s really interesting.”

Jamie gulped about half the bottle in one shot. “Yeah. We owe everything to them.”

“Yeah, well. I got assigned to dinner set-up duty.”

He beamed. “Great! I’ve been on that rotation for the last few weeks. I’ll show you all the ropes.”

“Few weeks? How long have you been here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He set down his Coke. “I don’t. And I’ve been here eight weeks. The best eight weeks of my fucked-up life.”

“Don’t say that,” she chided. “Surely everything can’t be so terrible.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“It can be, if you were the reason why a sold-out European tour couldn’t happen, and it cost your backers and buddies tens of millions of dollars, and it pissed off countless thousands of fans.”

Now the greeters took their seats within the circle.

“Couldn’t, or didn’t?” Claire hoped her words were gentle, but when her head split with pain like this she could never tell. “And what do you mean by ‘tour’?”

His eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t. My manager said I’d come back from Europe in a body bag. He’s a bloodsucker but he had enough sense to not kill the golden goose.” He finished his Coke in one long gulp – flexing the tattoos swirling on his forearm and elbow. “And I’m a professional musician – in case you couldn’t guess from the way I look.”

“I see.”

He grinned. “How about that – someone who doesn’t recognize me.”

She folded her hands in her lap, closing her eyes against the pain, so desperately wanting to disappear. “I guess between medical school, and being a surgeon, and my ex-husband…and the pills…there are a lot of things I haven’t paid attention to.”

“Hey.” Softly he reached out to touch her knee – and she looked up at him.

“I’m not making fun of you, Claire. It’s just…I don’t know. Refreshing.”

She smiled tightly.

The facilitator clapped his hands. “Everyone – are we ready?”

People around the circle nodded, and the man sat down in the last empty chair.

“Great. Well, hi everyone. For those of you who don’t know me – I’m Murtagh. Been clean for just about eleven years now. Before that I spent a small fortune that I didn’t have – ”

“ – on enough blow to kill an elephant,” Jamie and several others chorused.

Murtagh smiled. “Wiseasses. Now – today’s topic is: clarity.”

“Can you be more specific?” A heavyset, bearded man across the circle piped up.

“You mean – provide more clarity?” Geneva snickered from somewhere near Jamie.

“Easy,” Murtagh interjected. “And yes, Rupert, of course. What I mean is: something I hear a lot from people here is that being away from substances gives them clarity for the first time in years. Clarity of thoughts – meaning, you’re logical and rational. Clarity of judgment – meaning, you feel like you are empowered to make good decisions. And overall, clarity to step away from all the bullshit that the substances made you do, or made it easier for you to do, and say – damn, what the hell was I doing?”

Across the circle, Rupert nodded. “OK. Oh – hi everyone, I’m Rupert, and I’m an alcoholic. Yeah – I can definitely relate. I wanted to not have clarity, so that I didn’t have to think about how much I was screwing up my job, and my marriage.”

“Good,” Murtagh praised. “And now that you can’t avoid it – how do you feel?”

Rupert stroked his thick beard. “Like shit. I love Scarlet so much, and I fucked it all up. I understand that now.”

“I feel the same way,” Jamie added. “Hi, I'm Jamie, and I'm an alcoholic, too. I drank because I’ve always felt so responsible for everything going on in my band – because I’m the guy that brought us together, and I’m the guy who writes the songs, and I’m the guy who’s across the table from the record company executives, advocating on our behalf.” He bounced a long, thin, jean-clad leg rapidly up and down. “I felt like I was being used, and that I was the only one who cared. I felt that really clearly. So I drank to…to avoid that clarity.”

Claire carefully watched the others around the circle. What Jamie was sharing could make any one of them a quick buck – all it would take was one phone call to a tabloid. But everyone was listening raptly – clearly thinking about parallels in their own lives – and it began to dawn on her that Jamie had one thing she didn’t have much of for herself: respect.

“And then when I drank, I’d just get really mean,” he continued. “I’d say things to rile up my drummer. I had a fling with my manager’s girlfriend, just to fuck with him. And yeah, I’d destroy hotel rooms.”

“Your reaction was to want to hurt people,” Murtagh said gently. “You had had clarity – clarity that you were shouldering too much, for too many people – and you reacted by wanting to push them away.”

“Yeah.” Claire spoke without thinking. “Um – hi everyone, I’m Claire, and I’m addicted to pills. Halcions, mostly.”

“Oh, those are the best,” a woman to Claire’s left remarked.

“Hey – no positive talk,” Murtagh interjected. “You know better than that, Letitia.”

Letitia huffed.

Murtagh turned back to face Claire. “Tell us more, Claire, if you’re comfortable?”

Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I was – am – a trauma surgeon for an emergency room. I love it – I love the adrenaline of it, and of course being able to help people on the worst day of their lives. I love being able to heal people. But…but it’s pretty heavy stuff. People die, no matter how hard you try to save them. People wake up and they’re not happy that they don’t have a leg anymore – and I say, would you rather be dead?”

“And you wanted to get away from that?” Jamie asked gently.

She closed her eyes. “I had to have clarity to do my job properly – it’s hard to describe, but it’s like having a laser focus on what’s in front of you. Getting in the zone. Shutting out everything else. And then when it’s all done – I would crash. The whole world would come rushing back, and I’d be covered in someone else’s blood and barely able to sit down before I had to work on the next person. That was so, so hard to deal with.”

“I understand.” Claire opened her eyes – it was an older man speaking right next to Jamie. “Hi everyone – I’m Ned, I’m a lawyer and crack addict, and there are a lot of jokes I’m sure you could make based on that.”

Claire managed a small smile.

“I’m a defense attorney – I’m that guy you see on TV arguing in a courtroom and presenting to a jury. I totally get what Claire said, because I needed to have that kind of really focused clarity, too. It was kind of like acting – I had to remember my argument, and I had to present it to the jury, and I had to pick up on cues from them to see how well I was doing. And then afterward I’d just crash. But I still had to have energy to prep for the next day, and that’s where Miss Crack came in.”

“So what I’m hearing is that clarity is something you already had – and then you turn to substances to get away from it.” Murtagh folded his arms. “Because it’s hard to flip that ‘off’ switch. And then eventually, the substances change from being something to take a vacation from that clarity, to completely blocking out that clarity altogether.”

“Exactly.” It was easier for Claire to focus on Murtagh than the sea of faces surrounding her. “And it’s a deliberate choice. I’m sure, Ned and Rupert and Jamie, that you deliberately sought out something to prevent that clarity. I know I did – I wrote the prescriptions for the pills that I consumed.”

Rupert nodded. “The bottle didn’t pick itself up and pour the liquor down my throat. And you’re right, Claire – at first, at least, it was a conscious decision. Until it became something I had to depend on.”

“I think that there are ways for this to happen more positively.” A woman seated beside Rupert quietly spoke. “Oh – hi, everyone, I’m Marsali, and I’m an alcoholic. What I mean is, there are ways to flip that ‘off’ switch that aren’t so…destructive. You can go for a run. Listen to music. Cook a meal. Watch a movie. Make love to your significant other.”

Murtagh nodded. “Marsali brings up a good point here. I’ll repeat something that I’ve already told many of you before, because it bears repeating. Substance addiction is addiction, first and foremost. All of us are here because our brains are hard-wired for addiction. We can’t change that. But we can change what it is that we’re addicted to.”

“Like what?” Letitia had calmed down a bit, but clearly she was skeptical.

“Whatever works for you,” Murtagh shrugged. “Jiu Jitsu. Flower Arranging. Reading. Playing the drums. Writing. Riding motorcycles. Not all addictions are bad – we just need to find the addictions that help us, and don’t hurt us or the people around us.”

Everyone’s heads nodded in agreement, quietly reflecting.

“So – that’s my homework assignment for all of you.” Murtagh pulled a small spiral notebook from his pocket, flipped to a fresh page, and began scribbling in it. “To think about the thing that you can become positively addicted to. Something you already enjoy, or something you’ve never done before. But I hope that even just thinking about it will give you focus. Improve your clarity.”

“Got it,” Ned said quietly.

Murtagh flipped back to an earlier page in his notebook. “Now – I have here my notes from the last time I facilitated Group. OK if I start going around and asking people for follow-up thoughts to those? Rupert?”

Rupert nodded, and began to speak.

“Facilitators take turns hosting Group every fourth day.” Claire started a bit, but held steady as Jamie leaned in close, spoke quietly into her ear. “We talk about things, and we’re assigned homework, and then the next time the facilitator is back we talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Claire murmured.

Jamie didn’t pull away. “If you ever just want to talk…”

She swallowed. “Thanks. I do. I just – it’s a lot to process.”

“It is. But you’ll get there. Talk more at our dinner prep.”

With that he pulled back, and a low buzz settled somewhere between Claire’s ears as the people around her chimed in to the conversation.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be

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jennilah · 2 years

Text

every New Year's Time I like to take a moment to dive back into my diary and reflect on the last 12 months of my life.

You know, Im always worried someone will take this as... gloating or being self centered or something. I just... well, I guess to convince myself that its fine, I've just always loved blogging about my life and goings-on, good and bad. A few years back something happened that made me scared to talk about my life like I used to, and Im still trying to relearn that its ok to be self indulgent on my personal accounts.

And during these year roundups, I like taking the opportunity to expand more on things I kept quiet about, reflect on the big changes, or simply find the good moments in an otherwise rough year. I don't want anyone to compare their life to mine. This is just for fun.

I like reading about whats happening in the people Im following's lives too! I think its nice to stay in the loop like that...

That said... here's my 2021 Year In Review, if you're into that kind of thing

Ill start off by saying at the start of 2021, I was only a month into my new job. I was animating on WandaVision, and I was working entirely from home. It was nice getting some near-immediate gratification seeing our hard work on the screen only a month or so later. (LOOKING AT YOU, TOP GUN MAVERICK, WHICH I WORKED ON 2 YEARS AGO AND IS STILL YET TO COME OUT)

According to my diary early in the year I was still looking for therapists, so I wasn't doing too hot in the mental health department. I have since given up on that search because it was just too expensive, but also I think I am doing a little better now.

I will say, this year was the first year I can think of since.... god, ever? where I haven't had a hyper interest. Meaning, there's things I love dearly, but there's nothing occupying my mind 24/7. Nothing I want to make fanart of until my hands fall off. Nothing I want to read fanfictions of. (I am actually autistic, remember. This is probably the symptom that affects me the most and its been there my whole life. So when I say hyper interest, or special interest, I am not being dramatic. I am using it in the actual autistic spectrum definition) The absence of a current special interest for so long is a little debilitating. I realized, if I'm not daydreaming about something, my mind starts assaulting me with every thing that bothers me in the back of my mind. Especially since my last two special interests "ended" in bad terms. Both SPN and DBH I slowly faded from because of the discourse and hatred being spread among fandom members, my happy memories of both get shoved aside by the discourses and bullying ive seen and things ive read swirling in my head over and over and over and over and over on a repeat I cant stop thinking about it. I dont even know how to phrase it in a way that doesnt sound ridiculous. Trust me, its more frustrating for me than it is cringy for you. Every day, especially when trying to sleep. It's hell, and its one of the things I wanted therapy to help me handle. I'm still struggling with it. I try combating it by literally daydreaming of counting sheep like Im a child.

(so yes ive been a little desperate for my brain to latch onto something new with no drama but it hasnt yet. this is not something i can consciously do.)

But... in these fandomless times I am taking the opportunity to play new games, try to watch new shows, and actually READ SOME BOOKS. With no fanfiction to read before bed, I can actually... read a book. So I read some books. Specifically, The Locked Tomb trilogy (which apparently is gonna have 4 books now? Cool)

I've been enjoying those a lot! Cant wait for the next book. :)

I got to guest-lecture for an online class at my old college, SVA. That was super fun and I hope to do it again sometime! I love guest lecturing! The students don't need you to teach them technical things, they mostly just want advice, to hear your "story", and ask questions about what the industry is like. It's super fun! Always happy to supply that advice and information for any animation student who asks, online or offline.

I attended a zoom wedding, which was wild, but hey, I'm happy for that friend.

I started really getting into plants. My collection expanded quite a bit, and I have been having a lot of fun with that hobby. With no hyperinterest, my brain filled with plants. (I'm pretty sure Im not even joking there.)

Around springtime, I had my first review with my boss and supervisor about my performance. I'd say this was a small turning point. I am a Key Artist at my job, which is the highest rank before becoming a Lead, and I was nervous that I was underperforming because I still felt like a low Mid artist. Thats when they told me I was doing excellently, and I am one of the most reliable animators on the team. If they had any advice for me, it was that I worry and stress too much. (Ha. Yeah....... if that wasn't clear so far)

Anyway... that was an eye opener. Like hey, maybe I'm good at this thing after all.

Yeah. Wanted to keep that ball rolling, though. Hearing something like that only makes me want to work harder. At this time, I was also working on possibly the most fun project I got to animate on in my career so far- it was just SO up my alley and my supervisor really let me run free with my ideas. You'll see later 2022. (Unless it gets pushed)

Oh... got to this part in my diary. Well, this year I was hit with another big low. I lost my beloved pet cat Tiger, who was part of my life since I was 8 years old. Luckily, she lived a long happy life, and she passed peacefully. I was worried I would be wracked by nightmares about it for weeks like when I lost my dog a few years prior, but I think that was because his death was so sudden and so disturbing. I miss them both so much. I still cried so much, and still cry when I think about it too much. (See earlier about my brain attacking me lately. This is one of those things I get mentally assaulted with when trying to sleep) But... I'm ok. I handed it well, I think.

I played Horizon Zero Dawn, loved it. I watched the Fast and Furious franchise with some friends over discord, loved it.

Also, I will say, there was non-stop construction in my apartment building for like... over a year by that point. It was so loud, I had construction grade ear muffs just so I could focus on work or try to take naps. The noise was also incredibly debilitating to my mental state every day, along with my anxieties and covid shit and everything.

Late spring, my studio got together at a park to see each other in person for the first time. That was so nice, I was emotional about it. Clearly I was not having a good time the whole year until then, what with the noise and my anxiety and all. But I had 1 vaccine in my arm by that point, and seeing everyone was so lovely, I remember feeling really good that day.

Well... aside from the part where I almost blacked out.

I rode my kick scooter to the park and when I arrived, my vision got really blurry and I got really dizzy. I still don't know exactly what happened that day, but I was terrified. I thought I was going to ruin the picnic by having to be hospitalized. (yes, literally standing there silently with the group, unable to see, not saying anything, hoping I didnt pass out in front of everyone and ruin the fun)

I don't know what that was about, but it was a wake up call that I think I need to exercise more. I think my body was so used to being sedentary from being locked up in my apartment for a year, that small day of exertion nearly took me the fuck out.

Come June, my year really started turning around.

My application to be a tenant in a new apartment complex was approved! GOODBYE to my shitty old apartment with the cockroaches and construction noise and managers who don't care and water cuts and electric outages and fire alarms and everything.

My overall shittyass mood for a long time started improving with that moment.

I still had to deal with the old building for a few more months, but the new apartment on the horizon kept me goin'.

I also decided to start buying new clothes, better clothes that actually make me feel cute and confident. I love them! Too bad they are really only summer clothes though, so most of them are sitting in the closet until its appropriate to wear them again... but baby steps!

Then I got my second vaccine dose, and coupled with overall very good covid numbers in Montreal, I got to do some things again! I got to go to the movies again, my favorite thing! I got to see some friends again!

And then, I got to work in the office again! I got to talk to people again! I got to separate home from work again! (And I got to get away from the deafening construction noises at home again!)

I was feeling so much better!!!!

Then after some time of blissfulness, working diligently on Joe Pickett (check it out! its out now on Spectrum, and I think its coming out on Paramount+ soon? I think?) my boss called me up. I was a little worried, like oh no maybe I did something wrong- but nope! He offered me a very rare permanent position! (Instead of contract-to-contract, which is the story for most people in the industry here) Very exciting, and felt very nice being valued like that. Also very nice not having to worry about my work permit for as long as I want! (A big stress living abroad)

September and October was MOVING TIME GALORE. I took off time from work to move, and it was a lot of fun. Tiring, but fun. (Especially since because the two buildings were so close, I spent most of the time wheeling my belongings over back and forth in suitcases)

My friends also came over to help me paint, and my parents came up and helped me with the finishing touches. This was the first time I saw my parents since the pandemic started, because the borders finally reopened and everyone was vaccinated, so that was very emotional and very fun. (I am very close with them, and I missed them very much)

The new apartment has been so amazing its actually impressive. I realize now just how much I was settling for SHIT before. The place is so lovely, working from home here isnt even that bad. (I'll get to that in a minute)

Watched some more good shows and good movies. I started my trek into the world of slasher films for the first time, and that has been fun. I caught up on the Scream franchise with the same friends I watched the Fast and Furious franchise with. I loved the movies, but it was made even more fun by watching them with good friends.

Small dip in my mood when my pet fish, Pancakes passed away. It appeared to be from old age and the complications that come with it. She was "just" a fish, but god dammit, I loved my little fish. RIP, tiny friend.

Work was trucking along nicely. Working at the studio and bolstering in-person relationships was going excellently. I quickly made friends with my coworkers, getting to chat with them at lunch and friday afternoons and everything. They are a great group of people, 10/10 goofballs.

I talked to my boss about my progress again, now with nearly a year at the studio under my belt. It went even better than before. He restated that I am still one of the most reliable animators on the team, and he could see me being a Lead in the future and would begin my training the moment I say I want to do it. (I said I am flattered but extremely not ready yet) He also used that opportunity to say that I can come to him if theres any studio issues or changes I want to suggest, because thats how much of a grip I have on the studio, basically. They want to keep me happy as best they can and will try to help in any way.

...interesting...

Haven't really flexed that power yet, but it's there.

Come December, things started getting fishy again.

Things were happy, my brain isn't being attacked quite as much now with some of my daytime anxieties quelled, but... well, as you all must know by now, things started shutting down again.

My christmas trip home was cancelled for a myriad of reasons. I went from graciously knowing only two or three people with Covid over the last two years to now nearly ten at once. Theaters are closed again, bars, clubs, etc, and we are mandated to work from home again...

If I wasn't clear before, I prefer working from a studio. I was crushed. I cried, packing my desk things to work from home for another indeterminate amount of time. To not see my work friends again for another indeterminate amount of time.

The bright side is that working from home made the wintertime a little easier to bear last year, not having to walk in the slush and ice and all, so it should make things easier again this year. And my new apartment is much nicer to sit in all day... but oh well.

And... here we are. Mood has taken a solid hit. But.. trying to look up. Trying to stay hopeful for some nice things next year. Gonna try to reschedule that trip home for when it is warmer and the case count is low again... maybe I can see Top Gun with my family, or that other movie I mentioned. That would be nice.

Yesterday I bought a VR system... very excited about that. Always loved VR and wanted to have a system myself, and finally bought one. I'm excited to finally try out some games I've been wanting to play for a long time.

As for new years resolutions.. I definitely want to try to keep my head up. Continue to find the good in the bad. Also try to exercise more. (Not like serious gym-hitting or anything, but just try some baby steps... hopefully work my way up....)

#hh #hhh #hhhh #hhhhhh #hhhhhhhh #hhhhhhhhhhhhhh #hhhhhhhhhhhhh #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #god how many fuckin tags is it again so ur shit doesnt go public?#whatever man #personal #jennilargh

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syubub · 3 years

Text

2021 Reading for BTS and the collective!!

Wow wow wow! I didn't disappear or get dragged away by a demon. No no, I just got thrust into unexpected shadow work and I now have an unhealthy obsession with sea shanties and a love of pasta.

I had this idea planned to be early in January but that didn't pan out so I'm doing it now. I have another yoongi reading in the works and another fun thing coming soon as well!!

I promise I won't bore you to death any longer but I hope you've all been doing well!!

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only and not to be taken as fact.

If this message doesn't apply, let it fly!

Cool cool cool.

Let's get it.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Oki. I first want to say that this I gonna be long lol. I did a meditation and gathered some little pieces of things y'all might need to hear and then I pulled cards for every month. The fountain tarot deck is the cards for us, the collective, and the rider-waite cards are for bts. It'll make more sense when I add picks and stuff. I did a little extra card pull for yoongi for the month of May too :) I'll make sure to type out all the cards in text so you know what they are (the pics are kinda wack.) I also used my pendulum to ask if there was a bts related event for every month and that's at the bottom. It's just to take in the possible energy for the month and something that could result from that energy!

LETTUCE BEGIN (hehe)

Starting with the section for the channeled messages. I want to reiterate that this was collective so if it doesn't resonate with you, the message might not be for you! Use your intuition.

(Enough talking. Damn)

So. As I said this was through meditation and connecting to the big column tree thing (I told my cousin about the tree/pillar and they were like,, "so basically a big energy dildo in the æther?" .... I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. h e l p m e) and asking if there was any messages or advice that needed to be delivered and it was... intresting?

Things came fragmented. So there was little messages like, "Its gonna be okay" and "things are changing for everyone" and "open your eyes if you want to see" (that's sassy.) There was one particular thing that was confusing me though. Straight up it was just "flower" on repeat and like a really bad picture of a flower? Like you could tell what it was but it was bad quality. Anyway, I was like "okay. Kindly shut the fuck up. Pls." And I wrote down flower, pink flower and rose. Sooo.... idk but there you go.

More messages were things like, "the block isn't in your head", "try calling forth that which you seek" and... February. Possibly there is specific (very very very loose) connection to the 10th-19th? I'm not to sure what or why but I'd say maybe look out for opportunities on these days and also maybe external events.

Continuing with dates. In the last this 21 and January 21 came up. It came up again but with 2 messages. So first, either 21st is a day where something is put into motion (possibly private or public) or announced and the second was "add them together dumbass" that's not very kind but 3. Again this has been discussed too but but but... maybe a signal of a third mixtape 👀 (not necessarily on the 21st per say but possibly in March? I'm really not sure).

Oki. I got side tracked like I always do and started thinking about tattoos and stuff and I really want koo to have a peony tattoo. I feel it in my BONES. It would suit him so well. and as I was thinking about tattoos I heard, "don't be surprised if yoongi gets/shows a tattoo this year" ??? What the fuck? I think maybe they messing with me but now I have hopes and I don't want them to be crushed and thrown to the wind :(

Back to normal stuff, "the theme is growth" I think that fits very well with the reading. "Blue might be a lucky color" self explanatory. It might be lucky. "Start practicing grounding and centering" this was LOUD. This will help you in how you react to events in the future. Really do practice this if you haven't.

This is where it gets a little weird. So, I got a message that said "start living as if you never existed." I am not a 100% sure what this means but I think I have a pretty good guess. I hate to make it sound weird like this but by sort of focusing on something that is so hard to comprehend (because our brains can't comprehend not existing very well) you kinda break the 4th wall? Like in Deadpool when he addresses the audience and is aware that he is a character played by Ryan Reynolds? anyway, focusing on something that seemingly impossible you kind of accidentally open up the floodgates for a lot of other things. I would say if you are not in the right headspace to do this don't do it but it can be a powerful way to break up the monotony of reality. The theory that everything happens simultaneously bc time isn't a linear progression events blah blah we are energy blah blah the multiverse blah blah.. Theres so so so so so so so so so much about this and how it applies to things that I could probably write you 10+ dictionaries worth of material but for the sake of simplicity and not wanting to write a novel right now, I will continue. The main lesson is to start challenging your perception of the world around you. Ask why and why and why and why. Essentially seeing cracks in the matrix. Pulling your head out of your cosmic ass, realizing that rose you're smelling is actually daffodil ect. It's not supposed to bring you fear but just kinda encouraging you to question all the things that you perceive as given truths.

I tried to make that sound cohesive but really it's such a big concept that I can't really wrap it up all nice and neat.

Oki. May and March are also important times.

Listen to your intuition and try not to take everything so seriously. I'm not saying to check out and go squat in the Himalayas but it's important to find joy in the now. Life is already tough enough so don't forget to watch a silly show that you like or change your hair to a style you've never tried, wear makeup in a very loud way. Just have fun and don't worry so much about things that you can't control. Listen to yourself and your intuition.

Well that was all over the place. Let's get on to the actual tarot part now.

For the record, the pictures are right to left.

January for the collective

We have the empress, the sun, 7 of swords and a fortune that says "act well your part; there the honor lies"

Hmm. Ngl I was a little confused to see the empress and the sun for January... I mean it hasn't been great. So I pulled clarity card 7 of swords. The 7 of swords is all about betrayal. It's about the deception and and actively getting away with things. This is people lying, cheating, sneaking and the works.

This makes much more sense!! The Sun card is usually about joy and success and happiness but in this case I see it as illuminating the betrayal. It's shining light on the deception and keeps the spotlight there. Its also an energetic card so I think that shows passion for uncovering the truth.

With the empress card too I think January is all about getting creative in all forms. Creative ways to protest, to mourn, to celebrate, to connect. Also taking in the abundance that we DO have. The beauty that surrounds us. I like to think of aphrodite energy for this. Its not just love and passion and creativity but is also asserting yourself and having strong passion for what you love and fighting for it. Did you know aphrodite was also called upon in ancient Greece in times of war? She was honored as a goddess of war but still a goddess of love, the sea, fertility ect. What I'm trying to say is that being a creative and "feminine" energy is in no way weak. Sometimes the most powerful things come from this energy. Love aggressively with good intentions. The point is that you should take whatever you're feeling and translate it into something creative or something you care about. The fact that covid is still a thing really sucks but take any rage, hurt, sadness, joy, love whatever and use that shit to make something amazing. Bake bread and punch the fuck out of it, paint your frustration, play hopscotch in higheels while you listen to heavy metal. You get the point.

Now January for BTS!!

We have the death card. (I only pulled one card bc I have things planned from this)

January has been... strange? To say the least.

This card can be a lot of things for them. I think this points to more maturity in their music? Like they've finally ditched the "shiny kpop boy band" label and are being taken seriously in the west. I also think that they're going through a musical/concept transformation~ I think it also signified the change in plans bc of the Grammys perhaps they had things planned an that fell through so they were forced to rapidly change plan/course.

For January: possible mixtape or announcement.

February for the collective

We have 8 of coins reverse and hanged man reverse.

The 8 of pentacles reverse talks a lot about self improvement. Doing that good good inner work and self care. Working on developing parts of you that you've maybe neglected. It's also learning how to work with how you are instead of wishing you weren't the way you are. If you have a therapist its a great time to maybe ask for any extra tips that you can practice daily to help you even more. Maybe exploring more into insecurities relating to finance or jobs or your passions. If you don't have a therapist but you have the means to get one I always highly recommend. You don't have to have "problems" to see a therapist. Everyone could use a non biased point of view that is literally trained to help you be you best self. If you can't get therapy, I get it. Shits tough rn but there's still things we can do to better ourselves like Journaling and reading therapy blogs or self help books (not the taky shit) or trying a hobby you fell out of touch with. There's also a lot of places where you can get therapy promise on the internet. Most importantly, better yourself in the way that you need. Take time in February to take notice of what you want to improve upon. The 8 of coins reversed does come with the warning not to get stuck in perfectionism. Go easy on yourself and if you find yourself getting frustrated when working on projects, try to take a step back and practice whatever it is in a fun way and then come back to it later

Hanged man reverse talks about knowing that you need to chill but you don't. You'll need too. Maybe you'll find yourself swept up in work and tasks and you're over whelmed and know you need to stop and catch your breath but you resist. Why? Well, perhaps you're trying to ignore reality by filling the empty spaces with things and stuff so you don't have to face what's bothering you. Not wise. Take time for yourself. There's also the flips side where people are just kinda stuck.. creative block. Maybe you want something to turn out one way and it just isn't, so your stuck and frustrated and can't move past it. Let go of your expectation of how it should be and let it be what it is. Go with the flow and maybe you'll see a new way to overcome your problem. You'll eventually get that break through that you need! The theme of February is about self improvement. Listen to yourself.

February for BTS

We have judgment.

Hehe yeah. This card is about rebirth and the inner calling. Letting go of the old to step into the new version of you. This is also a very spiritual card lol. This can talk about a new decision that you have to trust your gut on. This is a very significant card that screams comeback to me. It also can talk about sharing your struggles with a group of people and that to me sounds comeback ish. Maybe this will be an announcement in February, maybe they'll be working on it idk but this is ultimate comeback energy so I hope they utilize this for a big group project!!

February: possible BTS comeback (even my pendulum knows)

March for the collective

The chariot and justice

This plays directly off of February! With the chariot you're taking the self improvement that you've done and putting it to action! Now is the time to act on the dreams and passions that you have don't wait and hope for the best. March is about action and standing in your power.

Justice card is cause and effect and truth. What you do will have consequences good or bad. Not doing anything also has consequences. Cease the moment and make the best of it. You'll be taking responsibility for what you do. You start a business? Now you have the responsibility of running it and you get the credit. Stuff like that. Stand by your decisions with conviction and trust yourself.

There's also the side of justice that talks about bringing justice. If you've been wronged, you'll be brought justice if you stand up for yourself.

We also carry the continuous lesson of learning what we truly believe and challenge those beliefs!

March for BTS

Oki we have the hermit and the 6 of pentacles reverse.

Well... let's start with the 6 of pentacles reverse. This can really talk about being so generous and giving to everyone else that you forget about yourself. I think that maybe they might be over exerting themselves and giving so much that they're exhausted physically and emotionally as well. I think too, they take on so much of our pain like its their own? Idk but this would be a good time to do a large scale fan project to show them a little extra love!

With the hermit card it talks about a self introspection so they could be looking inward as a team and kinda evaluating their bond.

I also see this as maybe being alone as in they maybe can't physically go to the grammys? Or maybe they had been planning the rescheduled concerts and they had to be pushed back even further? Things like that. Regardless this signals re thinking/reevaluating the goals that they have and considering what direction to go in!

March: possible mixtape or solo project?

April for the collective

We have 6 of coins and 3 of cups reverse.

Let's start with the 6 of coins. It's about sharing. It can be about charity so sharing money via donation but also giving time, effort, energy to people as well. Giving knowledge is good too! It's an all round exchange. Maybe someone lends you money or you lend money to someone. It's give and take. It's a two way street. It's also a card of balanced finance. So money stuff should be looking promising around this time (for you U.S people this could point to more stimulus help as well)

And for the 3 of cups reversed... I see this as reopening of places and people struggling to find the balance. So think people who've been in lockdown celebrating by throwing a big party... yikes. This card reminds that we should be mindful of the long-term consequences that come with our actions.. maybe also people that are experiencing fear of being in public places now. This is only one facet though. Bc I think this also means in general, missing being with friends and having a renewed relationship because you've really realized how important it is to have these people that mean so much to you in your life. Don't forget that you have people that love you and want the best for you. Call them when you feel alone.

April for BTS

The heirophant

Mhmm. This one kinda gives me vibes that they'll be mentoring people? Idk but I see them more as the heirophant teaching what they've learned/ know to help guide others. HOWEVER this could also be them taking a new task under their belt. Learning something new. Since this is as a group reading I assume that this talks about the group as a whole. This card is also very tradition oriented so maybe they are taking lessons that are connected to traditional Korean culture? Maybe its for RUN or maybe its to incorporate into music and preformance. Think bts mma preformance but all of them learning together? Idk, it's just a thought (maybe wishful thinking). It also talks about seeking counseling so maybe they'll do yoongis idea from the most recent RUN.

This can also be them embracing this kind of leadership/ status.

April: I got nothing. It does feel like something though

May for the collective

Five of cups and queen of cups reversed

Five of cups is disappointment, regret and self pity. Now honestly this to me looks like possibly a tightening of restrictions yet again. Regardless of the situation that this is talking about, the best thing you can do is not wallow in the bullshit. You scrape yourself off the pavement and move foward. You'll need forgiveness of yourself and others and that if shit isn't going your way, you need to pull your head out of your ass and look around bc there's options out there. It's like drowning in a kiddie pool. Just stand up, dude. The water is like 5 inches.

Queen of cups reversed talks about self love and self care. It's more of that look inwards energy. Think about really taking care of yourself. May might be emotionally draining so you need to be ready to take care of you! Part of self care is making sure that your boundaries are well enforced.

Be on the look out for codependent behaviors. Check in with yourself.

The queen of cups is very intuitive and having it in reverse can talk about you not taking enough time to listen to it. Make an effort to meditate for like 5 minutes a day at least. Do something to let yourself connect to your intuition and higher self.

May for BTS

9 of pentacles

This about enjoying the fruits of your labor and absolute abundance and luxury. This could talk about them rolling in the dough after signing a new partnership or having a concert or something if the sort. This could also be a time where we see them buying new things like houses, cars and rings (lol) but also this could be them doing a very high production value project! Also namjoon and his bonsai army are thriving in this time!

May: possible concert or scheduled concert event. Activity of some kind.

Yoongi interlude

I asked for one card to give me an idea of what the mystical May 13th really is. I got: the star, 2 of cups, 4 of wands, the world and the sun.

Guys. I can't with this. 2 of cups is a card of union, romance, soulmate. 4 of wands is celebration, joy, homecoming, bliss. The world is completion and the sun is happiness, joy, marriage, enlightenment.

I've said it a billion times but that's some soulmate shit. So soft so cute and May will be eventful for his personal life.

June for the collective

Death and the heirophant reversed.

Wow wow wow death is transformation and a new chapter so a new way of life and something new/ different that changes how we see things. Again this could be relating to new covid things and new policies and stuff like that but also new as in new to all of us. Groundbreaking perhaps?

The heirophant reversed talks about teaching yourself. Being your own teacher and making your own path. This might be spiritual or otherwise. Challange what the world wants from you and instead listen to what you truly want bc you don't need anyone's approval. Continue to ask questions about why things are the way that they are.

June for BTS

Page of pentacles

Oki oki page of pentacles means a new creative venture and manifestation. Maybe something that they've been wanting for a while finally comes to fruition. This might be the start of a new project that they haven't done before or something cross genre? Idk but its a really good sign of being motivated for a new endeavor and manifesting any projects that they've ever wanted to do. Love this promising energy!!

June: idk

July for the collective

10 of swords and 9 of cups reversed.

10 of swords signals a painful ending. Also deceit. Its a necessary end to a long battle. The only thing you can do is control how you react in these situations. You just kinda gotta surrender into the pain and know that it's temporary. Take time to reflect on what happened and why and how it will help you grow.

The 9 of cups reversed talks about valuing stuff and material things over emotions and spiritual things. This can be talking about society in general, that we are becoming more aware to the fact that there is often more value placed on ephemeral items rather than humanity as a whole. This also can be talking about coming to the realization that we've been working so hard towards... something we don't really care about simply because we were told that it's what you do.

If you want something different to happen you have to put in effort. You can't be sitting in front of a water fountain being like, "damn. I'm thirsty. I really really want water so why isn't it in my mouth yet?" Like?? Hello? You have to take the first step, my dude.

Certainly don't try to do anything that would cost you finatial security or health.

You have the potential to find happiness within yourself. So try looking inside instead of looking outward.

July for BTS

4 of swords.

This is about rest and relaxation!

Taking time to meditate and take some time to look at what you've done objectively. Ots like the hermit in a way but much more focused on resting and relaxing so you can come back stronger and with better direction. Maybe they'll take a break for a couple days but I really see it as them reassessing options. Especially if July goes how I think it will. Maybe they'll film something like In The Soop again? Maybe we'll see bon voyage type thing? Idk. But it could be something kinda out of the spotlight? Maybe something more healing?

July: maybe something?? I'm not sure but it seems like something might be in store.

August for the collective

5 of coins and the wheel of fortune

Well let's see. 5 of pentacles talks about isolation and a negative mindset. This talks about falling on hard times but its a temporary set back. This energy can be talking about falling on hard times emotionally as well. In the card it shows a woman outside of a church shivering and cold but she's too busy thinking about all that she's lost that she doesn't notice the warm church that she could step into for shelter.

But then with he wheel of fortune that talks about fate/destiny, opportunity and luck so maybe this is a necessary loss so that a new door can open. This does kinda tie in with July as well. The end of something is painful but it's often a necessary thing. Might be a bit uncomfy but that's how things change. Again I see this maybe hinting more towards society but none the less it's definitely a theme for August to have doors closing and new ones opening so be on the lookout for that.

August for BTS

The devil.

Now don't fret. The devil talks a lot about choice. Most notably the choice between instant gratification and and something more substantial and the devil leans towards indulgence. It also has a lot to do with the shadow side. This could talk about ~scandal~ sure, but I think its more of a time where you become aware of negative patterns and you shine a light on that part you've ignored. On a much lighter note this card talks also about an incredible bond between people. It can be unhealthy if not given space or boundaries. Listen to pied piper and come back to me.

I also REALLY REALLY REALLY hope that this card points to this: sexuality. The boys have always been pretty pg when it comes to the topic of sex and embracing sexuality so I really do hope to see something more daring and grown up and exploring a tastefully sexy concept. On the same vain as sexuality this card also talks about kinks and stuff like that so don't be surprised if we get more outfits like fake love Era bondage harnesses.

August: ???

September for the collective

We have the world and 10 of wands reversed.

The 10 of wands reversed talks about carrying burden. Doing extra work and taking on more responsibility. Doing everything by yourself and carrying this heavy load alone will get you burnt out quicker than anything. You might be taking on too much and you'll need to prioritize what you really need to focus on. I also think there will just be a lot happening in September for a lot of people. It's a lot of working hard because you know it's good work or because it's what's right. This could be social responsibility that's placed on you or work responsibility. For whatever reason this burden isn't something you want to share with others because you think its yours alone to deal with. It's not though bc you'll figure out eventually that if it hurts so much you'll find a way to lessen the burden. 10 in tarot is all about the completion of a cycle and going through the wands cycle is hard work because for anything to be made of passion, you need to put the work behind it. The burden isn't forever, the heavy work load will lighten but this is you seeing things out. It's a good thing!

Especially considering this is paired with with world. The world is all about completion and that's what you're doing here is finding completion. You are seeing things out until the end but you just need to learn to give up some responsibility, lessen your burden.

This also talks about hard work being put into wider social spheres as well. Things like the vaccines becoming more widespread through the whole globe or at least better planing and infrastructures not related to covid. Things are looking up!

September for BTS

Knight of swords reverse

This bad boi is restless energy. It's being so pent up that you're ready to burst and you really want to take action but you can't because something is keeping you from taking that action. Again I do think this is kinda covid related in regards to touring bc if they do tour in 2021 its gonna look a lot different. This energy can be a bit impulsive and directionless so I think maybe they'll channel this into album material something? I'm not really sure tbh. I'm suprised this energy didn't show up earlier because it almost seems inevitable.

September: no clue

October for the collective

Ten of coins and the star reverse.

Welp let's start with the 10 of coins. Its about wealth, financial security, and long term success so this is a pretty prosperous time. This talks about the obvious monetary wealth and material wealth but also an abundance of opportunities. So this is definitely a good time to enjoy whatever consistency you have. This energy is really really abundant in the career space as well. So October could be very prosperous in the job field and you'll have likely found what it is you really want and could be successful at. This could be the actual act or just the idea. This is could also talk about investing in something for your future, this could be time or money.

With the star reversed it can talk about a loss of faith and a disconnection. This often points to feeling like you've just been forgotten or left out. Like the universe doesn't give a shit about you and left you out to die. Things might seem unfair but always try to look for the lesson that you can take from the experience. Seeing the 10 of coins and the star makes me think that a lot of people have kinda lost faith in their manifestations and also just in the concept of not living in a state of need. Especially if you see other people doing well and you've been trying so fucking hard but you haven't gotten a break. I know we hate to hear it but this can serve as a test of faith. Or rather an opportunity to get your shit in line and take a second to breath. Do something good for yourself and then continue on. This star in reverse serves to show you what no longer sparks joy and helps you find what does and what that initial spark was in the first place. Helps you get back to the original vision/ spark.

October for BTS

5 of pentacles reverse.

This signals the end of difficult times and getting that groove back. The last month was restless energy with no where to go but this month that energy is certainly put to good use. They might be figuring out what has been missing In their lives and starting to rectify that. They are definitely reminded that material wealth doesn't bring spiritual or emotional wealth. Might be also feeling a bit alienated too.

October: something is likely but idk

November for collective

Six of swords reversed and the moon.

Transition and change is prevalent. The 6 of swords is about leaving behind the familiar. Maune this is leaving a job, a new change in the status quo, leaving a relationship ect. The thing you have to keep in mind is just how amazing this is in terms of what it will do. It will alow growth!! And bring clarity!! Thos can also be societal as well, something being left behind in favor of something new. It's letting go and reflecting so that you can move foward.

This is strengthened by the moon card. The moon card is the subconscious and all the things that come with it. The anxiety, the illusion, the uncertainty. You'll want to deal with whatever emotions come up. The moon can signify a confusing time where things aren't what they seem to be. That's the illusions so you'll have rely more on intuition at a time like this. Your dreams might hold significance in this time as well. Listen to your guides and your own guidance because it will help you understand more than you did before this journey began. Using moon cycles to your advantage in November might really help you!!

November for BTS

7 of wands

Challenge and competition. People are envious of bts. We know this. But people will be challenging them for what they've gained: music industry domination. This might co.e in the way that people will spread vicious rumors in attempt to disenfanchise or possibly it will be a fair fight. It could also be a challenge/ battle for some other aspect that involves legal matters.

My best guess though is good old competition. Bts has proven again and again that they will continue to do what they do how they do but they will not be trampled over. In the best way this could renew some of that spirit in friendly competition. They will tear eachothers throats out for a pack of ramen so maybe a bit of competition will be good for them. It keeps life intresting.

November: nothin

December for the collective

Two of cups and the emperor!

Let's start off with the emperor card talks about stability and order. It can also signify being the "breadwinner" so its a good sign that you'll kinda be on top of your shit. The emperor is also an amazing leader so you might find yourself taking on a leadership role too! This is very organized energy that works very smoothly!

two of cups is such a lovely way to end out the year! It's love and partnership and attraction so if you aren't in a relationship by this time you might meet someone who strikes your fancy!! On a none romantic relationship note though, this card is also great for business partnership bc it signifies that you're on the same page and have the same goals in mind!

It's harmonious relationships and trust between them!! Love love love this energy so much! Cups are the suit of emotions and this card is so promising.

If you are in a relationship, this can talk about "falling in love all over again" like you're just reminded of how good they are.

December for BTS

Queen of cups

Intuition, creativity and emotional stability. They're using intuition to guide their moves foward with emotional maturity. They are in a place of knowing what they want and why. This would be a good time to work on an album or a book or to release them. The queen of cups is like the friend that you can tell absolutely anything and somehow they have a helpful answer. This card is really calm and it can also talk about subconscious thoughts.

I think that bts is maybe making more of a conscious effort to make sure that what they do is just as emotionally fulfilling for them as it is for us! They might be kinda pondering the future at this time and considering if this is what fills their emotional cup!

December: possibly a thing?

Now these cards are the vibe of the year and some advice.

For the collective (on the left)

Three of swords and judgment reverse.

The fortune says "accept the challenges, so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory"

The 3 of swords is about disappointment and hurt and heartbreak. It's about the emotional release that we all need when shit gets tough. Don't pretend to be strong. If you need to cry, fucking cry. This year is about letting go of expectations and do what you have to do to release so you can move foward and not have these things pile up.

You have to make an effort to not let yourself take on what other people think of you. You aren't defined by what some asshole says. You define yourself.

Judgment reverse is about self doubt and ignoring your path. It's being stagnant and being harsh on yourself. This year has a focus on building yourself up and noticing when you are not. Bring light to the things that are holding you back without harsh judgment for yourself. You can't beat yourself up. If you make a bad decision you know not to make it again. Take accountability and move on.

The oracle card is inner temple.

Seriously all the focus of this year is in self improvement and dear god, please take time to work on yourself spiritually!!! Everything you want to know is there if you take the time to listen. This should be a place where you feel safe and welcome. It definitely should not feel like something you HAVE to do.

For BTS

10 of swords and page of swords

The fortune says "you create your own stage. The audience is waiting" (how tje fuck?? This is the perfect fortune)

The 10 of swords is a painful but necessary end. This is accepting the current situation. They maintain focus for 2021 for them is adapting and keeping their spirits up.

With the page of swords it talks about new ideas and that kind of creativity. It's also a lot about communication so I really think that they'll be figuring out new ways to connect and new projects that will be prosperous.

The oracle card is Pleiades

This is what we talk about all the time. Bts has helped so many people want to be better and do better. They are uplifting humanity and giving people a sense if belonging. Bts finds you when you need them most 💜💜💜

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wow I had to write this up over 2 days bc this was so fucking long. I need a nap. Idk if I'll proof read this before I post it so don't hate me for the mistakes (honestly, there's like 10,000 spelling and grammar mistakes in my other posts too 🙃)

I hope you guys enjoyed it and maybe this will be helpful to to have a forecast of some possible energy for you to look out for!!

Also bts bc I love them. I have another bts 2021 reading I'll do soon too!

Hope you guys are happy and well 💜

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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

Text

Jij Verliest - Chapter One: Clip #5

Note: sorry for the late post. I had to finish editing.

master list previous (Maandag 15:11)

...

Dinsdag 19:47

Being in the middle of a stream meant Robbe was simply talking to himself.

It wasn’t like he was talking to himself. He was always responding to someone in the chat, to viewers who donated, or to direct messages on Discord from his moderators. Whenever he spoke aloud, he would get a response in the chat and it would start an appearingly one-sided conversation. Whenever he was streaming, he tried to talk to everyone in his chat. To the best of his ability, he even tried to respond to the trolls in the chat with a minimum amount of sass.

Whenever he streamed with other people, Robbe always felt like he wasn’t paying attention to the chat enough because he was simply conversing with another streamer, the Broerrrs or Lucas, who would sometimes sit next to him. Streaming solo allowed Robbe to focus on the chat and it allowed him to answer questions and talk to them. Of the two, he generally preferred the latter option. He enjoyed the solitude of being alone with his computer, his game, and three hundred viewers (or closer to five hundred on a good day).

But tonight? He welcomed the distraction his friends provided.

Even if Robbe felt like he was on the edge of sensory overload.

His computer screen was a little too bright. Even with one ear covered by his headphones (so he could still hear Lucas, who sat on his left) and the volume turned down lower, he still felt like Jens and Aaron were shouting in his ear. Each time something new happened—each movement of the chat, each donation, each subscriber and follower—it drew his eye, giving him a moment to focus on it before he moved on to the next item, the next text, the next thing that distracted him from looking at the clock.

As Jens was shouting at Aaron to cover him and Robbe was concentrating on taking down as many people as he could, someone knocked on the bedroom door. Lucas got up to open it and Milan stepped inside the bedroom. The solemn look on his face prompted Robbe to mute the microphone, his character dying in the process, and Jens let out a shout through the speakers that caused all of them to flinch. It was only when Robbe looked up that Milan said, dropping the news like he had scratched his nails across a chalkboard, “He’s here.”

Thomas.

Right.

Robbe swallowed, his shoulders heavy as he tried to keep his mind steady. Suddenly, his fingers felt too big on the controller and he shifted in his seat, saying, “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Milan nodded.

Lucas sat back down, disbelief in his tone. “Really? He actually showed up?” The sarcasm dripped from his words even as he comically ate a handful of popcorn. He pivoted to Milan. “Are you sure it’s him and not some look-alike imposter? Doesn’t seem like his style.” Before leaving the room, his cousin attempted to send a disapproving look to Lucas but his face betrayed him, twisting into a grin.

“Behave,” Robbe said, sending Lucas a quick look. His friend shrugged before Robbe unmuted the microphone. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a little tense, and announced, “Sorry about that, guys. Something came up and I have to take a break.” Jens groaned loudly, and Robbe muted him. “But no need to fear, Lucas is going to take over and provide you with some quality commentary for a few minutes.”

“I am?” Lucas asked.

“Yes, you are,” Robbe said, grinning. He unmuted Jens and pulled the bag of popcorn from his roommate’s hands. “But, fair warning, Jens and Lucas have a tendency of making people feel overbearingly single. I have a feeling it’ll only get amplified.”

“Hey!” Jens protested.

“It’s true and you know it.” Robbe placed the bag of popcorn against one of his photos before he shoved the controller into Lucas’s hands. Despite not playing much of Fortnite, Lucas immediately started playing. As Lucas leaned to the camera, trying to get a better look at the screen, Robbe moved to give him more space. Before he got up, he glanced one more time at the chat, which was filling up with fast-moving questions.

Unable to answer them, or admit that he was giving clothes to his ex, he simply repeated, “I’ve got to do something real quick and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Be on your best behavior for Lucas. He’s not as good at multitasking as I am.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and scoffed. Once Robbe scooted his chair back, completely out of the path of the desk, Lucas took over the space that he left. Jens said something witty (and vaguely flirtatious) that caused a faint blush to ghost over Lucas’s cheeks.

As he stepped away from his computer, Robbe steeled his nerves and tried his best to cement the tornado of emotions in his chest. His brain ticked down to its eventual explosion, overrun with emotions and thoughts. Letting out a breath, Robbe grabbed hold of Thomas’s things and pulled the box to his chest. Then, he opened up the door and stepped out. As he shut the door, Lucas let out a string of curses and Robbe chuckled at his friend.

At the end of the hallway, he saw Thomas talking with Zoë at the front door and the mere sight of him brought back the tornado.

It had been over two months since Robbe had last seen Thomas.

One day, Robbe had been racing to school because he slept through his alarms. He had spent the previous night working on an assignment, so he was late in meeting with Yasmina. On his way, he stopped at his normal coffee shop to get a coffee for forgiveness. But, in his haste, Robbe had forgotten that it was their normal coffee shop, right down the street from Thomas’s law firm. As he waited for his order, he was surprised to find Thomas sitting at a table with a handful of coworkers. Once Thomas had seen him, there was no escaping the awkward small talk; about Robbe’s mom, Thomas’s mom, and their work. Once his order was ready, Robbe sprinted out of there faster than he had arrived.

This time, it felt different.

Thomas was dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a crisp button-up shirt. His tie was undone, loose and hanging across his neck, and his hair, normally styled to perfection, was disheveled—like he had run his hands through it several times. It was one of his tells. Thomas was nervous and stressed about work and Robbe hated the fact he still noticed. He had let his stubble grow out a little more and he was smiling kindly at Zoë, who was absent-mindedly listening to him chatter. His presence in the flatshare, right in front of him, caused Robbe’s heart to thump nervously in his ribcage.

Thomas’s eyes, bright and hazel, flickered over to Robbe standing outside his bedroom door with the box in hand, and Robbe couldn’t help feeling his initial instinct to run and hide.

“Hey, Robbe,” he greeted. Robbe swallowed the knot in his throat, barely managing a half-smile as he moved toward them. Zoë sent Robbe a wary look as she moved into the living room, where a theme song was playing. As she passed him, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Robbe extended the box to Thomas. “Here’s everything that I found that belonged to you.” Thomas nodded, taking it from his hands. As he did, his fingers brushed over Robbe’s and the latter flinched, trying not to seem stiff. He took a step back and shoved his hands into his pockets. Robbe couldn’t tell if the motion had been accidental or on purpose, but it sent an uncomfortable shock through him. Rocking back and forth on his feet, he asked, “Did you happen to find any more of my things in your room?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, I think you managed to get everything.”

“Okay.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence between them. Robbe continued shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wondering how long he would have to stay here before he would be legally able to go back to his bedroom. At least in his stream, his stomach wouldn’t be twisting as his ex stood in front of him, acting like it wasn’t awkward. Once enough time had passed in silence, Robbe opened his mouth to say something about the stream, but Thomas suddenly spoke up. “How are you doing?”

Robbe blinked. “Huh?”

“With school and everything?” Thomas elaborated. When Robbe didn’t answer, he continued, “And your mama? How’s she doing?”

“I’m fine,” Robbe answered, too loudly and too quickly. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And Mama’s fine. Just some ups and downs, but she’s still on her medications and her job is going well and she’s still seeing her therapist once a week so…” He trailed off. The silence returned between them, as uncomfortable as it was before. For the briefest of moments, Thomas looked like he was about to say something, but Robbe needed to get back to his stream, away from small talk with the man who broke his heart. Before Thomas could speak, Robbe said, “I’ve got to get back to the stream. Lucas is keeping it going right now.”

Thomas’s face twisted in annoyance, his eyebrows furrowed. “Really? Now?”

Robbe’s stomach twisted—but this time, it was anger. He crossed his arms, trying to keep his anger contained in his chest. “Yes, really,” he replied. Robbe hated when Thomas acted like this, like Robbe had done something for the sole purpose of aggravating him. “I’ve been streaming from 18:00 to 21:00 every Tuesday for the past three months. My day off was on Sunday,” he said. “But you were the one that canceled on me, remember?”

Thomas stayed quiet and still, his arms stiff as he clutched at the handles of the box. But Robbe didn’t need to be a genius to know that Thomas was trying not to roll his eyes. That was another tell—one Robbe hated that he could still identify after three months.

“Do I need to show you out?”

Thomas shook his head, moving toward the still-open front door with the box in his hands. “No, I’ll see you later, Robbe.”

“Bye.”

Once Thomas had stepped through the door, Robbe pushed it close and leaned against the wooden frame. As he stood there, his eyes fluttered closed and he stayed there for several moments. Even with the heavy door between them, he could hear the sounds of Thomas’s heavy footsteps, heading in the direction of the elevator.

He was angry.

He had no right to be angry.

Robbe listened to the beep of the elevator, signaling that it had arrived, and the following beep before it descended back down to the lobby, adding more distance between Robbe and Thomas’s silent, barely-contained anger. Robbe let out a breath of relief and sadness, shaky and uncertain as he stood there. He stayed against it for a few more heartbeats, shoving the sadness into the bottle in his chest, struggling to maintain his breath.

Once his breath evened out, Robbe pushed himself off the front door and headed to his bedroom.

As Robbe sat back down in his comfortable desk chair, Lucas willingly relinquished the controller at the end of that match. He ran a hand over Robbe’s shoulder in comfort, seemingly aware of the tension of the silent confrontation. As soon as the next match started back up, Robbe threw himself back into it and back into the stream, keeping an eye on the chat and donations. If his viewers realized he was down, they didn’t make a big deal out of it—and Robbe didn’t feel like calling himself out if no one really noticed.

Lucas rested his head against Robbe’s shoulder and patted his arm. Jens drew him back into making fun of Aaron’s poor Fortnite skills. None of his friends brought up Thomas, the meeting, or asked him to talk about it. And, for that, Robbe was thankful.

next (woensdag)

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hedonisthierophant · 4 years

Text

Aching abyss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#clay beresford #smut #awake

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dreaming-of-assclass · 4 years

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Group 4 girls are hanging out and Kanzaki gives her friends a bit of a surprise. Or, in the words of Kayano, “A fucking heart attack.”

“Kayano-san!” Okuda squealed as she opened her door, coming face to face with the actress. A bright smile adorned her face as she gently pulled her inside. “I missed you so much!”

Kayano grinned and embraced her tightly, burying her face into Okuda’s dark locks which smelled faintly of honey. “I missed you way more! I’m so glad we could hang out today.”

It was the first time in a few months where Kayano had a relatively free schedule. Since she’d gone back into the acting business, her daily life spun around filming sets, manuscripts, orders from directors, constant coffee to stay alive...

Doing anything to keep her mind off the things that truly hurt...like Aguri...and Korosensei...

She was aware it wasn’t healthy. Her therapist had mentioned that enough times to her, and she came to the conclusion herself. But acting was a big piece of who she was, and she’d be damned if she ever let it go.

She wasn’t even sure if she could.

Okuda released her, stepping back with a shy smile as she adjusted her glasses. “I hope the train ride was okay? I’m sorry, I know my house is pretty far...”

Kayano waved her off. “No, no, it was totally fine! I just listened to music and got to relax. And my mask did a good job of hiding my face.” She smirked, giving a light tug to her pink “kawaii-bear” themed mask.

The chemist’s face lit up again. “I’m so glad! And oh, come in!” She immediately scooted to the side of the doorway, allowing space for Kayano to enter.

Kayano pulled off her sneakers and gently placed them on the shoe rack, her lime green striped socks now visible. She tugged off the mask with a content sigh as Okuda shut the door, grateful for some privacy. She felt a relief from the constant anxiety of being caught by fans. She shoved her mask into her bag and politely followed Okuda through the corridor of the house.

It was average-sized, which she could tell from the outside. Okuda’s family was reasonably middle-class, given that they were pharmacists. Still, they seemed to settle for a smaller house as their 3-resident home.

“Kanzaki-san texted me, saying that she’s running a bit late,” Kayano heard Okuda say, but her attention was fixed on her surroundings.

The hallway was lined with shiny, polished wooding. It almost looked as if it had been barely walked on.

More than that, though, a slight scent of anti-septics filled the air. It was subtle and faint, yet easily reached Kayano’s nose by the third step she took.

Overall, so far, Okuda’s house did not feel like a cozy, welcoming abode. It was such a sharp contrast to her as a person, a sweetheart.

Okuda glanced over at her, a spark of recognition in her eyes. As if she could read Kayano’s mind, she spoke, “I know...it feels very lonely here.”

Oh, shit. “Okuda-san?”

The bespectacled girl sighed as she led them to a sitting room, near what Kayano presumed to be the kitchen. They both sat on the couch, close to one another. “No one is really here, except me most of the time. And even that’s changed since 3-E...and making so many friends.” She ducked her head slightly after the last word, her face reddening.

Kayano felt her chest tighten.

She reached over and gently took Okuda’s hand, clasping it in her own. “It’s okay, Okuda-san. I know exactly how you feel. My house was always empty too, just me and my sister. And then...she...”

Dammit, why does this keep happening? Kayano hated that she could barely speak about Aguri without her voice breaking, her throat closing, feeling like she was about to shatter-

Before she could utter another word, Okuda gently pulled her hand out of her grip and embraced the girl in another hug. A different hug. One that was warm, comforting, and so filled with compassion, and yet it still made Kayano feel like crying.

“My loneliness is nothing compared to Kayano-san’s,” Okuda whispered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t feel like you’re still alone anymore though. We all love you.”

Kayano wiped her eyes with a smile, pulling back gently. “Thanks, Okuda-san. The same goes double for you, you know.”

She playfully pinched Okuda’s cheeks, earning a sharp squeal. “We need our adorable mad scientist.”

Okuda slapped her hands away with a huff. “And we need our evil pudding-loving actress.”

Kayano laughed, stopping when she felt a faint grumble from her stomach. “Ooh, speaking of food...”

Okuda chuckled, an apologetic smile on her lips. “Sorry, we don’t have pudding...but tons of healthy snacks?”

“Oh, that’s way better. I need to be watching my diet now actually.”

Okuda rolled her eyes fondly, rising and walking into the kitchen, her guest following behind like a lost puppy. “Please, you’ll always stay a toothpick.”

“Actually I’m on my way to becoming a muscular toothpick.”

“Oh?”

Kayano shrugged. “I have my personal trainer Kimi to thank. But gym sessions with Terasaka also help a little.”

“Terasaka-kun? Really?”

“Yeah, the big oaf knows a ton about fitness and muscle-building,” Kayano replied, pride in her tone. “Sugino and Kataoka, too! They’ve all been great help.”

Okuda smiled, setting down the various bowls she’d been preparing onto one tray. “That’s great to hear!”

A bowl of apple slices, a platter of crackers and cheese, a bowl of strawberries accompanied by two tiny forks, and some clementines were spread onto the tray. She carried it into the living room and the two girls happily resumed their conversation while munching on snacks.

About twenty minutes later, the bowls and plates were all basically empty. Kayano was laying upside down, her feet dangling off the top of the couch as her hair fell against the floor. She was clutching her stomach. “I think I ate too fast...”

Okuda was laying on her side over by the opposite end of the sofa, arms wrapped around her abdomen. “Ugh, me too...”

“I wonder what’s taking Kanzaki-san so long...” she muttered.

Kayano sat up properly, flipping herself up from her position. “Me too...I hope she’s okay.” A jolt of anxiety went through her at all the possible issues Kanzaki could be going through.

Just as the words left her mouth, the doorbell rang, its sound echoing through the foyer.

Both girls exchanged dumbfounded glances for a moment before jumping up. “She’s here!”

They dashed through the hallway as safely as they could, since both of them were clad in socks. Okuda unlocked and flung the door open as fast as she could.

“Kanzaki-!”

They cut themselves off almost instantly, their jaws dropping at the sight before them. Kayano felt her brain momentarily numb.

And then she was back to reality and found her voice again.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

Kanzaki laughed good-naturedly, one hand resting on her bag that slung from her shoulder. The other hand was running through her silky locks...which were no longer their usual raven color.

No, her hair was now a shade of stormy blue. All over, not just tips or ombre.

“Wow! Kanzaki-san, it looks beautiful!” Okuda exclaimed.

Kanzaki beamed and hugged her, leaning over quite a bit to do so since she was wearing healed boots. “Thank you, Okuda-san. It’s so good to see you again!”

The two of them began chatting, still holding each other as Kayano was still somewhat in shock.

She knew of Kanzaki’s 2nd year phase, yes... But hearing about it was entirely different from seeing it, especially so suddenly.

Kanzaki glanced back at her with a grin and waved her over. “Kayano-san, I haven’t seen you in forever and you still haven’t said hi!” A fake, over-exaggerated pout was present in her tone.

Kayano arched a brow. “Sorry, but I’m not sure I know you,” she replied dryly, in true acting fashion yet she wrapped her arms around Kanzaki regardless.

This earned a laugh from the gamer girl. Kanzaki hugged her back warmly, one hand cupping the back of Kayano’s head. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Kayano repeated, a smile breaking out on her face. “I love it so goddamn much!”

She really did. The icy shade of blue that reminded her of swirling sea thunderstorms looked gorgeous on Kanzaki. It suited her complexion, and totally complimented the shade of chestnut in her eyes.

“Do your parents know...?”

Kanzaki shrugged, a flash of defiance in her eyes. “No, and I don’t really care what they think. It’s my hair, my appearance, my image. They don’t matter.”

“Spoken like a true badass.” Kayano smirked.

She gently touched a strand of her hair, the faint blue now between her fingers. “It looks amazing,” she said softly, stepping back as they both released each other.

Kanzaki shyly smiled, her cheeks slightly pink. “Thank you.”

Kayano scoffed. “But I won’t lie and say you didn’t give me a fucking heart attack for a second there.”

Kanzaki burst into laughter again with Okuda.

“Kayano-san!” She admonished half-heartedly.

“What? You know what I’m saying! Last time we saw Kanzaki-san, she was dressed like a church girl with her black hair up in a chignon. And now, she’s-” Kayano gestured to her. “-this!”

Kanzaki’s laughter increased as she doubled over. “A church girl-”

Okuda joined her, a hand clutching her stomach as she giggled. “Kayano-san, stop making me laugh.”

Kayano flipped her hair dramatically. “Can’t help it. I’m just so funny.”

Kanzaki’s laughter died down as she playfully shoved Kayano. “Aaaaaand it’s over. Not anymore.”

“You’re mean!” Kayano pouted. A thought occurred to her. “Wait, weren’t you brining pudding?”

Kanzaki looked puzzled. “I thought you had some, Okuda-san?”

Okuda face-palmed. “Oh no.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Kayano wailed as over-the-top as she could.

“It’s fine!” Okuda tried to mediate. “We can just get some more at the convenience store a couple blocks away.”

“But I just got here,” Kanzaki whined. “I haven’t even taken my shoes off.”

Kayano grabbed her upper arm. “All the more reason you should come. You’re already ready to leave!”

She groaned. “Alright, fine, you maniac.” She shot a dull glare at Kayano, who responded with a bright grin. “I’ll pay, too.”

“Yay!” The other two cheered.

Okuda locked the door while the other two waited for her at the front steps. “Sooo~” Kayano cooed. “Tell me all the high school drama going in for you girls.”

Kanzaki mimicked her tone. “Only if you tell me all the drama going on in the acting world~”

“Yeah, tell us everything, Kayano-san~” Okuda sang, joining them.

The three girls set out walking, arms linked. The sun was just starting to set as it approached evening time, a golden glow casted above everything. The air was only slightly chill, a refresher to all of them.

“Oh, where do I even start? Okay, so the main lead in the swan movie? The guy I told you about? He actually ended up being a...”

#my girl kanzaki gives ZERO fucks haha #assclass #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #writing #yukiko kanzaki #akari yukimura #kaede kayano #manami okuda #group 4

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getitinbusan · 4 years

Text

Yoongi One Shot

Angst/Love

"10 years is a long time."

That voice was unmistakable.

Ten years was a long time, yet still not enough for the wound you'd thought long healed to be reopened in a matter of seconds.

Your stomach flipped. If you turned around you'd be standing in front of your first love.

"What's a big star like you doing flying commercial?"

He was blushing as you faced him.

He was just as handsome as you remembered but with all of the lost details now filled back in.

"I guess I'm just not as important as people think I am," he broke out his crooked smile.

"Still the same guy huh?"

The loud bing rang over the terminals intercom,

"All first class passengers may begin boarding."

"I guess that's you?"

He nodded, seeming embarrassed by his status. His manager was anxious to move him as quickly as possible.

"I'm sorry we don't have time to catch up. Do you think we can meet up when we land?"

Surely he didn't mean it, what else do you say to someone you don't know anymore?

"Yeah, that would be nice." You gave him a small smile as he walked away.

"Yoongi," you called out.

"I always knew you'd make it."

The metal clicked in place securing you to your coach seat. You wished there was something as simple a seatbelt to tether your mind back from the cloud it was floating in.

It had been 10 years since you'd walked away from him. 10 years with no contact.

Of course, want to or not, you knew everything about his life. News of him was all over Dispatch, awards shows, radio, the internet… It had become a form of self flagellation to watch what you'd lost.

From the earliest days you knew he was special. Handsome talented, sweet but yet utterly stubborn and scared.

"I don't want to disappoint my family." He'd repeated those words to you so many times they'd been burned into your brain.

When you'd finally convinced him to move to Seoul you felt the world open up to him. Away from Daegu you could both finally breathe.

He was so happy the day he got the job in the recording studio. You could clearly remember the cheap Soju picnic celebration on your apartment floor. You smiled at the vivid recollection of the rice wine on his lips as they pressed against yours.

But happiness doesn't always last does it?

His frustrations grew. People were interested but not in the way he wanted. When Namjoon told him about the audition, it was the beginning of the end.

"Yoongi, sometimes you've got to do things you don't want to do to get to where you want to be."

"I'm a rapper Y/N, what the fuck is auditioning for these idol producing agencies going to do for me?"

"It will open locked doors Yoongi..." His shortsightedness always made you angry. "You'll meet more people, get your foot in the door, climb the ladder."

He always talked himself out of every opportunity, every audition, every chance to take a leap.

"Baby, they see something in you. You don't have to commit to a contract just go see what it's about."

"I'll never be able to show my face in the clubs again if I do that. You're asking me to sell my soul to the devil so stop talking about it because it's not going to happen."

"You don't think that's a little overdramatic? I can't sit here and watch you sabotage your own future Yoongi. I can't believe in you enough for the both of us anymore, I love you but I can't keep doing this."

It seemed to him that some strange twist of fate must have put you here. He'd been thinking about you a lot lately and now destiny had placed you on the same plane.

If he'd learned anything from the past, from you, it was to take advantage of an opportunity when it presented itself.

Pulling down his tray table he rummaged through his carry on for the notepad and pen that were his constant companions.

My dearest Y/N,

Where do I begin? I'm worried you won't be waiting for me like I hope when the plane disembarks. I can't let you go without knowing you've heard the things I have to say.

The day you left Seoul I was hurt and mad. I should have been sad, but in all honesty it took me a while to find those feelings.

How dare you leave me? I was motivated to show you, I had to prove you wrong. I went with Joon to that stupid audition just to feel vindicated when they turned me down.

They didn't, but I guess you already figured that one out. Every single thing in my life changed when and because you walked away.

At first I blamed you for the way I felt, like it was your fault I made it. I still didn't have the foresight to see the outcome. I fought it, I didn't think I was good enough. I was afraid people would ask "How'd he get in here?"

But you knew, you always knew, I wish I could have seen myself through your eyes.

And of course you were right love. I can hear the thoughts in your head saying, "I'm always right Yoongi." (I know you're smiling at that admission)

Your beautiful smile, fuck I've missed that more than anything. I'm sorry I was the one who took it away from you. It must have been exhausting for you to feel responsible for my damn ego. I was so selfish back then, I didn't even try to build you the way you built me.

You loved me, and I loved you, but only as much as someone who doesn't love themselves can. I've been working on that.

Who would have thought that one of the perks of fame was being able to afford good therapy? (there's that smile again)

My Therapist thought writing about it would help. I don't know if you picked up the hidden lyrics but First Love was for you. Big Hit wouldn't let me sing about you, about love, so they made me write it about my fucking piano...

I remember back then

We burned up the last of my teen’s

Yes the days when we couldn’t see an inch in front of us

We laughed, we cried

Those days with you, those moments are now in memories

Every time I wanted to give up

By my side you said

you can really do it

Yeah, I remember back then

When I was fed up and lost

Back then when I fell into a pit of despair

Even when I pushed you away

Even when I resented meeting you

You were firmly by my side.

So don’t ever let go of my hand

I won’t let you go ever again either

I miss you Y/N I need you to know.

Even if you no longer love me I hope I've made you proud. Everything I am is because of you.

You walking away changed me, changed my life and I'm so much better now. I didn't think I'd ever see you again or have the opportunity to ask but I need to take this chance...

What if you stayed this time?

Folding the letter he rang for the flight attendant.

Providing an explanation of the situation, your detailed description and a big tip he held his breath as it fatefully found its way to your seat.

Making your way slowly down the skybridge you were scared. It felt like a dream.

The other passengers hurried past you meeting up with their loved ones in the arrivals lounge.

Would he be there? The lights and sounds grew closer...a few more steps to see what destiny held.

Stepping off the soft carpet onto the reality of the hard terminal floor you looked around.

Families and tears, businessmen on phones, drivers with pick up signs...but no Yoongi.

Biting the inside of your cheek you folded up his letter and shoved it deep into your pocket.

Closure, at least?

The luggage carousel spun slowly amplifying your sadness as the bags were picked up one by one.

The voice was unmistakable.

"10 years is a long time."

Your stomach flipped, if you turned around you'd be standing in front of your first and only love.

With tears in your eyes you faced him.

He was holding gift shop flowers in his hand out towards you.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

#Yoongi #Bts Yoongi #Min Yoongi #Bts scenario #Suga #Yoongi Angst

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nightingiall · 4 years

Text

things i love about you: you’re too good be all mine

a post-little do you know drabble series // story page

anon asked: how are moniall dealing with quarantine?

Being at home all the time wasn’t something Mona really minded.

For one, the world was in a strange place at the moment and she’d very much rather be in her own space than outside. But also, it meant she and Niall got to spend more time with one another, which was not a luxury they were afforded for the past few weeks. They didn’t have to rush out of bed in the mornings and didn’t have to haphazardly slap together breakfast. While they still tried to stick to a schedule, considering they were both working from home, there was a lot more time in the day they could spend taking their time on the important things.

The first week or so was spent trying to get into the swing of things. Working from home wasn’t as easy as she initially thought; the distractions were endless and her self-control was often slim to none. Still, she somehow managed to get her work done and also catch up on some household chores that she hadn’t had time for; although, Niall did laugh at her when he caught her putting together a contraption that would clean that space where the refrigerator met the cupboard.

By week three or four—Mona lost track quickly, the days blurring together like watercolor paint—she thought she was holding up alright. Niall was obviously way better at the whole self-isolation thing than she was though. He was good at creating routines and sticking to them, always the level-headed one in their relationship. He even organized Zoom meetings with their friends so they could catch up or watch a movie or have a few drinks or do all of the above.

Mona was fine too. She missed her walks to work or hanging out with Jingle at Connemara’s, but she also enjoyed being at home, in a space she and Niall had meticulously arranged to suit their personalities and needs. He had his own music corner, the kitchen was stockpiled with everything they would ever need, the options for meals endless, and they had a reading nook that they shared. It was a comfortable bench under a large window, the warmest throw blanket folded neatly on top, where they often spent their free time with their legs tangled together and eyes on a good book.

She tried to be productive but had her lazy days too, mostly when her job didn’t require much from her and she had the rest of the day to lounge about. But sometimes, Mona faltered. It wasn’t her fault, it was just something wired strangely in her brain that had her slipping into dark places sometimes. A never-ending pit of insecurities and worries. Her thoughts would buzz incessantly, one after the other, drowning all together until they created a din that was like bees buzzing around a beehive.

Depending on the day, she could handle it differently. She’d call her friends to catch up or bake something sweet or watch one of her favorite movies, general things that usually made her happy since going out for a walk—in New York City, nonetheless—was virtually out of the question. Or she’d lounge about with her sunshine boy, making him talk about the things that made him happy, and he would always happily oblige her, readily pulling her into his arms.

Today, though, seemed to be a particularly bad day, exacerbated by the fact that she didn’t have the energy to even get out of bed and also Mimi, her on-and-off therapist over the past three years, was having internet issues and wasn’t available for their bi-weekly appointments. She was curled up into the blankets, pressing her head into her pillow as though that would aid in quieting the commotion in her mind. She often hated how crippling it could be, how she couldn’t seem to find the energy to move much less do anything useful.

“Darlin’.” Niall’s voice seemed muffled and far away, as though she was drowning underwater and he was just above the surface. But when she felt the warmth of his fingers smoothing across her forehead, she realized he was sitting on the bed behind her, not far away at all. “What’s going on in here, my love?” he murmured softly, lips pressing against her hairline and fingers rubbing circles into her temples as he pulled her into his lap.

The cool air of the room hit her face and she whimpered, feeling excruciatingly exposed, and she turned around to press her face into Niall’s tummy to hide again. She didn’t have it in her to form words. She couldn’t even think straight.

Niall wrapped his arms around her, gently bringing her up so her head was resting against his chest, lips finding her forehead again. “Where’s my Mona darlin’?” He held her tight, warmth blooming into her skin from his, and like she always felt in his embrace, she was safe. “I know she’s in here somewhere,” he continued, lips never leaving her skin. “The house is unbearably quiet without you, my love. Come back to me.”

He said that a lot whenever she got lost inside her head, whenever her mind switched into overdrive and she was suddenly in a daze, a hermit crab retreating into a large, spirally shell, unable to find its way out again. Although, none of those instances were ever as intense as this. This was him reaching into the water in which she was drowning, attempting to pull her out. She pressed harder into his chest, hoping he never let go.

“Come back to me, my Mona darlin’.” He pressed feather-light kisses along her forehead and over her eyes and down her nose, body swaying slightly, as though he was rocking a child to sleep. “I love you. Come back to me.”

Mona couldn’t help the way guilt pooled hot and blistering into her stomach, those unsolicited notions of never being able to be good enough for him now slinking around with the already loud thoughts in her head. Here he was, holding her close, immeasurably wonderful, murmuring sweet words into her skin. And there she was, paralyzed in this world of intolerable desolation, unable to do much else besides hold on to him and wish to the highest power in the universe that he didn’t eventually get sick of her.

“No no no,” he whispered quickly at the first telltale sign of her onslaught of tears, wobbling lips and trembling hands, his fingers already swiping at her cheekbones to catch any moisture that had not yet fallen. “Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” At his words, she clenched her eyes shut, desperate to keep any potential tears at bay. She felt as though she was clawing for the surface, trying to reach his hand through the current of the water and missing each time. “I’m here for you, love.”

And, oh, how she wanted to give him the whole world. She wished she was half as good for him as he was infinitely perfect for her. It was often times like this when she wondered how she even got so lucky as to call him hers. She inhaled a long and shuddery breath, whimpering as she summoned all her willpower to attempt to quell the war raging in her head, because in her heart of hearts, she knew he was right, knew it wasn’t her fault she sometimes tripped into this chasm of overthinking that seemed to be a never-ending black hole. But she still felt hopelessly inadequate at times.

Niall had somehow maneuvered them until they were settled under the blanket, wrapping his arms snug around her as she used his chest as a pillow, one hand finding his as the other curled into his shirt, her anchor in this storm. “You can tell me when you need me to love you a little extra sometimes.” His voice was starting to sound less muffled, syrupy sweet and hushed in their already silent room, as if he didn’t want the walls to hear, as if his words were only meant for her ears. “And when I need it you can love me extra. But I’m always here for you.”

Mona held onto him tightly, letting his words wash over her skin, letting them absorb into her, letting them find the war in her mind and fight through the clutter. “I love you,” she managed to mumble out, voice getting lost in the fibers of his shirt. And then, another thought managed to knock his words in her mind down for a moment, and she ended up whispering out, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he repeated a bit firmer this time, still mouthing the words into her forehead, as though it will reach her mind faster that way. “Not your fault, my darlin’.” She curled up into him, legs tangling within his, trying to focus on the way his hands were smoothing up and down her spine, body a warm weight next to hers, trying to focus on the way he continued to whisper affirmations into her skin. She focused and focused until the thrumming in her head became nothing but white noise, and then slowly, everything became quiet.

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she opened her eyes to find herself in a different position than before, facing the opposite side of the bed, Niall’s chest pressed to her back. His fingers were loose in hers and she gave them the slightest squeeze, turning around to look at him. She was met with the sight of his beautiful sunshine smile, eyes glinting from the sunset light filtering in through their bedroom windows, and there was that thought again, wriggling its way back into her head. He was too good for her.

“Uh oh,” he got out, smile faltering. “You were back with me for a second there, then you started listening to your head again.” Mona sighed, shifting her way to rest her head under his chin and his arms fell around her easily again. “D’you want me to make you something?” he asked quietly, fingers trailing along her arm. “You haven’t eaten all day.” She shook her head against his chest, unable to think about food at the moment. She didn’t think she had the energy to stomach anything for the time being. Niall only allowed her mope for a few more moments before he started to get out of bed. “Come on, love. Get showered and I’ll make you some food, alright? You’ll feel better.” He smoothed her hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss to the skin there before heading off.

It was only until the other side of the bed started to get unbearably cold that she decided she should probably follow his advice and pull herself together. It wasn’t healthy to carry on like this and she knew it had gone on for long enough already. Still, it took her at least another hour to work up the energy and willpower to slide out of bed and let her legs carry her to the bathroom.

The steam from her shower made her feel more awake than she had in days. It somehow cleared her mind, giving her a boost of energy to wash her hair as well, a task she’d neglected during her visit to that dark chasm in her mind. Once she’d slipped into clean clothes—also something she neglected—and slathered moisturizer onto her body, she felt ready to finally leave the room and wander into the rest of their apartment.

“There she is,” Niall murmured as she walked into the kitchen, smile lighting up the entire room as he held out his arms for her and she stepped right into them. “She’s back.” He pressed a kiss to her temple before steering her towards a seat at the kitchen island. “I made you your favorite.” Sure enough, the plate he slid in front of her had a smile curving along her features, piled with fresh samosas, and not the frozen ones from the Indian grocery store. He’d gotten the recipe from Harlow’s mom way back when the two of them last went to San Francisco to visit everyone and he’d nearly perfected his samosa-making skills in the months he spent experimenting with them.

Mona looked up at him only to find his eyes glimmering with love and adoration down at her, and whatever she was planning to say disappeared from her mind. Instead, she reached out for his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

She may sometimes think that she doesn’t deserve him, but at the end of the day, she considers herself the luckiest person in the world. Because after everything, he still chose her every single day. Chose to love her, on her good days and bad days and everything in between.

And that was all she could really ask for.

Niall huffed in frustration at his laptop.

He was sitting on the floor, back against the couch because he could no longer sit in the kitchen for lack of focus. He’d been trying to find the correct word for what he was attempting to convey in his article and was failing miserably. Working from home was difficult sometimes because of the lack of communication with his team. When they were all together in the office, if he was stuck on a word, he’d simply ask out loud, guaranteed to receive an answer in moments, and then he could just keep on writing. Sure, there were Zoom meetings and conference calls now, but it wasn’t really the same.

He tried to remain positive though. If anything, he was more grateful that he and Mona were healthy and didn’t have jobs that required them to be out and about, even more so, jobs which afforded them the luxury of working from home. The same couldn’t be said for others, whose services were needed to help care for others, and he sometimes caught himself trying to remember that before complaining about anything.

“Take a break,�� came Mona’s voice from behind him. She had crawled on the couch to sit above him, hands on his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his cheek. “You’ve been at this for longer than usual and you keep making angry sounds under your breath.”

He huffed out a laugh, leaning easily into her as she started to rub circles into the back of his neck, trailing down to where his shoulders converged, fingers easily finding the muscles that were taut with tension and massaging them away. “I have a deadline,” he muttered out, but closed his laptop anyway, a satisfied sound bubbling out through his lips when she found a good spot. He didn’t realize how tense his shoulders were, how much he needed this, but as always, Mona noticed for him.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t take a tiny break,” she retorted, but her voice went to that soft and reverent place that he loved, slow and sweet like honey. Her fingers started to press long lines from a spot behind his ears all the way down the curve of his neck and back again, and he sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t sure why, but it was his favorite spot, mostly because Mona’s hands were usually cold and his skin was always warm and it was soothing in a way he couldn’t really find words for. It was usually made even better because she sometimes pressed her lips along that line too, soft and fleeting kisses that usually left him waiting for more.

Her lips found the skin along his hairline instead, mostly because he was now leaning back into her lap, her arms wrapping around him to hold him close. “What are you doing?” he asked, nearly whining because she was kissing everywhere except for his lips.

She smiled against his skin and he felt his heart give a little start in his chest, warmth zipping through him because he never got tired of when she did that. “I’m loving you extra today.”

He couldn’t help the way he grinned at that, fingers tangling into hers to bring both of her hands to his lips and then holding them over his heart. He sometimes felt it was impossible to love her more but was always proven wrong when she did little things like this, repeating his own words back to him.

She was buried so deep into her head the other day that she wasn’t even answering his questions of concern as he tidied the room around her, where she was still curled into herself in their bed. He had begun to wonder if she could even hear him, a thought that nearly scared the life out of him because that had never happened before. He always noticed the way her eyes glazed over sometimes and she dragged her feet around the apartment, usually leaving her to her own devices for a bit because she was good at finding ways to pull herself out of it, learning that two days was a good grace period before he had to interfere with whatever war was going on inside her head.

But, the other day, time had seemed like it was passing by agonizingly slow, mostly because they were stuck in the apartment all the time, and he knew he had to do something quickly to bring her back to him, two day grace period forgotten after two hours. He wished she didn’t hurt so much sometimes, wished he could just reach in and take that part of her out, so she’d be happy and wasn’t plagued by darkness. But he loved her to the ends of the earth regardless.

“I made you your favorite soup,” she said now, cheek pressed to his head as she held him. “Might put you in a better mood?”

He couldn’t help the way he reached for her then, hands gently pulling her face down to his lips as he kissed her as sweetly as the angle allowed. It was awkwardly upside down but the way she smiled against him made it worth it. All these years later and she still didn’t really seem to understand that what made him feel the most gratified was when she was happy, when she smiled and laughed and glowed from it all, not overthinking, not caring about anything else. But he would pour his love into her until she did, until she realized that she really was the love of his life and nothing in the world could ever change that.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her lips, smile growing tenfold as she let out a breathy giggle. “I love you.” His heart still fluttered whenever she said those words back to him, and he knew that he would never get tired of saying it or hearing it back.

As he followed her to the kitchen and let her pour their lunch into bowls, all he could think of was how even if being cooped up inside all the time wasn’t ideal, it was worth it for how much time he got to spend with his Mona.

#it's been raining all day and i'm in a mood #moniall are my emotional support characters okay #idk who i am or what to do with myself if i'm not writing about them #in the background of my life #i've also decided not to number these bc i feel like they add pressure to tell the story chronologically #and this has no plot so LOL #things i love about you #writings #1dff #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan drabbles

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greylunar · 4 years

Note

hi! I took your quiz and the result was wrong but I loved it and your writing, where can I find more of that?

HahahA I respect this ask IMMENSELY thank you very much for it, and for loving the quiz despite it’s flaws. Prose wise, I’ve got a frighteningly long star trek fanfic you can read, and other than that I think I’m just responding to everyone who asks me about poetry/writing with a poem under the keep reading, and you can find my writing and those posts under the “tal writes” tags because i literally haven’t put my writing on here before so! Hope that’s okay! if yall have a better idea let me know haha

Warnings on this poem: its about the Trans Experience TM and discusses themes of vaguely internalized homophobia and transphobia as well as dysphoria, but ends positively and is more about learning how to own your identity and your gender? Yes haha i think that about covers it

This Poem Is a Real Male Bathroom, For Real Men™️ Only

I know something is wrong when he turns around at the urinal.

Despite being new to this whole bathroom thing, I am certain that there is a rule about this specifically.

As he asks me what my name is, I wash my hands.

I almost say Miles, the name my mother says she would have given me if I was born a boy, but my brain tells me that this is Too Gay. My own name does not even cross my mind.

Miles is the name of my grandfather. He worked in the same steel mill for forty-six years. I do not believe he ever looked at a man for more than five seconds at a time. I know this, because he is the one who taught me to keep my head down at the urinal. To keep my head down at all times.

Still, I say Max. In my mouth, it sounds like a dogs name.

I stand there and try to remember the steps that go into washing your hands as he keeps talking. I am aware he is facing me completely now, I am aware of his frame in the background of the mirror I cannot look at, I am aware that there is one rule in male bathrooms, and so my brain keeps looping and repeating do not look up do not look up do not look up.

He asks me what my number is, and when I recount this to my mother a week later, I cannot find a way to describe how it feels like a threat. How it feels like wanting to count the tiles to the exit door but not being able to stop washing your hands because you simply can’t remember how it’s done anymore, what that last step is that lets your brain know the process is over. I try and work through it again. I restart, get more soap.

He keeps saying things. My brain flicks through quotes in my head like rapidly choosing what to wear into battle. I misremember the one I end up choosing, find myself unable to fix the clasps on a breastplate that I built for myself, it should have fit me. I feel like this strangely has to do more with what is inside my chest versus the flesh that lies on top of it, regardless, I play the quote again.

“The poet’s job, in the midst of the flood, is to remember the color of the water.”

And again.

The sink is just clear. I am trying to convince it to be blue, for a grocery list of reasons and the ghost of a voice saying “poetic cinema”, when he says something else, and I blink and it is Wednesday.

I joke to my friends that I am not sure if my superpower is time travel or teleportation. We decide that it is the latter because if I could time travel, I would just go forward til things were better. Instead, I just end up somewhere else days later, blinking back into my body, trying to remember how I got there. I am not wearing my jacket anymore. I still can’t find it now, and I only have a vague recollection of frantically looking for a sharpie to scribble out the rainbow flag on the outside, not because I am ashamed but because I have always needed a safety blanket, even now and it just doesn’t feel safe anymore.

My sister made it for my eighteenth birthday, not to celebrate my birth but my continued existence, she says it is a gift so that I can remember how brave I have been.

I am wearing it when I am too scared in an empty cafe to hold the boy I want to marry’s hand.

Six people write down brave as an adjective to describe me out of ten for a class project. I realize, after an hour of not understanding these results that everyone who has said this is LGBT. They do not think I am brave in my actions, they know I am brave for being alive.

I do not like that my sheer existence is heroic.

Later that night, or maybe a month before, I have been teleporting so much lately that I can’t remember time, I ask my partner if he thinks I am gay enough.

He asks me what I mean, and I do not know how to answer him,

I cannot tell if people see me as a boy or girl when they look at me anymore or if I just look small.

I tell him that it feels like I am just now realizing that I have missed my train and that I have been sitting at the station for eighteen years waiting for something that simply will not come,

When a girl tells me I am pretty I think of how I pictured myself looking in college.

I stand next to my little brother as we get out of the car and he is three heads taller than I will ever be,

I remember joking with him, when I did not know anything, that I would always make a better soldier than him.

I remember the first time I realized he would always be stronger than me when a news alert goes off on my phone saying I am too expensive to be in the military.

I tell my boyfriend that I have never seen myself as trans as I picture my father in Germany, my grandfather taking a picture of him in uniform as he helps pull a man over a wall my father made sure crumbled, I wonder if the picture took him more than five seconds to take, or if it’s okay to look at men through glass, through a viewfinder.

The only picture I have left of his is one of my mother holding me as a child, and there is much love in that single faded frame that even the photo paper feels soft, and still, today, I cannot help but wonder what he would think of me.

The water in the bathroom is clear as I wash my hands. My name is not Max. I know this because it took me four years to choose the perfect one. To make sure it fit right, like a safety jacket.

On a Thursday, my therapist asks me why I am scared, and suddenly I am in bed reading a text from a friend that asks the same thing, and maybe it actually is time travel.

“I do not know,” I say, both times, and they echo and I can’t make out which voice is mine, the high pitched one in my head or the one people hear when they meet me again for the first time in years.

I do not know, I say, because I have never been righteous I have never been angry. The group chat talks about what kind of historical gays they are. Elliot says he would have been an 80’s escort, in rich extravagant clothing, taking women to parties their husbands could not attend. Phoenix is a second brick at stonewall kind of gay, apparently. They ask me what I would be doing then. I say Berlin and Vietnam, respectively.

I have made it a goal, for the past two years, to tell someone on the internet every day that I love them. I did this after a person I barely knew died. His mother made a post about how we should not say that he “committed” anything, because that it makes it sound like a crime. I tell people I love them and sometimes it still feels like I am committing the act of love.

A boy once wrote to me saying he was happy I was finally writing happy poems. Even as I tell myself that life is circular, and sometimes backwards can still be forwards, I try to make this poem happy for him.

As I write this, I know I am traveling faster than the speed of light. That a few days from now I will blink and wake up and find this on my computer and wonder how it happened.

I will continue to taste the word brave on my tongue and try and use it to wash the sound of Max out of my mouth.

I will continue to try and name of the color of this flood, but it does not feel colorful, it does not feel rainbow. It still looks clear when I wash my hands.

I am itching more lately, and I try not to think about being allergic to my body.

The water is clear when it washes over skin that I cannot tell is mine.

The water is clear still.

I turn the faucet off. And I dry my hands. I have remembered these steps, in the end.

The water was clear, still.

And I am in love, still.

And I am love, still.

And I try to think of how all these things can exist at once.

And I land on the answer.

I am in multiple places at once.

I refuse not to call this a superpower.

I have decided to title this poem This Poem Is a Real Male Bathroom, For Real Men™️ Only.

And I want the guy whose penis I did not look at in that bathroom, to know,

That this poem is not for him.

Because I was the only real man in that room.

#tal asks #quiz mention #tal writes #okay to rb #your-url-is-problematic

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perfecttimeseleven · 4 years

Link

Perfect Times Eleven Ep. 1 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

REMINGTON

Goddamn it! You really think tying a tie wouldn’t be this hard.

VOICE FROM PHONE

And that, my friends, is how you tie a tie!

REMINGTON

(overlapping)

No! No it’s not! Fuck you!

VOICE FROM PHONE

Hope you found this video helpful. Hit up that “like” button below and don’t forget to subscribe to my channel for more pro bro tips from Menswear Mike! Hang tie-ght. Haha, get it? Just a little joke for ya on this fine Menswear Mike Monday morning.

(REMINGTON grabs her phone and turns the video off.)

REMINGTON

Shit. Ah.. maybe if... nope. That’s worse. Is that a zit? God hates me.

(exhales)

My name is Remington Long and I am here because I hear eleven voices in my head and a teacup chihuahua tried to claw my eye out — no. That’s too on the nose.

(pauses)

My name is Remington Long! How are you? I’m perfectly sane! Fuck. Uh...yeah, no. I’m already talking to a mirror. Who’s gonna believe that? Okay. My name is Remington Long, and oh, heavenly therapist, please bestow the blesséd knowledge upon me so I can maybe, maaaaybe have a shot at normal life. Except, y’know, my life’s already fine, except sometimes animals attack me, I guess, like the chihuahua from yesterday. So I actually don’t know why the hell my parents are paying you. But yes! My name is Remington Long and I’m here for a heaping helping of therapy! Fuck yeah! Ugh.

(1. Therapy Upstate.)

REMINGTON

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

IT’S UNFAIR TO ME. Here, I’ll give it to ya straight —

WELL, KIDS, YOU KNOW YOUR PARENTS THINK YOU’RE REALLY PSYCHO

WHEN YOU’RE FORCED TO HIKE OVER TO DELAWARE COUNTY FOR

THERAPY UPSTATE.

I’VE LIVED FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS LIKE THIS! I THINK I’VE GOT THE HANG OF IT BY NOW.

DON’T NEED SOME PRETENTIOUS PRICK’S USELESS SHIT ABOUT MEDITATION OR HOW

TALKING ABOUT MY FEELINGS WILL MAKE EVERYTHING SO, SO MUCH BETTER!

PLUS, HE’LL PROBABLY BE OLD AND WEAR ROUND GLASSES AND A TARTAN SWEATER.

Ugh, I can see it already, HE’LL SAY

”TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS” AND I’LL BE LIKE ”ERR, I GOT NONE!”

AND THEN WE’LL JUST SIT, STARE AT EACH OTHER FOR A BIT

IN SILENCE TILL THE SESSION IS DONE.

Plot twist! WE’LL. FALL IN LOVE

HE’LL TREAT ME WELL BUT I’LL GET HIM FIRED

FOR HAVING RELATIONS WITH A MINOR —

Wait. No. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. Shit.

A WHOLE ASS ADULT BEING MADE TO GO TO

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

WHERE THERE’S TONS OF TREES AND ALL THE STORES CLOSE AFTER EIGHT.

I’M JUST CONSIDERING EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO IN AN ATTEMPT TO PREPARE ME,

SO I WON’T HAVE TO GO TO MORE THERAPY UPSTATE.

SO I’VE GOT VOICES IN MY HEAD! WELL, I CAN STILL HAPPILY EXIST!

I CAN’T EVEN HEAR THEM IF I KEEP THIS TACKY BRACELET ON MY WRIST.

AND EVEN WHEN I DO, THEY JUST...REPEAT ELEVEN RANDOM WORDS.

(REMINGTON unclasps her bracelet and it drops to the ground.)

REMINGTON’S VOICES

(jumbled and overlapping)

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS

REMINGTON

See? THEY AREN’T THAT ANNOYING AND THEY’RE QUITE EASY TO IGNORE

JUST LIKE REAL-LIFE PEOPLE THAT TO ME, KINDA BORE.

WHAT WOULD THIS THERAPIST KNOW THAT I DON’T ALREADY

ABOUT WHAT I’VE DEALT WITH MY ENTIRE LIFE? OH, YES, I’M FEELING PETTY ABOUT

THERAPY! THERAPY UPSTATE.

THEY SAY THIS IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE

BUT I’M AN INDEPENDENT MAN WHO DON’T NEED NO MAN

TO SHARE ALL MY CARES WITH AT THERAPY UPSTATE.

I KNOW I’M A BURDEN! I DON’T WANNA BECOME MORE OF ONE!

STOP THROWING MONEY AT THIS! IT WILL NOT GO AWAY.

SAVE THOSE FUNDS FOR MY COLLEGE, OR, BETTER YET, ACKNOWLEDGE

THAT I WON’T GO TO COLLEGE, AND THAT IS OKAY!

I CAN BE NORMAL! I’LL DO FINE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE.

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

YOUR PARENTS SEE YOU CAN’T HANDLE YOURSELF...HOW GREAT.

IT’S A MARK ON THE CALENDAR TO CONFIRM THEY’VE RAISED

A DISAPPOINTMENT, A HOPELESS, CRAZED

FREAK WHO THEY HAVE TO CODDLE, WHO AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE AT THIS RATE!

OH, PLEASE HAVE SOME HOPE IN ME!

I DON’T NEED HELP TO COPE, YOU SEE!

DON’T WRITE SOMETHING FRIGHTFUL

ON MY PERMANENT RECORD OR I’LL NEVER GET A JOB I DON’T HATE!

OH, PLEASE, DON’T SEND ME TO THERAPY UPSTATE!

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

DR. MORELLO

Yes, uh, hello, Remington.

DAISY

Remington? That’s fucking wack! Remy, like the rat!

DR. MORELLO

Daisy. Language!

REMINGTON

Uh, hi.

DAISY

I’m Daisy, Ratatouille!

DR. MORELLO

My name is Dr. Morello.

REMINGTON

Yeah, uh, my parents told me about you.

DR. MORELLO

Good. This wasn’t what you expected, was it, dear?

REMINGTON

Oh. Uh, no. Don’t get me wrong, this is a very nice house, but yeah. Like I was expecting some really clinical looking...space? You are also not what I expected, but, uh, in a good way! This...is also...such a warm color scheme I’d never have imagined...

(catches herself going off topic)

It is very nice to meet you, Dr. Morello! How can you help with the, uh, voices in my head thing?

(pauses)

Shit. Sorry. I mean, shit, oh sh-...sorry. Shouldn’t have cursed. I didn’t mean like you’re seeking me out to help me, I’m the one seeking your help —

DAISY

You’re making it worse, nerd.

REMINGTON

Yeah, also there’s, uh, Daisy? Um, there’s children here. Didn’t expect that. Who? Why? Uh, who’s the other one?

DR. MORELLO

Ohh! Yes —

REMINGTON

Yes, there’s children here.

DR. MORELLO

Yes, yes. Remington, I would like you to meet my other patients. Come over here! Be polite!

JAY

Ugh.

DAISY

I said hi to her already!

JAY

Hi, I guess.

REMINGTON

Okay, I can respect a girl with a well-defined aesthetic —

JAY

Then why are you dressed like a sad lawyer?

DR. MORELLO

Kids, this is Remington’s first appointment, and you both know what that means.

DAISY

(bored)

I’ll get the fear-puke bucket.

REMINGTON

The what?

DAISY

Wait. Hold the phone. Hold on. Remington Long...Are you the kid who got attacked by the...

JAY

Oh, wait, yeah! Shiiiiiit!

(DAISY and JAY try to contain their laughter.)

DAISY

...teacup chihuahua?

(JAY doubles down in laughter.)

REMINGTON

(unamused)

Yeah. Nice to meet you.

DR. MORELLO

Kids, be nice. Okay, now this is Jay.

(DAISY and JAY calm down.)

REMINGTON

Who’s already mocked me twice. Good start. Hello.

JAY

(clears throat a little)

Hey —

DR. MORELLO

(interrupting)

Now that that’s out of the way —

DAISY

(exiting)

Fear-puke bucket time!

REMINGTON

Okay, what does that mean?

DR. MORELLO

(ignoring her)

— let’s get down to business. Now — That bracelet on your wrist. It’s the accessory you use to block the voices out, yes?

REMINGTON

Yeah.

DR. MORELLO

And when you take it off, can you describe what these voices are like?

REMINGTON

There’s like, a lot of them, and they just say words, I guess. It’s overlapping and each voice says a word, and then that just repeats, like, I don’t know, over and over, like —

JAY

Like a broken record in your brain.

REMINGTON

...Yeah. What she said.

(turning back to DR. MORELLO)

Wait, so all your patients have the same problem?

DR. MORELLO

Essentially, yes.

(pauses)

Of course, I do too.

REMINGTON

What?

(DAISY enters with a big yellow bucket, which she plunks in front of REMINGTON.)

DAISY

Fear-puke bucket time.

JAY

It’s always more like panic attack puke, if anything —

DAISY

Yeah, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

REMINGTON

What’s this for?

DAISY/JAY

Just in case.

REMINGTON

Of what?

DR. MORELLO

Remington, this isn’t some disease or disorder. You see, ah, living things have a soul, right?

REMINGTON

Okay, yeah, I guess?

DR. MORELLO

Well, souls don’t die with the living thing. They go on to inhabit another body.

REMINGTON

Reincarnation?

DR. MORELLO

Yes, some call it that. A transference of energy. A shift of...ah, physical matter around an entity, a...crowding of energies for space, a—

REMINGTON

Wack.

DR. MORELLO

Wack indeed, Remington.

REMINGTON

So my voices are some byproduct of, like, reincarnation?

DAISY

Sorta.

DR. MORELLO

If the soul lives a good, fulfilling, pure life — at least, as the books say — such a thing -- a “pure life” -- is hard to define, it gets reincarnated as human.

REMINGTON

And if it doesn’t?

JAY.

It turns into an animal.

REMINGTON

Damn, that’s rough.

DAISY

(to JAY)

She’s taking this surprisingly well.

DR. MORELLO

People who hear these voices are people whose souls have been reincarnated as human for several lifetimes in a row. The voices are remnants of previous human lives.

REMINGTON

So what you’re saying is voices mean there’s, like, dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

That’s putting it a little crassly, but...yes.

REMINGTON

So...there’s dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

Yes.

REMINGTON

All of you?

DAISY/JAY

Yeah.

REMINGTON

Me?

JAY

(a little irritated)

Yes!

REMINGTON

So this is some kind of therapy for dead-people-in-your-head...people? Fine. But why do these dead people say random words? Does it all mean anything? Am I just really stupid and not connecting some obvious dots?

JAY

Yes.

(DR. MORELLO stands up. 2. Dead-People-In-Your-Head People.)

DR. MORELLO

NOW, A SOUL MOVES FROM BODY TO BODY,

BUT EACH LIFE LEAVES ITS TRACE.

A SINGLE WORD FOR EACH HUMAN

TOO OFTEN THOUGHT ABOUT TO ERASE

NOW WHEN SOULS HAVE BEEN REINCARNATED

AS HUMAN SEVERAL TIMES IN A ROW

IT GETS TO THE EXTENT WHERE THE SOUL IS SO HUMAN,

ITS HOST HEARS ECHOES OF LONG AGO.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

EVERYONE’S GOT DEAD PEOPLE IN THEIR HEADS, PEOPLE!

JAY

ONLY WE’RE THE LUCKY BASTARDS WHO CAN HEAR ‘EM.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

THERE’S NO WAY TO MAKE ‘EM GO AWAY!

DAISY

NO MAGIC PILL, POTION, OR SERUM!

JAY

SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE IF YOU’RE NOT A LITTLE BITCH —

DR. MORELLO

Jay!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WE’RE ALL DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE

DAISY

AND THOUGH IT SOUNDS A BIT DARK,

WE’VE JUST INHERITED SOULS FROM PURE AND WHOLESOME

FOLKS WHO’D CLEAN UP LITTER IN THE PARK!

REMINGTON

OH, SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE SINCE THEY’RE ALL LITTLE BITCHES —

DR. MORELLO

No! WHAT JAY MEANT IS WE CAN LEARN FROM THEM.

YOU’LL FIND THEY’RE NO MYSTERY!

IF YOU

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

CONCENTRATE ON ONE WORD,

DR. MORELLO

YOU CAN UNLOCK A HISTORY.

WE’RE TIES BETWEEN GENERATIONS

WHO OBSERVE AND PRESERVE

THIS SOUL’S UNTAINTED PURITY

SO WE GET THE NEXT LIFE WE DESERVE!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

No pressure, but your past lives all were really good...

WE’RE SORTA RARE, SO WE’D SORTA CARE

TO NOT GO EXTINCT...UNDERSTOOD?

DR. MORELLO

SO WE ALL CONSIDER BEING MORE SELFLESS...

JAY

NOTE THE KEY WORD THERE IS “CONSIDER”!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

YOU’RE WORKING FOR A HIGHER PURPOSE!

THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO EXPLORE;

WE’VE BARELY SCRATCHED THE SURFACE!

BUT, BEFORE WE START, HERE’S THE MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION...

DR. MORELLO

How many voices are in your head?

REMINGTON

Eleven.

DAISY

Holy shit.

JAY

Are you sure you’ve counted right?

REMINGTON

Yeah, I’m fucking sure I’ve counted right after 18 years of counting! What’s so weird about eleven?

JAY

Nothing. You just beat my record of ten.

REMINGTON

SO I GUESS I’M A

DEAD-PERSONS-IN-MY-HEAD PERSON!

I’M GLAD TO BE JOINING THE TEAM.

I’LL TRY TO CALMLY ACCEPT I’M AN ANOMALY

AND NOT FEAR-PUKE OR SCREAM!

I’M READY TO GET STARTED WITH THIS THERAPY!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

Yeah!

SHE’S A DEAD-PERSONS-IN-HER-HEAD PERSON

JAY

Having eleven isn’t problematic at all!

DAISY

SHUT UP, YOU CUCK!

PETER

IT’S JUST OUR LUCK

THAT YOUR PARENTS GAVE ME THAT CALL

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

‘CAUSE NOW, YOU’RE HERE WITH US!

ALL

AND WE’RE ALL

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE!

EACH HOUSING A VERY NICE SOUL.

THOUGH WE’VE GOT DIFFERENT NUMBERS,

WE’RE ALL PARTS OF A WHOLE!

DR. MORELLO

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE...

REMINGTON

THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN MY HEAD!

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

OH YES, THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

WHY STRESS? THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

GOD BLESS! THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

#transcript #px11 #perfect times eleven #Remington long #Rupert morello #jay mazziotta #daisy noxx #episode 1

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slothgiirl · 4 years

Text

shadowplay part 12

It's dark by the time you arrive at the little cabin which is incredibly skewed towards glamping. There's trees flocking every side, and little fairy lights scattered around the porch.

The sight is enough to make a romantic out of anyone.

Miles wastes no time, running in, Zack on his heels, to throw himself into the first bedroom he likes, "I call the master!"

"Like hell your getting it," Zack yells, tackling Miles.

"Should we tell them they're sharing a room," Breana asks, pouting as she takes a selfie in front of the doorway, tilting her head just right.

Matt snorts, placing an arm around his girlfriend, and throwing the laziest peace sign up in her photos, "Let them have their fun." He smiles down at Breana with a fondness that speaks of years and years of being together.

"I'm guessing you already know which room you want," you ask Breana whose clearly in charge here which doesn't surprise you at all. Alex doesn't own any pans at his flat and you highly doubt that Miles is any better. There's some hope that Zack isn't completely useless on his own, but then again, he's a single man in the music business. It's not a overly large hope.

You knew enough rich men from work to know that they're usually helpless even if they're helpless in 10,000 pound suits.

It evened out.

"No," Breana says sweetly, having only eyes for Matt. "You take whichever room you want."

"I don't really care," you reply taking in the tastefully decorated living room. You run your hand over the sofa, noting the acrylic fabric, not yet matted down. Probably some Ikea adjacent sofa. It no longer cost an arm and a leg to have nice things, though the vintage technique would undoubtedly last longer. You'd been to many country estates, on last minitue alterations to know that. Hundred year old linens still in perfect forms.

Estate sales were your best friend.

"Well if you're sure," Breana replies, leveling her gaze with yours, "I'll take-," "We'll," Matts corrects.

"We'll," Breana smiles, looking at Matt with the biggest smile on her face, "take the room with the patio."

"For the gram," you grin.

"Gotta keep up with the algorithm." She'd already told you about her clothing brand, which was just another line of basics that you didn't really think anyone needed. Uniqlo was enough. And she'd shown you her instagram which was exactly what you imagined it too be, bright light californian influencer aesthetic, clearly influenced by minimalism which photographed very well.

"Does that mean I should post more often than every couple of months," you tease, meeting Alex's heavy gaze, as he leans against a wall, boots still on. You could never wear shoes indoor, but you suppose it isn't your place so it doesn't matter. Your floral embroidered bag in his hand, along with his own bags.

"Yes! We should work on your instagram while we're here," Breana offers, "there's so many cute pictures we could take."

Matt chuckles, "later."

"Later," she repeats, all heart eyed.

You tilt your head, watching them. She was easily out of his league. And yet, here she was, actually in love with Matt, who you still couldn't puzzle out. If she was your girlfriend, you'd have pulled over at all her cute and dumb points of interest along the road. It was a road trip after all. A road trip with his girlfriend and friends, not just the lads.

Alex tilts his head, motioning down the hallway. You can here Zack and Miles in some room fighting over what song to blast through the speakers, Miles upselling the virtues of some obscure 70s band.

You follow Alex, half walking, half sliding along the wooden floor, artificial pine smell still in the air from when it had last been cleaned. The yeezy socks had been a gag gift from Sam for last christmas. "Isn't Arielle's wedding next month," you ask Alex, still thinking of the strung up fairy lights.

"Why," he asks, opening the closed room.

You switch the lights on, taking a second to play with the sliding switch. Definitely something you wanted when you finally bought a house. You'd finally made the appointment with a realtor for the week that you returned. You'd dragged your feet long enough. A thirty minute commute to work wasn't bad if you got a little garden out of it. A place to drink tea.

"I was just thinking that she'd for sure have fairy lights. A pinterest wedding," you bit your lips, "you think pinterest sponsers influencers."

"How'd you figure she'd an influencer," Alex asks instead, putting the bags down and finally kicking his boots off as he sits down on the bed.

You close the door, locking it for once because you didn't fancy Miles bursting in if you wanted to change. He was definitely shameless enough to not care, acting without thinking, without meaning any harm. "She had that effort effortless look," you shrug, "its basically a job to look that effortless."

Alex laughs, " 's true. But I don't really want to talk about her."

"Sorry."

"No," he says, leaning back on his hands, watching as you change into a pajama set. You'd have blushed if you hadn't changed in front of him loads of times before. Your mothers solution to body image issues, being a therapist and all, was to make you stand in front a a mirror and repeat 'I'm beautiful' before going to school every day. It had been stupid then, but clearly had worked. You didn't even mind the belly rolls you got when leaning over to pull your shorts on. "I just don't want to bother with the past anymore."

You nod, smiling over at him, "good to hear you move on."

Alex smiles back, red creeping up his cheeks. "I 'fink I've moved on a while ago actually. . .just crept up on me."

"That’s good," you tell him, looking down at the floor, wood like the rest of the cabin which was closer to a chateau. Rich people honestly. You try to shove down the hope ballooning in your chest at his words, as if you'd have any chance. His friends are here. And-you stop your train of thoughts right there, unwilling to go further like a coward. "Guess you can go out and be a proper rock star instead of being a sap at my flat."

"Oh," Alex grins with a smirk that's so fitting with his sleeked back hair and the 50s greaser aesthetic he was so fond of, "Don't lie, you like having me over."

"I like getting free take out," you counter with a grin of your own, laying down on the bed next to him. "And you do have great taste in music, but don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. My ego's the size of the hollywood sign."

You laugh, looking up at him. You really were glad you'd decided to come. "Is your horde of gel the mountain the signs on?"

"Never can win with you can I," Alex smiles, looking down at you, his eyes twinkling in the soft light, dark like a glass of top shelf scotch. Your heart fluttered in your chest, you couldn't maintain eye contact when he looked at you like that, your thoughts surging wildly, sending your pulse racing. It had been happening a lot more lately.

You liked him.

Too much.

You couldn't help it. It was Alex. He was easy to like, easy to let into your life until you couldn't imagine your life without him there, smiling like a dork despite trying to look like John Travolta in Grease, carting a record player to your flat because music just wasn't the same without the scratches in old vinyl records. "Your words not mine." You swallow thickly.

Alex strokes the side of your face gently, his touch setting your skin aflame, leaving you breathless. There's-there's no excuse. No friends to pretend for. No movie playing to cut the tension. You want desperately to pull away before your feelings are crushed. But you can't his gaze resting so earnestly on you, pinning you to the bed.

"Can we talk," he finally utters, in that serious stilted way, as if Alex can only approach words from the side, never head on, never as comfortable as he was in writing.

"Sure."

A knock on the door.

Loud.

Harsh.

Jolts you out of whatever trance you'd been in, letting you release a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, letting you look away from Alex. Zacks voice calls out from the hall, "we're going to order food!"

You force your voice to stay stead, unwilling to betray the rush of emotions coursing through you, blood rushing in your veins. Chest full of butterflies as you answer, "don't tease me like that Zack, just let me know when the foods here." You should've used this as an out. But-it's Alex. That's the whole problem. You care for him, as a friend, as more.

You'd never just leave him because you're feeling like being a coward.

"Okay," Zack laughs, "just don't blame me if you hate everything we order."

"I'm sure the spiciest thing you've ever had was salt and pepper," you call back.

You listen to his steps disappear down the hall, eyes trained on the door. Heart beating like a sewing machine making it's way down the line of an inseam. You can't think, all flustered like this.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to Alex.

He takes your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks, his touch hot on your skin, his entire body leaning towards you the way sunflowers turn to face the sun, soaking in their rays. You're breathless.

There's no wavier in his voice as Alex says, "I really like you. I think I might actually be in love with ya if I'm being honest. But right now, I just really wanna fuck you."

Cheeks burning red, you can't-your voice stops working. Brain short circuiting as you look at Alex. Desire pooling in your belly. You're a horny uni student all over again. Not trusting yourself to speak. His body hovering above yours, caging you against the bed. You want nothing more than to reach out and bring him flush against your body.

You don't trust yourself to speak.

When you don't respond, Alex, jaw clenching, adds, "if ya don't feel the same way just tell me tah fuck right off. But I can't-I can't lie next to yah and pretend it don't mean a thing to me."

"What a coincidence," you finally manage, smiling softly up at him, so close you could just reach up and kiss him, "I like you a lot as well." It's in the top ten dumbest things you've ever said in your life. And the most english thing, to keep a stiff upper lip when you're literally laying under the man you haven't been able to stop thinking about.

"That's good," Alex notes, raising a brow. The little eager school boyish expression on his face making you giggle.

He shuts you up promptly, smothering your laugh with a deep kiss, so unlike all the other times he's kissed you. None of the hovering and hesitance, none of the stiffness in your body, as you reach up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing his body against yours, savoring the feel of him. His toned muscles shifting as he shifts against you.

It's hot and heavy, with a bruising intensity as Alex kisses you. You match him with the same passion, with all the pent up months of tension, of finally getting to show him how much you like him, how you've been thinking of him for weeks now. There's still sugar on his lips from the bubble tea you'd made him try, his tongue exploring your mouth as you moan into the kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Alex's chest against yours.

His hand winding its way into your hair, keeping it out of your face as you kiss him. As you loose yourself in Alex. The entire world shrinking until it's just the two of you. And nothing else matters. His other hand running down your side. Fingertips brushing over the exposed skin above the waistband of your shorts, before shoving the fabric aside, his hand griping your side.

You kiss his lips, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth, leaving you both gasping for air. Eyes glazed over, raging wildly with want.

"I'm gonna fuck you love," Alex, whispers planting kisses down your neck, his fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt. "Show ya how crazy you've been driving me."

You nod, shakily, your gaze never leaving his, as your shirt falls back onto your shoulders, falls open.

Sam had been spot on, making you pack the nice parisian undergarments that had been at the back of your drawer abandoned. You'll have to buy her something really nice before you get back to the old smoke.

Alex pulls his own shirt off.

He shakes his head, smirking, "but you've got to say it love. Can't be the only one baring my soul here."

"You're baring more than your soul Alex," you tease, despite the hitch in your voice, revealing just how worked up you were feeling. But you indulge him, because you really want him. Your skin burning in anticipation of what comes next. "But right now I'm more interested in you fucking me."

Alex laughs, but there's no hiding the hoarseness in his voice.

Then sits up on his legs, trailing kisses down your chest, down you belly as he works your shorts down your legs, you tilting your hips up so he can leave you bare, taking your nice lingere along with the shorts. It was a shame too. They really were nice, lacy and racy, worth the trouble of wearing.

Your toes curl as Alex kisses the crook of your leg, your breath hitching as he prices open your legs, an easy move when you were all too willing to let him go down on you.

Alex presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his hand grasping the skin, all the while his other hand, his fingers brushed over your clit, dipping into your folds, into the wetness. Your eyes fluttering shut, a whimper escaping from your lips. "I wanna hear you love," Alex whispers against your skin, mouth moving teasingly close to your center. "Let me hear you."

You can't stifle the cry as he runs his tongue through your folds, maddeningly slow, before sucking on your clit long enough for your brain to short circuit. He doesn't let up, flicking his tongue against you, your breathe short as you whimper at his ministrations. His fingers digging into your skin.

You clutch at the covers, bunching them up in your palms.

Alex sucks at your clit, his hand brushing against your folds, before slipping a finger into your core, curling inside you.

You're on fire, skin hot. Eyes squeezed shut as you're overwhelmed with sensations, Alex's mouth against your center, breath tickling the skin, driving you crazier. The same mouth you'd kissed only moments ago.

He adds another finger, pumping his hand against your core, eliciting more whimpers and moans from your lips. The wetness in your core growing. The heat in your lower belly growing.

You can't take it. "Alex," you whimper. Bitting your lower lip. There's no way you'll last longer than a couple of seconds. All edged out.

"Come for me," he utters, as choked up as you feel, his fingers buried inside you as he shifts, pressing his lips against your collar bone, nipping the the skin. You let go, coming against his hand, and the feel of his skin against yours.

You're consumed by bliss. Left gasping for breath.

Boneless as Alex gets up, unbuttoning his tight dark jeans, but not before rifling through his wallet for a condom.

You can't be bothered to pay him much attention.

Knocks ring out against the door, loud and insistent. Knocks like light taps that don't stop, a fly in your ear.

Miles.

And sure enough, "foods here! Al and Als much better looking bird," he jokes stretching bird as long as the sounds will let him.

You prop yourself up on an elbow, wreaking your brain for a response as Alex freezes, clad in a pair of boxers, condom in hand. Utterly useless.

"Matt won't leave us any if we dally," Miles adds, laughter clear in his tone.

"Actually," you try, not sounding nearly as disheveled as you feel, as you are, "I think the jet lags caught up to me."

"Oh is it like that is it," Miles calls back, voice full of glee, "well let me know if yah need me. Three is a part-eh after all," he crackles.

You let out a breath in relief, glad to be left alone. Again.

Really you should've just stayed in LA. Or London.

You could've done this in either place, uninterrupted.

"Just focus on me love," Alex cuts in, make short work of getting your shirt the rest of the way off, kissing the corner of your mouth, knowing how easily you could get lost in your thoughts, like him.

All the easier to understand him.

He unhooks your bra, hands massaging your tits, the brush of his fingers hardening the peaks of your breasts, as he pressed his lips hard against yours. You eagerly kissed him back, softer than before, still ridiculously satisfied from before, your hands loose as they curled around his neck, letting him shift you both, letting him settle his weight between your legs, finally full naked. His hips hard against yours.

Your lips eager against his mouth, already yearning for another taste of him. Alex's hand threading through your hair, as he shifts, finding your core with his hard cock, entering you in one swift thrust.

You cry out into his mouth, you hand gripping his back. Your fingers finding their way into his hair. Soft despite the amount of product. Had to be expensive.

You hold him against you, loving finally having him the way you've refused to admit to yourself that you wanted. You've been wanting Alex for weeks now. All the parts of of. The man who got pissed drunk at a pub, the man who'd bring you take out and fold your blankets, the man who kissed you.

He breaks the kiss, nuzzling his lips against the crook of your neck, inbetween moans, your name on his tongue, as he thrusts deeply into you, filling you up to the brim, as you clench around him. "Yah feel so good love," he groans, heady with passion.

Alex's pace relentless, all pent up want, the frustration of spending nights curled up with you on settees and beds, never being able to do more than look.

He fucks you, his teeth nipping the delicate skin at the base of your throat.

You gasp for breath, moaning his name like a prayer on your lips, wondering how the bloody hell you had ended up here. How lucky you were to have ended up here.

His hips against yours, his body flush against your's as his thrusts become erratic.

Your fingers digging into the skin of his back, as he comes against you. You’re exhausted. Spent. A day traveling by plane. A drive that lasted the entire day, and now this. You-you're not sure where this leaves you, where you go from here. This isn't exactly a standard way of-this isn't friends to more or strangers hitting it off, but you don't care. You'll figure it out, along with Alex.

Alex who slumps over on his side, lying next to you, looking completely fucked.

"I ruined your hair," you smile, completely out of it yourself, unable to summon any bite.

Alex laughs, unabashedly, his entire demeanor taking on a boyish air, "for once I don't give a damn."

"Are you going to go get food," you ask, rolling over so you can rest your head on his chest.

"Don't particularly want to move. Debating getting up for a smoke though."

"Cool," you reply, letting your lids slid shut, "I'm going to go to sleep then."

"I take it ya not hungry," Alex smirks.

"There's always Mcdonald's. At 3 am."

#Shadowplay #Alex Turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x reader #smut

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

the broken hearts club [branjie] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - im sorry i’ve been gone. <3

I need emotion, Novocaine, I need a numbing of my brain

I need somethin’ to take away the remains of your name

She rolls the ring between her fingers and wonders how it became the end of them when it should have been the beginning. The silver shines bright like it’s never been worn, no signs of wear and tear, no hint of tarnishing. It glows in a way that tells you it’s wearer has no tan line. Her’s is a solid strip of white. When her tears fall onto the diamond, she’s sure it cracks. Her heart does. Vanessa’s heart cracks every time.

And the way her blood rushes through the jagged-cut veins that sparkle rough like a diamond on a full moon sends a pounding to her head. Like a basketball on a concrete floor and the noise it makes could be footfalls or it could be breaking. In her defence, the world moves in slow motion now and she’s not sure if it’s moving at all. She’s numb from the brain down and it takes more time to fasten up her shoes than it does to remember her birthday but that’s how life is and sometimes you’ve got to pick your battles. She decides she doesn’t need groceries and instead purges their group calendar.

She tries to purge the group calendar just like she tries to cancel their wedding planner and she tries to send an email out to the invitees and remove the taster wedding cakes from their fridge and stop calling her flat theirs. She tries.

I need amnesia for a day and an umbrella for the rain

That hasn’t gone away since you said you didn’t need me

The first morning Vanessa feels up for a run, it’s raining and she curses fucking Brooke for this fucking rain because of course, the ice queen loved the rain. It rained the day she left and she’s damn sure it will always be raining when she thinks of her. Instead of a run, she takes the A train from Brooklyn to Central Park, desperate to find one piece of New York that isn’t tainted with memories of Blonde hair and the smell of lavender. Somehow they never ended up here so Vanessa spends her day sitting on a bench with an umbrella and a large coffee. Her sweater is pulled up over her chin and her sleeves, over most of her hands and she feels safer than she has in weeks.

When she gets home, she opens a bottle of wine and eats all the cake in the flat and calls it a success.

Lately been thinkin’ maybe

There’s a place we won’t feel so crazy

She deeps cleans the apartment after three and a half weeks. She is beyond desperate to remove the smell of Peonies and Hairspray that seems to have permeated her entire being, leaving her feeling surrounded and smothered. She vacuums behind the TV and washes the sofa cushions and cleans out all the cabinets. She puts all of her developed films of Brooke into an airtight box and takes it to her storage unit the next day along with two boxes of assorted knick-knacks and a suit that somehow ended up on her side of the closet. She sleeps easy that night, calmed by the frantic day and the scent of vanilla incense. She doesn’t dream. It’s a welcome change.

She converts Brooke’s side of the spare room into a proper darkroom, pinning up blackout curtains and carrying her big bath from college through the subway. She settles it in a corner and spends the next two days developing all the shots she’s been too preoccupied to do until the entire flat is dark and covered in tarp and she has to duck to make it from her bedroom to the kitchen. She drinks her coffee sat up on the counter and hears Brooke telling her to get down but she ignores the voice. The day is a win.

Been in a hazy mid-morning daydream

I found a shady spot that they saved me

She buys too much the first time she grocery shops for one and has to invite the Dreamgirls over to help eat it all. The next day she calls Yvie and she brings Scarlet over and they;re both still friends with Brooke and look uncomfortable the whole time until Vanessa tells them she won’t break if she hears her name or talks about weddings and they can finally tell about hoe Scarlet’s job photographing the Ballet Company is or how their wedding planning is going. She imparts the wisdom that an off-white dress will work better with Yvie’s skin tone and a blush tone will look warmer against Scarlet’s hair and that the lighting looks best cosy and that the flowers should be bought in bulk. She lets them know she’s just a phone call away and it almost feels like therapy except when they leave she feels crushingly alone.

She takes a bath with some muscle relaxer she found under the sink, a gift from one of Brooke’s dancer friends and sends thanks to the gods that New York garners enough money to pay their dancers well, feeling rich from the softness of her skin.

They said, “come be the newest member of the broken hearts club

We hate every little thing about the people that we love

She hates the way almond milk tastes, and how she will never be able to watch the nutcracker again and the way black and white films make your head hurt a little if you watch them for too long. She hates how the sheets are always cold and the bed is never made and how Brooke used to do it all but there’s no Brooke anymore so she’s going to have to learn how to fold a fitted sheet all on her own. She hates how she still find white cat hairs on her black clothes and black cat hairs on her white clothes and blonde hair in her shower drain two months later when it gets blocked.

She hates how her Spotify still recommends her opera and how Netflix remembers Brooke’s love of true crime, even though some of the thumbnails scare the shit out of Vanessa. She hates how she booked the time off work to plan wedding stuff and somehow the entire freelance photography world seems to know because even though Vanessa is well known and well regarded, she cannot seem to get a gig anywhere and can’t even resort to weddings because she’s too scared she’ll end up crying into her camera.

She hates how she feels when she passes the subway stop for the New York Ballet and how she feels when she sees a blonde updo in a crowd and she hates how she feels.

And she hates that she still loves her.

She hates it.

We’re the let-down, we’re the lied-to, where the lost go and it finds you

Where the lonely make the lonely feel less lonely, and we’re dyin’ to

Invite you to stay, and take away the pain

‘Cause misery loves company, so hey, what do you say?”

She manages to feel lost in her own home sometimes and it’s an eerie feeling that only changes over time as she allows her space to open up and become shared again. She buys a cactus in the first step towards healing and talks to it intermittently. Soon she has an apiary on her fire escape, filled with potted plants and fairy lights and it’s a little escape from how claustrophobic the flat can feel.

She joins a running club and rediscovers the routes she and Brooke would run in the days when they were still fresh and young and felt like exploring. She still can’t touch their regular routes but she likes the older ones. She gets a coffee at their spot and the barista is new so they don’t look at her with a familiar face of pity. She starts to get bookings again, people coming to New York wanting a travel photographer to follow their adventures, young influencers wanting to feel like real celebrities and she gets paid more to take photos of some than she used to in entire years.

She knows she could move but she is tied to her place with heartstrings.

And at first, I wasn’t sure if there’s even a cure

For what I’m feelin’, 'cause what I’m feeling’s been feelin’ more and more absurd

Her therapist emails her on a Tuesday, suggests it’s been a while and she should come in for a chat. She blindly agrees and puts on her comfiest Yoga pants, knowing it’s going to be a long day. He suggests she should go see a show, watch her dance and make peace with the way her body moves and the way her mind has moved on and she blindly agrees to that too, too overwhelmed by the suggestion to really think. Her homework is to book it and she is scheduled in for the day after the performance.

She books the performance of Giselle with little thought, picking the best seats in the house like she always did. They are front and centre in an area usually reserved for friends and family but it must be a little thin on the ground that night because she can snag her familiar chair with ease. The amount it takes from her bank account should hurt but she’s realising more and more that maybe this is healing.

She buys a new dress for the occasion and sets it aside, knowing it will be the only thing untouched by Brooke. It’s a powerful feeling.

The repeating in my head of every last word that you said

Feels like ever since you left, you still won’t leave me

It’s a beautiful show and Brooke dances like she’s moving on air. She glides, ever jete a flying move. Her partnering is divine and for the first time, Vanessa isn’t jealous of the man that gets to hold her. It doesn’t feel like a victory when he lets go.

She feels every move Brooke makes, wants to say that the blue eyes are piercing into her but it isn’t true. Because Brooke dances for the back row, eyes cast far back and Vanessa is allowed the moment to fade away. She comes out of it feeling refreshed and free and skips down the steps lightly.

Her therapist tells her he’s proud and she feels it deep in her soul like a new fire. She hopes it will stay lit.

I guess if you can’t beat 'em, join 'em

That’s what they always say

Let’s go inside, let’s coincide

And I’ll commensurate

She lays in bed on a Wednesday morning and lets herself remember that night. She thinks about the way it felt to open the door to an empty foyer, to feel uprooted and upended, life on its back legs rearing blindly as she tried to hold on for dear life. She remembers it like one remembers their parent’s divorce, messily and full os blame and she hopes that Brooke will never do it to another person because at that moment she felt so lost.

She grounds herself, hands twisted in her duvet, head heavy on the pillow.

She gets up, makes a coffee and waters her plants.

She starts afresh.

Singin’, we’re the newest members of the broken hearts club

We still feel pretty lonely and we wish we didn’t, but

She stands on her fire escape at 4 am on a Thursday. Camera in hand she watches the world pass by as the sun rises, a golden glow reflecting off the highrises of the city she loves so dearly. Below her, on the street, she misses the flash of Blonde that jogs as the night fades. The shots she takes that morning sell for thousands. She calls then ‘Brooke Lynn’.

We’re the newest members of the broken hearts club

And we all kinda hate it, but it’s easier than love

#rpdr fanfiction #pinkgrapefruit #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #akeria davenport #silky nutmeg ganache #angst #song fic #s11 #from someone who took too many sciences at a-level #and clearly needs another creative outlet #I have no free time #help #concrit can suck my dick #(but feel free)

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