#and it doesn’t help that my brain’s been pulling on my focus trying to dissociate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maybedefinitely404 · 5 years ago

Text

Day 29: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 4)

Aaaand, part 4, the finale!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 29: You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet.

Content warnings: discussion of conversion therapy/after effects, PTSD, food mentions, anxiety/panic attacks, internalized homophobia, mentions of the foster system/abuse (mental, emotional, neglect, past eating disorder), minor self harm/blood, mentions of dissociating.

Word count: 5.1k

Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place.

Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.

“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement.

“You’ve been humming for half an hour!”

He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.

“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the-”

“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”

Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time.

“Okay, but what does that ha-”

“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for half an hour, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!”

That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was not intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds.

“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table.

“I- I don’t-”

Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal.

“You’re my soulmate!”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed.

“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”

Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.

-----

Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he knew that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his soulmate.

He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years.

His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket.

It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-

No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.

Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!

His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer.

“Hey, kiddo?”

Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting.

“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”

Oh, he was holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched.

“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”

Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath.

“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”

He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.

“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”

Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.

“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

-----

Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug.

The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator almost lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was cute.

“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing.

“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went.

Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…

“Virgil, hold these for me.”

When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.

“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”

He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.

The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet.

“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”

Virgil nodded.

“Are you nonverbal?”

“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”

“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”

“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.

“It’s a guy.”

“How did that go?”

“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”

Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table.

“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis.

“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”

“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”

Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can not miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”

His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”

“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.

“Are you crazy?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”

“Why not explain the cause for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.

“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”

“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”

Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”

“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”

-----

V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.

R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!

V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.

R: I still feel bad DX

“He feels bad, what do I do?!”

“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”

“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”

V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?

R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!

V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.

“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”

“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”

“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”

R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.

“...That’s not what I expected.”

“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”

“Seconded.”

V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now.

R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was.

R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?

“Shit, fuck, who do I answer that?”

“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”

“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”

“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”

V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.

R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that

V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now.

R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma.

V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that.

R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.

V: No, I’m okay.

R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all.

“I… oh. He’s… wow.”

“I agree with your sentiment.”

“I like this boy already.”

“DAD!”

R: Your dad’s a prof?

V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?

R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.

V: Lol he thinks he knows you

R: You have two dads?

V: Yep

R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.

V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?

R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND.

V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by

One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband's waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in.

-----

In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.

He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”

“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”

Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”

“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.

“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”

Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”

There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.

“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”

“Hello.”

“Salutations.”

“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.

“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”

“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”

“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”

“I’ll start it if I want to!”

The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone.

“He’s all grown up.”

“That he is, my love.”

-----

Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket.

“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”

To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.

“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”

Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”

“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies.

“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back.

“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself.

“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better.

Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers.

They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”

“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands.

“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”

“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he could talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”

Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”

“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”

“Why?”

“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”

“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard.

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but I came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”

“How many kids were in the home?”

“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But they circulated, and I was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”

“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda.

“My foster homes weren’t better.”

“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid.

“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”

Roman grimaced.

“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”

“You were a kid, Virgil.”

“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… that home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”

Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued.

Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food.

“I…”

Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.

“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little.

“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.

“What?”

“Were you in ther-... CT for three months?”

“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.

“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought.

“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. That must have been…”

“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was not your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.

“Can you look at me?”

He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was not looking forward to that disaster.

“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. You’re amazing.”

Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness.

“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions.

“And me calling you amazing…”

“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while.

Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process.

Would you guys like a collection of one shots surrounding Virgil’s gradual warming up to his new family, a decent mix of angst and fluff? I have some ideas.

Thanks for reading! Now, a taglist.

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch

@ray-does-stuff

@chimneychimney

@i-cant-find-a-good-username

@falsemood

@wtf-casper

@cpmansion

@killjoyjay

@fandomfan315

@anxious-darkwolf

@eternalmoonlight19

@winterwynd

@espepspes

@ironwoman359

@willowaudreykeyes

@mycatshuman

@weweregoddesses

@im-an-anxious-wreck

@imknittingahat

@surohsopsisofclouds

@korsaromantic66

@astraheart04

@quartz-z

@mikalya12

@koalas-in-coffee

@isabelle-stars

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@existentialeggdogg

@pumpkinminette

@coffeeflavoredtears525600

@wyvern-tales

@heyhalloween

@grayson-22

@bullet-tothefeels

@mostlikelytokillyouwithaspoon

@lovelivingmydreams

@sarcasmremovedsoul

@crofterskinnie

@blissbiscuit

@baka-monarch

@lostspacecat

@green-call

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #sanderssides #sanderssidesau #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

273 notes · View notes

madd-information · 4 years ago

Note

Have you watched Kati Morton's new video about Maladaptive Daydreaming? What do you think about it?

[intro]

For years, I believed maladaptive daydreaming to be a form of dissociation, but it could also be added to the DSM as its own diagnosis, since it does have its own set of unique symptoms. Either way, at this time maladaptive daydreaming is not listed in the DSM as a diagnosable mental illness.

I was concerned because her last couple videos on the topic were very confusing to watch and seemed to conflate MD with the inner-worlds of DID. It looks like she has done some more research on it and is going to make a more informed video. This is great and I deeply appreciate that she’s taking the time to do a proper dive into this.

The closest diagnosis would be DPDR, or depersonalization derealization disorder. And this is the diagnosis given to those of us who struggle with dissociation. [explanation of DPDR]

Gonna need you to source that Katie, I’ve never heard an MD researcher say something like this. When they talk about MD they call it a behavioral addiction with OCD features which is related to dissociative absorption (different from derealization and depersonalization, these two dissociative experiences are not particularly significant in MD, though they can happen.)

These experiences are extremely common. It's estimated that half of all adults have had at least one episode of DPDR. 50% of people. That is a huge amount of people.

Cool but not sure it’s at all relevant to the video topic.

Also, it's important to mention that in 2016, four researchers put together the Maladaptive Daydreaming Scale, or MDS. This is a 14-item self-reported scale, meaning that you as the patient answers 14 questions based on your own maladaptive daydreaming experience.

It’s a 16 item scale now, it was changed very early on and has been 16 for years. This is a very small and forgivable knitpick, just fyi.

The MDS focuses on the content of our daydreams, how intense the urge to continue daydreaming is, and how much it impairs our ability to function in our lives, and the benefits and costs of our daydreaming. I am not personally familiar with this scale, nor have I used it in my practice, but I've linked the research article in the description if you wanna learn more about it.

A good description, and here’s that link again for anyone who wants to read about the finer details of this scale.

When it comes to maladaptive daydreaming, it isn't just feeling out of body or environment. We can create very intense and detailed daydreams with plots, characters, and very lifelike issues and storylines. Some people will get the plots for their daydreams from their real lives, while others can create a utopian place unlike their current experience.

Yep, decent overview of content, though content doesn’t matter that much. Also, use of “we”. Is Katie Morton an MDer or was this a creative choice? I don’t know, just a passing thought.

We can find ourselves staying in these daydreams for various amounts of time. And some of my patients have reported staying in them for hours. And many of you have let me know that you struggle to get out of them at all, spending days in this other life that we've created.

Yep, good overview, but more importantly she’s listening to her patients and the feedback of MDers in her audience.

...there are many causes for this, and the first I wanna address is trauma triggers. If we've experienced a trauma in our life, things that remind us of that time or situation can pull us into a flashback, cause us to dissociate, or in many cases push us into our maladaptive daydreams.

When our brain and the rest of our nervous system feels overwhelmed and unable to deal with what's going on in the moment, it can pull us out of our current situation through dissociation. I always talk about that, like our brain pulling the ripcord. And it can also utilize maladaptive daydreaming. It's a way to cope or get through an overwhelming situation when we don't have other skills to help calm our nervous system down. So we just rely on what we know, and that can be daydreaming or dissociating. It's almost like this coping skill protects us from having to feel traumatized again and so it takes us away, you know, drops us into a much safer and happier place.

Trauma is always talked about first when people do overviews of MD. She’s not wrong but just to add more information; about a quarter of MDers report trauma, the other 75(ish)% don’t. It’s a significant number but trauma is not the only pathway to MD. Sometimes people walk away from these videos feeling like “well, I don’t have any trauma, maybe I don’t really have MD”. That’s not a comment on what Katie has presented, she does go into other things below, just adding on.

Another cause or trigger can be high levels of stress or anxiety. We can slowly feel ourselves become more and more overwhelmed until our brain pulls us out of our reality and into a new one, aka our maladaptive daydreams. In short, we can want to stay in these daydreams to feel better and safer, but it can get in the way of us functioning in our life.

Yep

[audience anecdotes]

...Which is why even the term maladaptive daydreaming is used. Maladaptive means it's not providing adequate or appropriate adjustment to the environment or situation. So the daydreaming is only holding off the bad things. It's not actually making anything better or helping us process any of the upset. It's really just a temporary check-out, which can be helpful sometimes, but if it's happening all the time or making it hard for us to focus at work, school, or with our friends and family, we should find other, better ways to cope.

Exactly.

Which moves us into how we can better cope so that we don't get sucked into our daydreams for hours, days, or even weeks. And first up is mindfulness. Now, I know that term is overused now and super annoying but in order for us to know when we even need to use other coping skills, we have to know when the daydreaming urges are happening. So often we aren't aware of what we were feeling or thinking until it's too late and we're already pulled into our daydream. And at that point it's more difficult or even impossible for us to pull ourselves out. Therefore, we have to start being more aware of what we're going through.

[continues explanation]

Perfection.

And so next is figuring out ways to calm our system down. This can take the form of a distraction technique like going for a walk or organizing a part of our home, coloring, watching a show, playing a video game, you name it. These calming things could also be more process-based, things like journaling or talking to your therapist or a friend about it, or even using an impulse log. [Continues with calming things]

Good examples, MD researchers specifically recommend keeping a log.

We're also going to have to find some coping skills that we can use when we're starting to feel overwhelmed and wanting to go back into the daydream. Maybe we hold an ice cube in our hands, clap our hands, count the number of things in the room that are blue, brown, black… whatever works for you, do it.

Good stuff.

And it's okay for something not to work. We just have to try it to know and then move on to something else.

Important point to make, happy to see this.

Once we have a few things that work, write them down in your phone or on a post-it note so that you can see it and be reminded when you need it. We will also need to come up with some ways to pull ourselves out of the daydream. And I know this is gonna be harder and we may even wanna call upon helpful and supportive people in our lives to assist us.

Good advise.

We could, because it's our daydream, right, we could put a big door in our daydream and we can choose to go through it and pull ourselves out, or have people in the daydream that remind us of our real life and tell us to go back.

A good suggestion. Q, on the Parallel Lives Podcast (I can’t remember which episode off the top of my head), did something like this by turning to his characters and saying “ok, take 5 guys, we’ll pick it up at xtime”, and many people have found that to be a clever and helpful method.

Now, I know this is really, really hard… which rolls into my final tip, which is to work with a therapist to heal from the trauma or to learn how to better cope with the anxiety or stress we're feeling. Working to heal or process through the reason our maladaptive daydreaming exists in the first place will ensure that we don't need it anymore.

Absolutely seek professional support if you can.

... if we heal the issue we're struggling to cope with, the urge to use those unhelpful coping skills will go away altogether.

[outro]

I think this last point will frighten a lot of MDers. It’s probably the brevity of the video that didn’t allow her to really expand on this, and I certainly don’t want to put words into her mouth that she may not have intended. Don’t be afraid of losing your MD. “Curing” Maladaptive Daydreaming does not mean “I’ll never see my world again.” You’ll always have the capacity to daydream like this, you were born this way, but it *doesn’t* have to be maladaptive. Like overeating, you will never not eat, you will fix your relationship with food.

Good video overall, brief but accurate and includes the standard helpful advise.

#maladaptive daydreaming #actuallymadd

42 notes · View notes

misskittysmagicportal · 5 years ago

Text

I’m A Creep

Fandom: The Messenger Jack x Rin Davies

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: suicide discussion, oral sex, penetration, mention of masturbation, angsty whomp because OOOOF is Jack a Whomp!character

Note: The events of this fic contain spoilers for those of you who havent seen The Messenger. It takes place after the end of the movie. Read at your own risk if you haven’t seen it! If you want it’s free on Tubi :)

Present Day:

Jack stood beside Rin in the dead of night watching her sleep for just a moment. Only a moment because she roused the instant she sensed him breathe. Sitting up, she quickly reached inside the nightstand. He knew her routine, Rin was impulsive about making sure her leather motorcycle gloves were on before she let him in.

Jack wordlessly pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers.

Rin lifted her covers and opened her legs to him. Obliging, Jack lowered himself onto her showering her neck with kisses. His tongue and lips trailing down along her collarbone, erection hard against her thigh. A hand found its way under Rin’s t-shirt and over a naked breast where he pinched at a nipple.

“Jack,” she was breathless. “Stop. Don't touch my skin, please.”

Jack pushed himself up by the arms, “How is this enjoyable to you, duck?” A northern term of endearment. “My thighs ah touchin’ you aren't they?” The moonlight caught his eyes as he teased her with the head of his cock. “What about this, inside you?” Suggestively whispered.

Rin moaned but held her cool. “It’s not the same. Like you said, that's inside. It's just my.. skin. From my..” her voice trailed off.

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckkin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed her. Tongue pushing inside of Rin, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered, just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me”

--------

Several Weeks Before:

Rin sat alone at a center table in the middle of the visitation room. This wasn’t her first rodeo, probably won’t be her last. She flexed her hands outwards the leather of her gloves cracking and flexing in a satisfying manner. No one was going to come and see her. Besides, the solitude allowed her to quietly spy on all the other nutters around the room.

Just to her left Rin noticed a pretty redheaded woman and her son as they sat across from probably the most attractive guy ever in an institution. There was a tenseness to the way he sat, shoulders hunched and hands between his legs. His hair unruly and a blank stare that wasn’t really focusing on- she came to realize- his sister and nephew. Rin knew him from group therapy where he was equally quiet, eyes glassy from a psych med cocktail. The majority of his speaking hours tucked away in that overbearing therapist’s office.

“Jack, will you please just look at me?” his sister, Emma tried her best to reach out to her brother. “I.. I think Martin and I made a mistake.”

Jack only stared straight ahead between Emma and his nephew, Billy. The preteen looked uncomfortable and scared as his mother nudged him softly. “It's ok. Billy tell Uncle Jack.”

“I did, Mom” , his voice quiet. “I'm supposed to say no. That you should get me help before it's too late.” Rin watched as Billy folded his arms and laid his head down. “Only I can't. It's all night and day, Jack. I can't sleep because they don't have you.”

“Best leave him here with me then, Emma.” It was the first time anyone heard Jack speak in weeks. His sister had a posh accent, so Rin was surprised when Yorkshire dripped from his lips. “For good, right?”

“That's not fair. You are sick, Jack. You weren't caring for yourself. You.. you got too involved with that murder. You were hurting yourself,” Emma struggled with tears. “I want to take you home.”

“Oh like I'm some kind of fookin dog? Emma you and Martin made it clear I belong here. She's right, maybe it was all dad. That's traumatic you know.”

“You deserve someplace warm! A home. Please, Jack. I found this in your things.” She slid a newspaper clipping towards her brother. “That's the boy who drowned. Why.. why didn't you tell me?”

“Loads of kids drown in pools,” Jack stated bluntly with a shrug. “Why should your pool be any different?”

“I never said it was our pool.”

“I recognized the address in the article”

“Jack, it's from two years ago.”

“I got lucky. Ah we doon here? I have walls to stare at. Here Billy you can have this back,” from between his knees he produced a glass paperweight with a scorpion inside. “Tell all ya mates Crazy Uncle Jack sends his loov”

Jack tried to stand but Emma grabbed his arm. This was Rin’s cue to swoop in. She swiftly moved from her table to theirs.

“JACKIE!’ I've been looking for you everywhere!” His eyes panicking in her direction. “I'm Wren,” she took her glove off and reached a scarred hand in Emma's direction. “But my brother couldn't say it so you can call me Rin” She smiled brightly.

Emma tentatively shook Rin’s hand, smiling in turn. Rin took a moment as her mind’s eye zoned in on what was inside of Jack’s sister. It was a loneliness, a desperation to take care of her little brother but protect her son from the same fate. But most importantly Rin felt a small tingling of warmth from somewhere deep inside of Emma’s heart. It was white and pure and instantly recognizable as hope. Even though it was tiny it was growing and starting to spread, and Rin knew Emma was eager to share that with her brother.

“Wow,” Rin blurted, “I wish my brother was as invested in me as you are. You’re a good person, Emma. Trust me,” she winked. “Woman’s intuition.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and studied the crazed looking woman standing between her and Jack. The scars on Rin’s hand raised some alarms, but Emma ignored them. She omitted a relief and let go, “Well thank you. Can you talk some sense into my brother?”

Moments later, with the visitors gone, Rin sat down in Emma’s place. “Thank you is a start,” she teased Jack.

He rolled his eyes and slowly turned in her direction to face her dead on. The intensity of his eyes took Rin by surprise. “Thank you,” the sarcasm poured like a waterfall.

Rin took off her other glove. “Now, Mr-”

“Jack is fine.”

“Jack. Tell me,” Rin feigned a German accent, “Und why do zey sink you are crazy.”

He blinked slowly.

“You got sectioned. What bullshit excuse did they force you to believe? Because it seems like Lovely Emma is desperate to get you out, and we know how hard that is.”

Jack took an impossibly deep breath, “Schizo-effective disorder with some dissociation, post traumatic stress disorder, non-suicidal self injury disorder and depression.”

“Fuck me, that's a trail mix of bonkers. Now ask me”

Jack closed his eyes. They were shut for so long that Rin was certain he had fallen asleep having given in to his meds. His hunched, thin body sort of folded a bit in on itself. A moment of possible self-soothing when he started to sway.

“Jack?” Rin's tone fell quietly with concern. She poke his arm carefully avoiding touching the skin. “Darling what cocktail did these quacks put you on.” She was an expert after all these years; if the drugs were working, no way would he be this much of a zombie.

Green blank eyes hidden behind enviable eyelashes attempted to focus “Seroquel. Clozapine?” His words start to slur a bit. “Fine. How fucking barmy are you?”

“Well,” the young woman softened, “I have suicidal ideations with self-injury tendencies myself, severe clinical depression, a bit of the old borderline personality disorder and wait for it..” she practically whispered a few inches from Jack’s face, “total emotional attachment to partners.”

The skin around Jack’s eyes crinkled as he squinted just enough to indicate his hazed brain was trying to process everything Rin just unloaded. His lips parted to speak but he paused resulting in a gobsmacked expression. “You’re barking.”

“Says the sexy scarecrow with journo clippings of dead boys.” Rin pursed her lips and crossed her arms, “Why are you really in here Jack.”

“I’m fucking mad.” It was matter of fact.

“To quote the Cheshire Cat, we’re all mad here, love. Look at me,” she held her hands aloft to display gnarled and prominent scars covering both hands in their entirety. “I developed a gift or two by primary school. See I can touch a person, and I know what they are feeling. Except it.. It goes deeper than that. I can PICTURE their true selves. It’s a bit overstimulating, but no one can lie to me. Not really. Doesn’t do much for my sex life. Or lack of one really. Honestly, you put a cock in your mouth only to find out the guy you’re with is fantasizing about slitting your throat and wanking in your blood.”

Jack shook his head, “Jesus christ.”

“Well yes! My parents were religious zealots, right? They got wind of my gifts. Tried to use me in the church, but I rebelled. Long story short, darling Mumsy and Papa decided if they may be stuck my hands in boiling grease I wouldn’t be able to use it anymore. It’s not in my hands though. It’s in my skin,” Rin smiled almost pleasantly. “Sometimes I get a bit over the edge. I stop shielding myself from the pure air around folks, I suffocate in it. Then,” now she held out her wrists, “I have my little accidents.”

Jack’s mouth hung agape. His brows furrowed in confusion, “You are off you’re fucking nut.”

“That’s all relative. Now, you can tell me why they REALLY sectioned you. What power or ability are they masquerading as mental illness, or I can find out my way.” Rin shrugged.

“Why the fuck do you care? I’m sleeping at night. I have food and a bed and a shower.”

“Und electro-shock zerapy, und coma inducing psychopharmaceuticals, und most importantly you has lost your voice und a chance to harness your ability correctly.” that mock German accent again. “You shouldn’t be here, Jack. Emma certainly doesn’t think so, and neither do I. You’re special. Or that bitch shrink wouldn’t have made you the living dead.”

Jack snorted followed by a rather loud. “Just fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. FUCK OFF!” he screamed in Rin’s face. Not once did she flinch, arms crossed again in a challenge. Disgusted by her, Jack kept bellowing his words thick with anger and cotton from the meds, “I DON'T BELONG OUT THERE EITHER! I DON'T BELONG IN HERE! I DON’T FUCKING BELONG ANYWHERE. HE’S DEAD. SHE’S DEAD. EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF THE CUNTS IS DEAD! DEAD DEAD DYING! JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

He shot up out of the chair to leave, but Rin caught his large hand. Skin to skin, hands so small together they barely covered just his one. Instantly her body stiffened as she gasped for air. Tears immediately stung her eyes as she crammed them shut. There in her mind was just a large body of water. Ocean waves crashed overhead as she sank far below the surface. Dark, cold, horrifying that sensation of being drowned. Rin choked on the last bit of oxygen in her lungs and started to suffocate. The hand she held brought her mind’s eye around to opening under the water to see Jack floating near-motionless in front of her. It took all of her strength to push against the tide towards him where she held his face in her hands. Death and decay flashed above them, the dead peering down from boats just waiting for Jack to return to the surface.

Rin strained to convey that tiny bit of hope Emma had passed along to her earlier as she pressed her forehead into Jack’s in the icy deep. There was no reason in particular that she was drawn to him. Not in the hospital or here trying to save him from drowning slowly. Was he attractive, undoubtedly, but that wasn’t all or it. Maybe it was now that she knew he was a messenger, a harbinger of death. That was itself a form of an empathic gift. Or it was just compassion.

Suddenly Jack’s eyes burst open. In that languid way your body moves underwater, he pushed her away. His arms and legs thrashed around in a panic as if he only just realized he was allowing this place to kill him. There was an instant loss, and Rin’s inner self slammed into a brick wall. The physical Jack had severed the connection between her body and his. To resurface that suddenly forced Rin gulping in blessed oxygen that she never really lost. It was an illusion, where the two of them had been. He really had shoved her back though, she realized that now. Storming out of the visitation center, Jack left Rin alone to cry.

--------

Several days later

Rin lounged against the wall outside of Jack’s room with her gloves firmly in place. Patients weren’t SUPPOSED to fraternize outside of the common rooms, but Rin had been here a few times before. She knew which orderlies and nurses to finess, and which to avoid. In this case Jerry was the giant, affable St Bernard of a man that kept watch in this particular hallway.

“Wren back so soon?” he teased. “What are you doing hanging around the human handbook for the recently deceased?”

“Delightful, Jer. How is he? I mean really.” Rin hooked her thumb in the direction of the room.

“Easiest patient I’ve dealt with on account of he rarely speaks, pops his meds and keeps to himself. Gave us a bit of a row when he first got here, but I like the guy. I don’t know what to believe though. His sister’s been sniffing around administratives.” The orderly shrugged his massive shoulders. “Heard you took quite the piss on visitation day.”

“I didn’t take the piss!”

“Did ya do your handsy thing,” Jerry made jazz hands.

Rin’s eyes almost rolled back in her head, but suddenly there was a figure in the doorway which caused her to jump. “How about we don’t talk about the nutter like he isn’t 10 feet away and only 27 years old?” Jack insisted. His arms crossed and shoulders sagged in their usual way.

“Can we talk?”

Before Jack could truly answer, Rin had already pushed past him and sat down on his bed. His mouth hung somewhat agape before he eventually joined her. Jack attempted to sit close, just for some human contact, but the young woman beside him shied away.

“Right,” a retort. “You’ve started being just as bloody fucking annoying as they were.”

Startled, “Who?”

“You know those.. Schizo delusions I’m here for.”

“The dead?”

Jack’s green eyes narrowed and Rin knew there was a sarcastic remark just sitting there waiting to be released. Instead he curled his posture as if he was trying to fold in on himself. Make himself smaller, less noticeable. “Dissociations sparked by my father’s suicide.”

“Psycho babble bullshit jargon. Congratulations, you’ve become a parrot.” Rin waved her hand, “Jack has anyone ever-.” There was a hesitation.

“Has anyone ever what? Go on, enlighten me then”

Rin started stripping her gloves off but thought better of it. A sense of foreboding, of drowning and clutching her chest for hair flashed across her mind. The loneliness emanated from Jack without her touch. That empathic conduction of her skin. Reaching instead to place the soft leather against his cheek, her thumb brushed his bottom lip. Her eyes searched for him in that moment where time stood still before a mouth replaced a thumb.

To not only Rin’s surprise but his own, Jack didn’t recoil. His body relaxed as instinct took hold. There was a fervor in hands that got tangled up in hair. Tongues fought each other as arms made their way around bodies in an embrace. They held one another tight, the desperation apparent.

The spell broke when Jack laid Rin down on the bed and let his warm mouth trail down her neck. He was awkward and hungry like a teenager. He fumbled around her chest to attempt massaging her breast.

A snort came from Rin simply to hide the panic of rushing water when Jack’s lips came into contact with her skin. Maybe hers found it easier to beg off that inner eye from opening, but now she didn’t have a choice. They weren’t as deep with the surface just rippling only a few inches away.

Before she started to lose oxygen again, Rin began to squirm. “ Stop. Please?”

Jack sat up and faced forward as if nothing had transpired. His cheeks flushed and a hand tugged at his tee-shirt embarrassingly then stuffed between his legs. He blinked a few times as he breathing calmed.

“I only came to ask you if anyone had ever shown you affection. Held you. Emma.. Emma” Rin inhaled deeply as she forced Jack to hold her glove hand. “I know she sort of longs to hug you.” Back on his cheek to make him look at her. “Obviously I got my answer,” she laughed.

Jack silently replied by pushing his forehead into Rin's. They laid down again this time with their heads on his pillow legs and arms tangled up in each other. Jack nuzzled the edge of his nose into the skin behind her ear; her breath caught. Then the couple seemingly melted together.

“Jack you seem less-” fingers twisted up in his curls.

“Like a walking coma patient?” hand gripped the thick of her thigh. Then reaching a shelf above Rin Jack seized one of those creepy glass paperweights housing a floating tarantula. Turning it over underneath to show a tiny white envelope. “I started hiding my meds. Pass them along to my sister when she visits.”

Just under the surface of the water, still struggling for air exploded before Rin's eyes. Perhaps she had passed something between Emma and Jack. Was it her own faith that was transmitted to him? That first touch that woke him up after all this time.

The next few weeks became a game of trial and error. Of how little or much Rin and Jack could consume of each other. Kissing was no longer an issue once the meds began to wear off, lips and tongues and mouths. It felt more like standing ankle deep in a bathtub. Warm and comforting; it was Jack that was overpowering.

Eager to make up for a very long very lost amount of time. He stumbled along Rin's body uneasily because of how little clothing she removed at first. Not that he was in a rush to reveal what was underneath his oversized shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t the one recoiling when the stimulation overwhelmed.

“I'll take off my shirt. Touch me here, but where the fabric of my bra is. Tease the nipple with just your fingertips. No that's.. maybe under? Touch them. Oh God. Now your mouth. Right there. Are you.. you took your shirt off too?” (She marveled at how defined, muscular Jack's body seemed despite his slight stature)

Jack took initiative now and slid his fingers inside of Rin. He pumped them a few times guided by her ``Oh.. maybe you can touch me.. Do you feel.. It’s like a bud or a kernel.. Here let me.. It’s just right.. OH GOD. Right like.. ” And she would ride his hand and fingers that circled that bud.

Rin would cry out in surprise. Her body exploded in ecstasy. They weren't drowning anymore. Just swimming, bobbed under the water and surface. It was the sense-memory of suffocating, coupled with the dazzling pleasure of Jack's warm tongue as it teased her nipples, his strong fingers teasing her clit at the same time. His hot skin meshed with hers washed out by fear. She apologized as they scrambled to arrange themselves.

“Don't think I'm going anywhere for quite some time, my love.” His words changed with the possessive my in lieu of the once meaningless sentiment. He would steal a chaste kiss from Rin whose cheeks flushed to match his own as he made that familiar adjustment between his legs. In the future, Rin would come to him without a bra but reluctant to take her shirt off when Jack kept on never minding.

Jerry became an ally of sorts. He always had been on Rin's side after she read him her second section. It wasn't difficult to get him to believe in Jack's abilities. Staff has whispered down the corridors that Jack had suddenly found himself aware of a suicide attempt. That dead reporter Emma mentioned, his fiancé had taken more pills than Rin ever fathomed any number of her attempts. (She had a flare for dramatics: slit wrists) Jerry mentioned Jack had a tantrum the likes of a toddler screaming the name Sarah whatever over and over, pounding his fists into his head to make whatever haunted him. Sure enough, this Sarah was found nearly having bled out and foaming at the mouth.

“How would he even fucking know, poppet? Not unless Jack really was chatting up her dead fiancé “ As if that was all he needed, Jerry turned his back and caused distractions all the nights the Empath and her Beautiful Broken Man longed to be together.

It was stunning the way Jack learned to manipulate the system. Only Rin, and reluctantly Jerry, knew he pocketed his meds. Safely tucked away in those ugly arachnid globes in the pockets or purse of Billy and Emma. He started talking more in group therapy and far less in private sessions. Engaged in conversations with his sister and nephew, true ones that resulted in a simple smile or a laugh free from a facetious tone. To the staff and doctors those fucking psychopharmeceuticals worked. To Jack’s sister and nephew and whatever Rin was to him, there was a slowly lifting weight making the air around him lighter. Yet Rin kept her hands to herself.

More trial and error. In the midst of fervent kisses, Rin took Jack in her hand. A stroke or two was all she got in before he spasmed and came. The mortification that flashed in his eyes as he curled in a fetal position between her and the wall while she whispered reassurances in his ear. Touching him, caressing him and eventually taking him into her mouth became easier and longer with practice and patience.

They laughed into each other’s mouths before Rin let her tongue trail down over his stomach. Anxiously Jack took off his pants and boxers, lying backwards. He held the back of her head, moaned and twisted as she licked and sucked on him. His hips bucked and thrust upwards.

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

Present Day, Again

“Would it be so bad? I just want to feel you under me without fuckin clothes.” Jack took a chance and kissed Rin. Tongue pushed inside of her, but she stiffened. “Sweetheart,” now he whispered, just his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Please, love, just touch me?”

Rin took a moment to think. He wasn’t drowning anymore. She could push that old feeling out of her third eye and bury herself in new ones. She took a hold of her shirt and tossed it on the floor. She took the erection that twiced against her thigh and held it just outside of her pulsating and ready sex. With hands that sunk into her vunerable skin, Jack buried himself inside of her.

That fire from Emma all that time ago poured from Jack’s body into hers. It pushed back the water as he pumped rhythmically into Rin. Building into a frenzy quickly, his pelvis crashed into hers before she could really come around to what was happening. It briefly conquered the fears from before; caused hot tears to spring to her eyes that flowed uncontrolled down her cheeks.

In his fervor, Jack noticed and bent to kiss them away. The gesture she had made that first time, a thumb brushed across her cheek and lower lip as he slowed his pace. Wren,” he took to calling her that tentatively. “What is it?”

Before she could answer, Jack became distracted by something in the corner of the room. Eyes passed between Rin and whatever it was that she couldn’t fathom or see. She took his chin and focused it on her as they crashed together and apart again in another wave of building friction. It was too late though, he had abruptly pulled out and away from her.

“NO! STOP! LEAVE ME ALONE! CAN’T I HAVE ONE MOMENT OF FUCKING HAPPINESS WITHOUT ONE OF YOU LOOMING OVER ME LIKE A FUCKING PERV.” He used fists to beat out a rhythm on his temples as he scurried to the corner of his bed with knees up to his chest.

In the frenzy, Rin had been knocked to the floor. Jerry had rushed in, he was never too far away just in case. In a whirlwind, he picked Rin up with one hand and with the other attempted to intervene between Jack's fists and his head. What could either of them do? If attention was drawn to the room, surely the doctors would realize Jack had gone unmedicated for weeks. Jerry’s eyes wide gestured towards Rin’s hands. She shook her head, but Jack carried on.

“Go on Jenny Wren, there has to be something your hands can do. I’ll lose my job and you’ll be separated. They’ll put him back in the Zoo.” He was already yanking her arms forward and trying to remove her gloves before she could consent.

Rin knew The Zoo. It being rooms that could be monitored with two way mirrors. You got a bed and a blanket. They controlled when the lights came on and when they turned them off. No privilege, no real structure. They fed you, bathed you, and gave you “playtime” when they said. No matter how you suffered from mental illness no one deserved that. She would never forgive herself.

“JERRY LET ME DO IT MYSELF!” Rin bellowed if only to out yell Jack and his fit. “Make her go away! LEAVE ME ALONE” he cried underneath her. Her hands free, she flexed them a few times before joining Jack on the bed. She clutched his forearms and struggled to get a grip enough to pull them away from self-harm. “JACK! YOU HAVE GOT TO FUCKING STOP, MY DARLING.” She slid her hands over his temples before he could punch them anymore. She used the heels of her palms and pressed.

It was immediate, the way her mind opened to him. This time he was floating along the tide in a boat surrounded by what Rin could only guess were dead people. They grabbed and tugged on Jack’s clothes. Rin sat on the other side from him between two oars; she used one to swat at the ghosts who tried to pull them back in. But there, walking along the surface, was a beautiful young woman. Blonde hair flowed in waves down her back. Sarah.

“You said we would be together, Jack.” She was angry. “That’s what you told him when he warned you I overdosed. I survived that attempt, but not the second one. Where is he Jack? Why isn’t he here waiting for me?”

Jack stood up and the boat began to dangerously rock. Rin took his hand and he squeezed it in return. He bellowed at the dead woman, “YOU SURVIVED AND HE MOVED ON. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU BEING FUCKING STUPID, SARAH. WHAT I TOLD YOU WAS MEANT TO EASE YOUR GUILT. HE LOVED YOU. YOU WERE SO LOVED. HE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT YOUR MISTAKES. YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALONE. ALL OF YOU. I’M FUCKING DONE. MOVE ON. GO SOMEWHERE ELSE. I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE OF MY KIND. AND FUCK OFF BILLY TOO, MATE.”

“Jack?” Rin spoke softly. The hands gripped her tight in place of him. They started to pull her in with him because he was useless now. He stood up to them for possibly the first time in twenty years. They would take her instead then.

Jack seized Rin’s body before she could go over in his place. He held her fast and tight and shielded her from them. “NO. You don’t fucking get ANYONE I love. Not Billy. Not Emma. Not Martin. No Wren or Rin. AND YOU DON’T FUCKING GET ME ANYMORE.” He took the oar up in his free hand and swung it around the bodies in the water. He jabbed it forward like a sword at Sarah still pacing the side of the boat. “GO, SARAH. HE’S WAITING FOR YOU. I PROMISE THIS TIME” Jack insisted and pleaded.

Then it was so silent it deafened both Jack and Rin as they clung to one another in the boat. In a flash and explosion, they separated and landed back on the bed in the room in an institution. Jerry panted and pawed at the two of them dazed and uncertain. Jack blinked a handful of times with no recollection of what just took place in his head and Rin’s. They never knew or remembered Rin had learned.

Jack scoured the room for any sign of Sarah or anyone else. He rubbed his eyes a few times then sighed heavily. “I.. I want to go back to my room now.” It was matter of fact.

Jerry nodded and helped him back into his clothes. Jack stumbled a bit but managed to kiss Rin sweetly before being led away and down the hall. Rin knew Jerry would probably give him something to help him sleep at least for the night and probably into tomorrow. She was afraid Jack had woken up a second time. Not just from his nightmare of the last twenty years, but whatever happened between them. It was a price she had to pay sometimes when she helped. There was something Rin longed to say earlier. What made her cry was an ember somewhere deep inside of Jack that he had never experienced before. For the first time in his life, he had hope.

#robert sheehan #jack #the messenger #robert sheehan character fic #jack x rin davies

58 notes · View notes

captainillogical · 5 years ago

Text

Distant Lands Ch.15

Stranded on a planet with toxic conditions and nothing but the clothes on your back, your only means of survival lies within the gem that got you here in the first place.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

You’re floating.

Well, it seems like floating, for the most part, because you can’t really feel anything.

It's dark, and you can't see anything around you. You feel like you're drifting in your weightlessness, slowly, the warm, inky darkness all around is actually kind of calming.

You hear something.

It's a voice. Feminine, and familiar - you don't recognize it immediately. It's calling out to you, you think. You aren't really sure. You aren't really able to focus on it.

Suddenly, there's light all around you and you're standing in a field you've never seen before. There's a single tree on a small hill about twenty feet in front of you, and you're surrounded by tall grass.

Everything is.. pink. Huh. You're very confused.

"Wake up." You hear a voice say from behind you, distinct and clear as day.

You turn around, but there's nothing there. Just an endless field.

"Huh." You hear yourself saying out loud.

You turn back around to the tree, and there's something large in front of you. You nearly scream from being startled, but manage to only make a tiny noise of surprise - muffling your mouth with your hand.

A gentle, knowing chuckle erupts from the vaguely outlined pink figure in front of you.

"I didn't mean to startle you, I was only trying to get your attention." She says. You think you've heard this voice.. once or twice? You can't pinpoint it.

"Where am I?" You reply, feeling no threat from her.

"That isn't important."

"Why am I here? How am I here?" You ask, because these fields are endless, and you're having a hard time remembering what you were doing before this.

"You're here because someone desperately wanted you alive." The figure does not move.

"What does that mean?" You inquire, confused. “Am I dead?”

"It means you need to wake up. You have been here a while." The voice replies, a curious sway to it. It's so familiar, and yet you cannot grasp it.

"How do I wake up if I don't even know I'm asleep?" You look up to the head of the figure, outline blurry to your eyes.

"Like this, I think?" She giggles softly, tone almost.. motherly.

"Like what?" You hear yourself say, and when you blink your eyes she's suddenly gone.

There's no one in the field around you.

There's just miles and miles of long, swaying grass as far as the eye can see.

You feel a pull in your stomach.

You wake up and open your eyes - immediately seeing there are several pairs of eyes peering down at you, gasps filling the room.

“You’re awake!” Steven shouts, tears in his eyes. “I was so terrified you weren’t going to wake up.”

You feel bile rising in your throat. You need to vomit.

You get up from your position on the couch, and you can see that you’re back in Steven’s living room. You shrug off Garnet’s hand on your arm, and ignore the protesting voices in the room to run to the bathroom, slamming the door behind yourself and locking it.

Running to the sink, you hurl mostly saliva into the basin for a solid minute or two as you leave the water in the sink running. Your head is blank, as you’re mainly trying to get your insides to stop convulsing. You watch the water pour down the drain. Your hands are shaking. You cup some of the cold water in your hands and splash it on your face - it helps, a little. You grab the towel hung up on the rack beside you to dry your face, and when you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you in the medicine cabinet makes your stomach drop.

You.. you’re pink.

Your face, your hair, your skin - all of it, is pink.

The scream that comes out of you is pretty embarrassing, you won’t lie. There’s frantic knocking on the bathroom door.

“Y/N, are you okay!?” Steven yells out from beyond the thin door, and you can hear him rattle and shake the doorknob. Thank fuck you locked it.

“DO I LOOK OKAY?!” You scream back, frozen in place as you stare at your reflection.

“...can I come in?” You hear him reply in a rushed, worried tone.

“God no, I need some time.” You can’t stop looking at the mirror. It’s so strange. There’s a fairly large scar running from your forehead to down the side of your face near your hairline that you don’t remember having?

“I’ll be out here when you’re ready then, okay? We’re all here.”

“Huuuuuuuuurgh.” Is all you can reply, rubbing at your eyes and blinking, but your reflection doesn’t change. You’re not dreaming. You hear his footsteps walking away, and you turn the faucet off while you gather your thoughts.

You died. Somehow.

You’re having a hard time remembering how you died. It’s kind of too much to think about right now, if you’re honest with yourself. You’ll unpack that later.

You feel like there is something wrong with your brain. Everything’s a bit fuzzy. The reflection that stares back at you looks rather filthy, honestly, so you go over to the shower to turn the water on. Might as well keep your hands busy.

You start to pull your shirt off when you realize you don’t have a change of clothes. What you’re wearing is torn to shreds and so dirty, but you don’t know why. What were you doing before?

Regardless, you walk back over to the door to unlock it, and open it just a crack.

“Steven, could you give me a change of clothes?” You half yell out into the other room, and close the door gently again in wait. You lean against the door and space out as you watch the bathroom fill with steam from the shower, the sound of running water the only thing your brain can focus on.

A minute or two later, there’s a knock on the door. You move from your leaning position to open the door a few inches, seeing Steven’s face there.

“Here.” He holds out a fresh pair of pants and a t-shirt that are nicely folded for you. Must’ve been Pearl. His eyes roam your face in concern, eyebrows furrowing. “Take your time. We can talk after this when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” You reply, albeit a bit blankly. You feel like you’re a bit in a dissociative state that you’re unable to explain. You take the pile of clothes from his open palm.

“Do you want your cell phone?” He asks, pulling it out of his pocket to offer you. You nod, and take it from him.

“Appreciate it.” You say, and he watches your face for a brief second, eyes flickering between yours. And then he closes the door softly with a click.

You lock it.

You walk over to the sink, leaving your phone on the counter without a second thought. You place your clean clothes on the toilet lid, and take your clothes off, starting with your pants. They’re utterly filthy and torn in a few places, what the hell? You toss them over by the garbage can near the toilet. No point in keeping those.

You take off your shirt, and notice something weird.

There’s a.. scar on your stomach. It’s fairly large, but it’s healed. You don’t remember getting this at all. You’re so fucking confused right now.

You refuse to put any more thought into it, as it would be counterproductive anyway. You take the rest of your underwear off, and toss everything into a pile by the garbage can. None of it is salvageable. What the fuck were you doing?

You pull the shower curtain back, letting a cloud of steam wash over you. You get in one foot at a time, the bottom of this tub is missing the grip mat for some reason and you’d prefer not to fall on your ass. Once you’re underneath the stream, your shoulders sag in relaxation as the hot water runs down your body. You feel like you haven’t taken a shower in ages.

You grab the shampoo, scrubbing your hair down and rinsing that out. You pour way too much conditioner into your hand and figure fuck it, and slather your hair in that. You stand there for a moment, watching suds wash down the drain in a swirl.

You space out for a while. You’re not sure how long.

You take your time rinsing your hair of the conditioner. You notice dirt underneath your fingernails, when you normally keep them pretty clean. What the hell. You move to grab the bar of soap on the little shelf on your left, but misjudge a footstep - you slip, hands knocking all the bottles down to the tub in a loud crash as you hit your head on the side of the tub.

“Y/N!? ARE YOU OKAY IN THERE?” You hear Amethyst shout from outside the door.

“Peachy!” You yell back monotonously, seeing stars and groaning.

You sit up groaning, your head spinning. Hot water is pouring on you, running down your face and shoulders.

Suddenly you remember the petrified look Spinel gave you before you kissed her and pushed her away, and you freeze. Your breathing picks up, and you slam a hand over your mouth as you feel yourself retch again.

Spinel.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

You vomit again, violently this time. Nothing comes up, but your body convulses and makes you puke up bile, acid burning the inside of your throat. The hot water sprays down on you as you shake uncontrollably.

You remember everything. The gem eater, the tunnels, bleeding, dying. Spinel.

You’re back on Earth, and she isn’t here. You bite your tongue, holding back more retching that your body wants to torture you with.

You’re alive and off that fucking planet somehow, and Spinel isn’t here.

With shaking hands, you finish washing your body as you try to keep your crumbling composure. You turn off the water, and grab for the towel next to you. You let your hands do the work on autopilot as you try to fend off the impending breakdown.

You put your clothes on, mind spinning with thoughts about how Spinel either thinks you’re dead, or worse, that you abandoned her there. You try not to cry thinking about it. You remember sitting at that tree, but everything after that is a bit fuzzy. It hurts to think about Spinel rushing back to you with what she thinks is life saving materials - just for you to be gone and nowhere to be found. Unless she saw the ship coming down? God that’s - that’s worse - you think, her sprinting back to you desperately, and seeing the ship fly away.

She knows you wouldn’t leave her.

Right?

You’re going back for her. That isn’t even a question. You’re terrified of what she’s even thinking about right now. You just hope you can easily convince the gems and Steven that everything that happened a month ago when she took you - it’s different, she’s different, and not a threat anymore. You towel dry your hair quickly, and once you put the towel back on the rack you can hear strained, hushed whispering beyond the bathroom door.

You hear your name being spoken, and quietly you walk over to the door to press your ear against it.

“ - but, she’s-”

“-Golgotha, Garnet! She was on GOLGOTHA. I’m ASTONISHED she lasted at all there considering she’s human and-” Pearl hisses out, and you can hear someone clanking pots and pans in the kitchen.

“What’s Golgotha!?” You hear Amethyst frustratedly huff out, and a ‘SSHHHH’ coming from Pearl. “You guys never tell me anything!”

“You don’t know because it was a colony that failed before you even existed, Amethyst!”

“How did Spinel warp there?” You hear Garnet wonder out loud, concern in her voice. “I was pretty sure they stopped all possible travel to that place.”

Your eyes widen at the sound of Spinel’s name being spoken. They know who she is? They know Spinel!? Then maybe -

“She had to have bypassed-”

“She wouldn’t have-”

“How did a colony FAIL?” Amethyst blurts out, cutting everyone off.

“Will you keep your voice down!?” Pearl hisses out angrily. “It failed because a bunch of gems disappeared, and resources went missing. They didn’t want to take any chances on a dying planet anyway so they packed up and left.”

“Yellow forbade anyone from going back to it. She even went as far to turn off the warp pad access.” Garnet says quietly.

“None of that matters, guys. She’s home safe, and that’s what counts.” Steven speaks up from the kitchen. “I just.. don’t know how to approach her about-”

“Her dying?”

“Amethyst!” Pearl interjects, and you can hear the frustration in her voice.

“Yeah. I. I failed her. It should’ve been me guys. Then she wouldn’t have had to deal with Spinel, and she wouldn’t have-”

“Steven, we’ve been trying to tell you all day that it’s not your fault, buddy! Y/N knew what she was doing when she put herself in danger, you know how she is! Nothing would have convinced her otherwise!” Amethyst yells out at him.

“If only we were a little faster getting to her, ugh, I should’ve thought about our keychains sooner! Minutes could’ve changed everything!”

“It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.” Garnet says. “We got to her as fast as we could.”

“I’m surprised at how well she fought off Spinel, considering it took several hours to figure out where she was and to even get to her.” Pearl mentions offhandedly.

Your stomach drops.

What? Hours?

“She’s resilient. You taught her well.”

What does she mean, hours? That literally makes no sense.

“She shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. Spinel wouldn’t have been able to kill me anyway, and I could’ve talked her out of whatever she was feeling,” Steven hisses out angrily. “I don’t know where she was when we found Y/N and picked her up, or if she managed to poof her, but if I had seen her after the damaged she did to Y/N, I don’t know if I could’ve held back-”

Oh my god, they think Spinel tried to kill you. Your stomach fills with dread on top of the massive amounts of confusion you feel.

“Steven chill, she’s home and safe.” Amethyst says. “Hopefully this is the last gem that tries to-”

Unable to deal with any of this, you grab for the door handle, swinging the door open wide to stare at the gems standing in the living room. Steven’s in the kitchen with a pan in his hands.

They’re all staring at you like they’ve just seen a ghost - minus Garnet, of course.

Steven almost drops his pan. “Y/N-”

“What do you mean it only took a couple hours for you to rescue me?” You say, voice as shaky as your sanity levels.

They all just stand there in silence, and you see Pearl’s wide eyes turn to Garnet and then trail back to you. The quietness around the living room is palpable.

“Y/N, I know this is a lot to take in..” Pearl stares at you like you’re about to keel over.

“No, that literally makes no fucking sense.” You say, feeling yourself close to hyperventilation. “I get that I died.”

“You’ve been through a lot today dude, I think you should sit down and rest.” Even Amethyst looks concerned.

“I’m fine.” You stare at all of them. “How long did it take for you to come get me?”

“I know that space has no concept of day and night, but it hasn’t been that long.” Amethyst says bluntly.

“You haven’t checked your phone, Y/N?” Steven asks, confused. “I know we’re normally faster than this, but it hasn’t been that long. Why are you so concerned with the time right now?”

“What?” You didn’t think of that. Ignoring the rest of what he said to quickly scramble for the phone you put into your jeans pocket. You open your lock screen, and what you see makes you drop your phone onto the ground with a clatter.

“Y/N?” You hear Steven say.

You’re frozen in shock.

That makes no sense.

Somehow. Somehow - the date displayed on your lock screen is just a day after Spinel had taken you.

“Is this a prank?” You laugh, once, dryly. You pick your phone up off the ground. “This isn’t funny.”

Steven’s eyebrows furrow worryingly. “No, why would we-”

“Then why have only a couple hours passed? I was there for weeks.” You interrupt him.

They all look at you like you’ve grown another head.

“Y/N. You’ve been through a lot - I think something must’ve-”

“NO.” You yell out. You’re close to insanity. “STEVEN, WEEKS PASSED WHILE I WAS THERE.”

Your voice echoes out all throughout the living room, bouncing off the walls as they all look at you like you’re absolutely nuts. Steven sets the pan down and walks over to you, but Garnet puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I think you need to sleep, because you sound crazy right now.” Amethyst says.

“I’M NOT-” Your fingers dig into your scalp, you’re close to ripping your hair out in frustration. You’re not insane, you lived every singl- wait a second. Your scar. You quickly point to the scar Spinel gave you when she first arrived. “THIS! REMEMBER THIS? SPINEL HIT ME WITH HER SCYTHE? AND IT’S COMPLETELY HEALED NOW.”

“Er, since I revived you, it closed all your wounds.” Steven stares at you. “Are you su-”

“I,” Your face drops. They can’t not believe you. “My nails? They’re longer, and I-” You cut yourself off, feeling your brain stutter from overuse.

“Y/N.” Pearl says, and you look over to her perplexed face. “You say you were there for weeks? That does explain the condition you were in when we got to you, even if-.”

“How did you survive for weeks!?” Amethyst interjects. “When we saw you earlier, Spinel had you by the THROAT.”

“Yeah she initially brought me there as bait to kill Steven, but she didn’t try to kill me.” You say as you try to control your breathing.

“Hold on a second.” Pearl makes a pointed face and pulls a datapad out of her gem, typing on it rapidly.

“She didn’t try to kill you?” Steven rubs at his brow, confused. “Then why were you bleeding out when we found you?!”

“No, that’s what I’ve been trying to say, there was a whole fuckload of shit that went on that hell hole of a planet!!!” You spit out.

“She might be right, actually.” Pearl speaks up, quickly tapping on the glowing screen in front of her. She zooms into some kind of planetary chart from what you can see. “Golgotha has the trajectory to be running at a much faster time. The red giant it’s orbiting is-”

The rest of her words fall on deaf ears as your mind goes blank and you unintentionally freeze up. Spinel is still there. You feel like you’re about to unravel.

“I-I need to go back.” You choke out. “How long has it been since you picked me up?”

“Y/N, you’re insane if you think-”

“SHE’S STILL THERE, ALL ALONE, AND PROBABLY THINKS I’M DEAD.” You cry out. “CALL ME INSANE ALL YOU WANT BUT I’M NOT LEAVING HER THERE.”

“Y/N-”

“If you won’t take me then I’ll steal Lars’ ship, and get there myself.” You stare at them.

Steven visibly deflates.

“Can we maybe talk about what happened to you first? You’re not-”

“Every minute I waste here is hours for her.” You cut him off. “How long was I out exactly? How long has it been since you rescued me?

“You were out for several hours, since this afternoon..” Pearl says. You bite the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Great, so it’s been weeks for her already.” You nod your head, feeling a couple tears roll down your cheek. You wipe them away quickly. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you guys what I’ve been doing all this time on the way.”

“But-”

You turn to look at Steven, and his eyes meet yours. You think he can read your expressions enough by now to know the state of your emotions.

“Do you trust me?” You ask him. His eyes wavering between yours, a silent understanding passes.

He gives you a curt nod.

“Let’s go.”

Once you get onto Pink’s ship, Pearl reroutes the coordinates back to the planet you just came from. By the time you get there, it will be over a month and a half since Spinel’s seen you.

You try not to think about the possibilities of what she’s doing without you. You are so anxious that the nausea in the pit of your stomach constantly threatens to make you hurl.

Steven has been watching you for a while now, and he holds out one of his hands. You try not to cry when you see his open palm, and you take it. It used to be something you did when he was in distress, and now he’s doing it for you. It gives you brief amounts of comfort. You love him dearly.

“So, let’s just start from the beginning.” Steven clears his throat. “When we last saw you, you were taken.”

“Yeah.” You focus your eyes on the floor, and try to steady out your breathing. If it weren’t for Steven holding your hand, you’d be pacing right now. “As I said, she really only wanted me as bait. And even that didn’t really last long, considering I think I screamed at her enough for her to want to get rid of me.. You called that planet Golgotha, right?”

“That’s correct.” Pearl speaks up. “It was one of Yellow’s old colonies.”

“Yeah, I know.” You say.

“You knew? How?” Pearl replies, perplexed.

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Anyway,” You take a breath. “Golgotha sucks, it’s hot as shit there and it took me a while to find food, even. I hated Spinel, at first. She wasn’t helpful, and honestly I wanted her dead after what she tried doing to Steven.” You feel Steven squeeze your hand. “But we came to a truce eventually, to try to get off the planet after she destroyed the warp pad. And then I learned of her past, and well, things went a little differently after that.”

You look up from staring at the floor, and Pearl gives you a face.

“Spinel was made to be Pink’s best friend.” You hear the concern in her voice. “When I knew her, she was completely different.”

“Yeah, and Pink left her in a garden for six thousand years, Pearl. Anyone would have issues after that.” They all look at you like they’re not the least bit surprised.

“Mom left her for six thousand years?” Steven looks at you, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “No wonder you’ve been this distraught about leaving her.”

“And I haven’t even told you the rest.” You sigh. “We found a Spire, and the kindergarten there that the gems abandoned. It was.. so fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” Amethyst implores, crossing her arms over her chest. “Didn’t they just leave it?”

“Do you guys know exactly of what happened on Golgotha?” You turn to face Pearl.

“Other than it being a failed colony? No. The data extracted from them was incomplete.” She says, putting a thumb to her lip in consideration.

“Then it’s just Spinel and I who really know what went on.”

“What do you mean?” Steven asks, rubbing your hand with his thumb. You find his touch very comforting.

“It was a failed colony because of the gem eater.” You say, and all of them look at you apprehensively besides Garnet. Her face is almost comically blank.

“What..” Pearl squints at you as she trails off, face brimming with questions.

“So, hold on, let me make this clear.” You cough into your hand, clearing your throat. “Considering everything I’ve been through the last day, I’ve got the full picture. I don’t know how, but where they placed the kindergarten, there was a.. being already there.”

“A being?” Amethyst interrupts.

“I don’t know how to describe that thing, because I don’t know what it looked like prior to it draining all the injectors of the diamond’s essence to consume.”

“It WHAT?” Pearl drops her hand from her mouth in shock. “How could it-”

“I don’t know, honestly. All I know is that between what Spinel and I witnessed, and the incomplete data logs inside the Spire, that’s what I pieced together. Anyway. We learned that over a hundred gems went missing, and we also found multiple tunnels that all ended up being connected to the kindergarten, where this thing lived.”

“Of all planets she could’ve taken you, she had to take you to that one?” Amethyst comments, adjusting her stance.

“You’re telling me. That was a source of many of mine and Spinel’s arguments.”

“It sounds like you two became friends.” Garnet speaks up, and for some reason you get the feeling she can see right through you. You swallow all thoughts of potential implications.

“Something like that.” You ignore the way saying that makes you feel strange. “I think if it wasn’t for her, I probably would have died on that planet. Even if she was the one to bring me there in the first place, she still.. Anyway. I fell into one of those tunnels, where she eventually found me. We tried finding our way out, but instead ended up in it’s fucking lair. The gem eater had some kind of pheromone I’m guessing, because it smelt like shit and affected Spinel really weirdly. Makes sense that it lured all those gems into their death. I basically had to fight the thing off myself, because it wanted Spinel so badly.”

“Is that how you got that wound when we found you?” Amethyst asks, pointing at your stomach.

“Yeah.” You reply, placing your other hand that’s not holding Steven’s on your stomach as if you can still feel the gaping wound still. You had no time to really deal with any of that, and honestly, the current state of your psyche can’t really unpack it anyway. Dying? Ayy no problem.

“If Spinel wasn’t the one to hurt you, why was she nowhere near you when we came to pick you up?” Steven looks over to you, confusion in his eyes.

“I had her set me down so she could go grab supplies for me to do a rough patch job on my injury. As I said.. we were there for a couple weeks. I didn’t know if you guys were even coming for me, at that point.. I just didn’t want to die there.” You trail off. Steven’s still looking at you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry that it ended up that way, and that you had to go through that. We’re glad you’re still with us.” Garnet speaks up from the side, tone apologetic.

“I wouldn’t have been alive if it weren’t for Spinel.”

“You wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if it weren’t for me.” Steven says, looking guilty. You tug on his hand to look at you.

“I would do it all over again so you’d never have to experience what I did.” You look him in the eyes, pleading for him to understand this.

“Y/N..”

“Besides, it wasn’t all that bad. I gained a new friend.” You give him a small, wry smile, but your heart isn’t in it. You’re dreadfully terrified of what happens when you get back to Golgotha.

“When all of this is said and done, I’d like to talk more with you on what you experienced.” Pearl taps on the console in front of her, entering a few commands that you don’t care to pay attention to. “I’d like some clarity on a few things.”

“Yeah, just let me sleep for a week.” You reply, and Amethyst snorts.

“Ah, good ‘ol Y/N is back to her old habits pronto.” She puts her hands behind her head in a show of ease.

“Hey, I deserve it. You sleep on leaf piles and musty tarps for a month, and see how you feel about it.” You squint your eyes at her, and she laughs.

“We’ll be on the surface in less than an hour.” Pearl taps the screen a couple more times. “Where would you like us to land?”

You think you could spend a while wondering where Spinel could be on the surface. But you know her better than that by now.

“As close to the Spire as possible.” You hear yourself say.

Once the ship lands on the planet and the doors swoosh open, you breathe in the air of the jungle you didn’t miss whatsoever. It’s night, and the cold has already set in making your breath appear in front of you. The four of them - the gems and Steven, step out with you. The Spire’s about a mile away, as this is the closest clearing to it that she ship could land on.

You turn to them.

“I was wondering if I could go alone, actually.” You say to them, hesitantly.

“Why? What if something happens to you? We need to-” Pearl stops as Steven puts his hand up, cutting her off.

“Can I talk to you? Just for a second.” He says, grabbing you by the elbow and leading you gently about two dozen feet away from the others. You can see the worry in his eyes.

“What?” You ask. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I know, I’m just worried..” His tone implies a lot of concern, and honestly you don’t know what you’d do without his presence in your life. He’s irreplaceable. “What I saw with her..”

“I need you to trust my judgement, Steven. You of all people know that everyone deserves a chance to improve, to be better.” You give him a look, and his eyes waver between yours.

“I do trust you, it’s just.. I just got you back.”

“I’ll be fine. The only threat that was on this planet is already dead. And I.. I made a promise to her.” You sigh and grab his hand, staring at his palm on yours. “I’ll be back before you know it. Keep the ship warm for me.”

He shares a look with you for several long seconds, and then nods.

“Be safe.”

You’re not going to lie when you say that once you got out of view of them and into the line of trees, you started to break out into a sprint, and kept running all the way to the Spire with minimal breathing breaks. It takes you probably only a little over five minutes to get there, and you’re out of breath by the time you get to the doors.

It’s a little alarming to see that the Spire doors aren’t even there. They’re ripped off completely, actually. You are scared and anxious of what you’ll find inside.

You step inside, and it’s pretty dark. There are leaves strewn everywhere, but nothing else looks out of place.

Spinel isn’t here.

You look to the staircase, finding it intact. Your legs work on autopilot, walking up every floor like you’ve done many times before, and this is no different. Passing by the level with the supplies you had told her to grab, you’re seeing several crates are smashed open.

You hope your gut feeling is right. It hasn’t failed you yet.

The closer to the top, the more nervous you get. What if she isn’t there? Where else could she go? She couldn’t have gone back down into the tunnels - that would make little sense. Two floors to go. You feel your hands start to shake in quiet fear.

You haven’t had a lot of time to think about any of the ‘what if’s’. You’ve been consumed mainly with thoughts of getting back to her. You reach the floor underneath the top one, and before you get to the other staircase, you can hear the wind much more loudly than before. Getting closer to it, and taking a couple steps up - you realize that the entire top of the rest of this Spire is blown off. Or torn off.

Two steps. Three steps. You swallow nervously. You can’t seem to steady your erratic breathing. You can see the moons glowing against the stone of the Spire. Reaching the top of the stairs, you misstep and trip on the top edge of the stair - falling to your knee and catching yourself with your hand.

You hear movement ten feet in front of you, and you look up, frozen in place.

Your eyes meet Spinel’s.

“..you’re alive?” The voice you want to hear most says, and she looks at you like you’re the last person she expected to see.

#spinel #spinel x reader #su #steven universe #distant lands #my fic

197 notes · View notes

jjba-hell · 4 years ago

Text

Fate and Fortune

Part 5

Part 4, part 3, part 2, part 1

Content warning: Familial loss, Dissociation via PTSD, blood, injury, Dio’s nasty ass fleshbud and hinting/quick mention of assault

For the moots: @risottoneroo and some new followers (seriously like ya’ll make me so giddy (⌒▽⌒)) @fyre23 and @comeationmeerer

A/N: Aight time zones are strange and I might be a bit ahead but this piece is gonna be published a few hours before NYE for me so I consider this the final piece to a VERY cursed year. Thank you so much for the support on this series thus far, it means so much to me and don’t worry- I’ll be continuing it into 2021. TwT. Oh and Happy New Year ya’ll!

Don’t have the word count but it feels long lol

Vera turned the picture of Holy and her son around in her hands. Looks like Mr Kujo’s been out of the picture for a while. Maybe not legally but definitely socially.

“Stop being a creep.” Jotaro grumbled as he passed her in the hallway to the kitchen.

“Oh cut an orphan some slack, would you? All my baby pictures are court property.” She feigned sadness as she put the picture frame down and followed into the kitchen where they were cheerfully greeted by Holy who put two platefuls of eggs Benedict in front of them- with Jotaro sitting with three eggs and an extra serving of rice.

“Just shout if you want some more, Vera.”

Jotaro looked her over as if she’d materialized at the table beside him.

“Yes, my name is Vera.” She extended a hand out to him over the corner separating them. “Vera Astbury.”

“Astbury.” He frowned, taking her hand for a nonchalant shake.

She chuckled, opening the napkin over her lap. “Yeah I don’t think it suits me either but it’s what I got. Just stick to Vera though.”

They sat in comfortable silence over breakfast- not minding much as she enjoyed a cup of coffee over the newspaper.

“Can you even read that?” He asked after he finished the bowl of rice.

Her gaze shifted to him as he continued to scoff down a glass of water. “I’d rather not wait for manga translations to make it to the shelves where I live.” Was all she answered as she continued to read up about an excavation of 20 tombs in Egypt.

“Shoujen gets you that excited, huh?”

Fortune moved before Vera could quite catch her but she herself didn’t move. The butter knife met the table right between his fingers- Fortune’s faceless head staring him down.

“I’d suggest you rethink the sexist stereotypes you hold me to. Or at the very least keep those comments to yourself.” She said flatly, she wasn’t about to make him think he was getting under her skin.

Jotaro’s stand emerged and gave Fortune a hard shove away from his user- Vera feeling the phantom touch on her own shoulders.

She narrowed her eyes at him, sitting up straighter and looking him straight in the eye. “You wanna tussle, Kujo?”

Jotaro, admittedly, had a strange effect on Vera. Her usually calm and calculated demeanor seemed to slip around him, her temper flaring dangerously whenever he’d open his mouth around her. What was it that made her want to punch that stupid scowl off his face? It couldn’t be because she wanted to prove something to him, could it?

He only gave a disinterested ‘tch’ as he stood up from the table. “Don’t try it.”

Nope, she definitely wanted to prove she could floor him...

Avdol entered the kitchen soon after and without so much as a good morning, Jotaro was out the door- Holy running after him to see him off. Watching her beg him for a simple goodbye made her blood boil hot enough to put her own shoes on and feign a walk in the neighborhood.

Fortune tripped him up just enough for her to catch up to him and snatch his cap from atop his head.

“You’re a damn pest, you know that?” He grumbled as he knelt in front of her.

She swung the inner brin of his cap on her finger as she peered down at him. “I told you to quit the punk act with your mom.”

“Why do you care?” He straightened, his stand reaching for her but Fortune blocking the reach. Vera nonchalantly placed the cap on her head and started walking ahead of him. “Because I’d kill to have a chance to say goodbye to my mom.”

Soon as other students started coming into view, Vera tipped the cap off of her head, letting his stand grab it before it landed on the floor. She was off the path, heading back to the Kujo residence. Holy refused to let her help with any laundry and soon enough she was shooed into the same room as Avdol and Mr Joestar.

“Tea or coffee, Vera?” Avdol asked. She looked down at the traditional green tea alongside the little tin of coffee. A pick-me-up would have been nice, so she picked the coffee up and took a whiff to see if it would be worth it. The smell she got instead nearly made her cough.

She closed the tin immediately and looked at Avdol in confusion. “Are you testing me or something?”

“Why do you ask such a question?” Mr Joestar interjected, “ it’s so much less work than tea.”

Vera peered down at the nameless metal tin with disgust. “Mr Joestar, I would have to ask if that’s the best coffe you have because that... stuff... is only coffee scented.”

Beside her Avdol chuckled as he prepared the two cups that would hold their tea. “I suppose that was why you begged for ground coffee from home, Vera?” He spoke with a slight smile.

“Avdol, they were labelling the coffee grinder scrapings as ‘columbian roast’- it was daylight robbery!”

Mr Joestar chuckled, handing his mug to Avdol to prepare a cup of tea for him as well. “You have a fine nose for such things?”

Vera opened her mouth to explain but when the ominous shadow of Jotaro spilled into the room the conversation was forgotten. She and Avdol moved in tandem, clearing the room of the table and tea ceremony supplies to lie the redhead down on the floor.

“You said he attacked you-“ her gaze moved up from Jotaro’s head to his knee right in front of her. She forgot what she was saying as she let Fortune start healing his leg first but was called back to attention for the redhead. Mr Joestar revealed the ugly little fleshbud sitting on the guy’s forehead.

“Can’t you just extract it and heal whatever was hurt?” Jotaro asked over her shoulder.

“I move time and the healing process forward but the brain doesn’t regenerate. I could revert its state to what it was before the fleshbud but for that to work it needs to be removed.”

Jotaro bent down and held Kakyoin’s face while bringing his stand out. “I’ll extract it and you fix whatever I damage.”

“Wait, did you...?” Before she could even finish her sentence his stand was already reaching for the fleshbud. She brought her own hand to Kakyoin’s face, focusing her stand’s energy. The fleshbud shot two tentacles up into Vera and Jotaro’s arms, the subtle sting challenging her focus for just a moment. Vera focused Fortune’s energy into any damage being done to Kakyoin’s brain, forcing on turning the dial back. She spared a glance up at Jotaro, where the fleshbud was inching into his neck. Peering down at her own, she noticed hers wasn’t too far behind.

Kakyoin’s eyes shot up and instinctively Vera’s hand flew out to keep his eyes shut. “Not to rush but could you hurry it along?” She hissed at Jotaro.

The fleshbud separating from Kakyoin’s head sounded like separating Velcro to her. It flew through the air for a moment and like catching a wishbone between two people, Fortune and Jotaro’s stand grabbed hold of the two ends of the fleshbud and pulled. It bounced out of their grasps as it ripped in three and was finally finished off by Mr Joestar but definitely not by his stand- or maybe she was just seeing things.

Fortune’s dials turned frantically as they healed three people all at once, Vera bending down to check if the hole in Noriaki’s head was closing up.

The redhead looked between her and Jotaro and then asked the golden question... why did they save him?

Vera got up from kneeling beside Kakyoin, “I don’t know, morals, I guess?” She shrugged as she left the room to find the first aid kid, Holy stopping her in the hallway to listen to Jotaro’s answer.

His answer meant less than nothing to Vera but to Holy, she smiled and inclined her head in the direction his voice was coming from and smiling- almost as if to say “see what I mean?”

All Vera could do was smile and nod, pulling her back a bit to quietly ask for the first aid kid.

The next morning Vera got up a bit later than usual, the night before she had slipped out of her room for a smoke break. When she returned to her home she had slipped up a step and scraped up her knee.

She had only wrapped it in gauze before crawling back into her futon but waking up she realized it wasn’t just a simple scrape- she’d need to stitch it up.

So with a soft groan she got up, hopped through a shower and with wet hair still hanging over her shoulders slid Noriaki’s door open after her knock.

The first aid kit was left in his room and he was still asleep as she slipped into the bathroom he was given and sat down on the floor, knee propped up.

Over time she’d gotten used to patching herself up- the nurse at the boarding school got sick of her relatively quickly the first few months she was there, at the time she used Fortune for anything, especially to make sure teachers didn’t check for homework but that didn’t quite fare well when in turn, she’d end up with food poisoning or bloody noses.

Pain wasn’t much of a bother for her anymore- she’d poured enough hydrogen peroxide into open wounds to not flinch anymore.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” A velvety voice asked behind her as she wiped her newly stitched new clean.

She looked over her shoulder at the redhead in the doorway. A smirk spread over her face. “If you’re still sworn allegiance to Dio, I’m gonna have to politely ask you to give me a minute? I just closed this up.”

Kakyoin took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, about to say something when a commotion disturbed them both.

To her, it didn’t feel real. She felt like she was floating through the motions of finding the other three men in the kitchen with an unconscious Holy and then laying her down in her futon- concerned for her sake.

It felt like she was stuck, watching as Mrs Kujo strain against her own body to draw a single breath- behind her Jotaro and the others were finding to pinpoint Dio’s location but she had very little care for it at that moment.

It wasn’t until Jotaro gave her shoulder a light tap that she seemed to shake herself out of it. “Take a breather, outside.” Her gaze travelled up to meet his face, that same scowl on his face as always. “Might also wanna go wrap your leg up.”

True to his word, she was bleeding through her jeans. All she could do was nod and leave the room. Another hydrogen peroxide soak and this time she decided to busy herself with Avdol in the library.

“I never asked you this but, could you ever explain how you overcome your stand fever?” Avdol asked as she leaned against the entrance of the library. She moved closer, pulling the next books Avdol had his eyes on into her arms.

“I can’t really say. I heard a lot of voices while I was sick but in a sense... I’d say it was just my reluctance to die.”

“So- Mrs Kujo could survive that fever?” Noriaki asked from the doorway this time.

“Unlikely.” Vera and Avdol had answered in unison.

Kakyoin seemed confused by that answer. “But you just said-“

“Vera is the first of, close to a thousand cases I’ve ever seen to survive.”

She rolled her head back to peer at the redhead. “Not to sound too special.” Her attention returned to the stack of books she held for Avdol. “Not that I’d wish that fever onto anyone- except maybe Dio.”

“What does it feel like?” Noriaki continued to prod.

A groan left her lips. “You born stand-users, honestly. It’s the most accurate remake of being burnt alive- I haven’t been able to feel pain normally ever since.”

Avdol peered down at the note in his hand and then at the page of the encyclopedia. “Look familiar, Vera?”

Deadmatch.

“I had had my suspicions that he might have left Egyp but it seemed he stayed.” Avdol pondered with Mr Joestar, Holy still unconscious on her futon.

“So I’m going home.” Vera sighed quietly, bending down to feel over Holy’s forehead.

Kakyoin announced his help and when asked why, he spared a glance at Vera, saying “I don’t know- morals, I guess.”

They stayed one more night at the Kujo residents, waiting for the Speedwagon Foundation to arrive for Holy. She had once enjoyed a quick smoke break at the dead of night when once more she found herself face to face with Jotaro.

She pulled a cigarette from its pack and handed it to him. “I’m heading to bed.”

“No,” he reached his arm out to stop her leaving. “If you’re coming with us, you’re gonna explain some shit to me.”

Vera peered up at him, unphased, hand on her hip. “You got questions. And I got answers. Ask away.”

“Why don’t you just heal my mom?”

“I can’t cure curses. A stand fever is like immunity for life- I can move it forward or back but it doesn’t change your body’s ability to make a stand.”

“So why don’t you heal yourself?”

She shrugged, “I could but I’d rather take a stitched up leg over another assault case on my counselor’s case.”

The scowl on his face disappeared and was replaced by a slack-jawed shock.

“As hard as this will be, Jotaro, you’ll have to learn to trust me. I wouldn’t expect you drive without experience. In the same way you have to trust that I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

Jotaro dropped his harm back to his side, letting her stroll by calmly until he spoke again.

“At what cost?”

“I’ll deal with the costs-“ she turned to face him. “But uhhh I’d appreciate if you stuck around when I told you I felt unsafe.”

Jotaro didn’t say anything, only nodded before turning to light his cigarette and Vera turning down the hallway to bed.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 3 #jotaro kujo #Muhammed avdol #Joseph Joestar #noriaki kakyoin #holy kujo #dio brando #Fate and Fortune

15 notes · View notes

echo-bleu · 5 years ago

Text

let them turn into a river

I've said I wouldn't write any more codas. Yet here I am. This works through some of my thoughts about Alex this season, which may not be everyone's cup of tea.

This also fills two prompts I got: "being given an unexpected hug, and stiffening, then melting into it" by @daffietjuh and "Alex has a breakdown over something mundane like what type of tuna to buy" (I think the original prompt was by @meneatyoghurt, and @rensbaratheon gave it to me).

[PTSD flashbacks, panic attack, mentions of abuse, discussion of possible dub-con (2x06)]

I'm fine. I'm completely fine, Alex repeats to himself as he wanders down the supermarket aisle in search of pasta.

It's not untrue, not exactly. He's certainly functioning a lot better than he was when he first got back from overseas, and his leg is doing rather well these days, even if it's now twinging in pain from the long day he's had. It's just that...he's had nothing but long, exhausting days in what feels like months. It's just that he's really, really tired.

And now he's in the store on a Saturday evening at eleven pm because the really, really nice guy he was hoping to try dating isn't willing to put up with his baggage. Alex can't blame Forrest. He wouldn't put up with it if he had a choice. He spent hours just staring at the bottom of his glass after Forrest left, until Maria slammed a bottle in front of him to get his attention and invited herself to lunch tomorrow.

“It's been a while since we really talked, Alex. I almost feel like you're the one avoiding me now.” The little progress Alex has made−according to his therapist, anyway−on setting his boundaries and asserting what he wants must have evaporated sometime during that night, because he didn't manage to say no.

Which means he needs to figure out what to cook. It's going to have to be meatball pasta, Alex decides. It's the only thing he can think of right now that's suitable for a guest but doesn't require a lot of preparation, and he has no wish to spend hours in the kitchen. He grabs his usual brand of pasta, grateful that he knows where it is by heart, and moves down the aisle to the sauce area.

The whole section of tomato sauce cans stares back at him.

Alex takes a step back to encompass the whole thing with his gaze, curses as the move twists his prosthesis enough for a sharp spike of pain to travel up his leg, and closes his eyes to center himself. Breathe. Everything's fine.

There are cans and boxes and bottles. Tomato sauce and pulp and juice. Several brands of each, with added flavoring and different sizes. How can there be dozens of different options? Alex is just looking for something to put in meatball pasta, it shouldn't be complicated.

He peers at the labels again, trying to wake up his brain enough to decide. But there's prices to think of, and ecology−what's better again, metal cans or cartons?−and so many different types and some of them are written in fucking Italian and he cannot choose. He stays frozen, two feet away from the shelves, vaguely rocking on his heels.

He can't breathe.

He can't breathe and he can't read the labels anymore because everything is suddenly out of focus. Fuck. He blinks, and inspires−and chokes, and wheezes, and shit, this shouldn't be so hard, why is he having a fucking panic attack in the middle of the deserted supermarket at 11 pm?

But he is, and thinking about how this should be simple, and why is he such a failure, is definitely not helping. He reaches out, tries to grab a can at random, and only succeeds in miscalculating and knocking several cans off the shelf. The noise they make hitting the floor is deafening.

Alex flinches, hard, and falls backward when it triggers another spike of pain up his leg and back. He hits the shelves at his back, probably knocking more things over−but he doesn't hear them fall over the buzzing in his ears. He feels the pain, though. The pain and the lack of air and the blackening at the edge of his vision.

Breathe.

He closes his eyes tight, letting himself fall on his ass on the floor and curl up. With his left knee under his chin, his right leg extended, he digs his nails into his palms. I can't do this. I can't.

He can't have Maria over, and pretend everything is fine. He can't talk to her about her relationship with Michael and about his own failed date. He can't look at her and forget about her kissing him, about the mess of limbs and emotions that followed, about how he can't feel anything but disgust toward himself ever since.

He can't.

Today has been a roller-coaster already. The elation he felt at the paintball park is long forgotten, replaced by wave upon wave of shame. At everything, at the mirror of himself he glimpsed in his father's eyes, at the way he froze with Maria, at the uncontrollably fear that gripped his gut when Forrest leaned in for a kiss, when he'd thought−he doesn't know what he'd thought. Only that in that moment, he felt a hand around his neck clearer than he has in months.

He feels it still, as he gasps for air. He spent every second in the hospital, from the moment his father first lost his temper, waiting for the hand to close around him. And yet he couldn't stop himself from catching his dad when he stumbled, even as he expected him to lash out. Why can't he even fucking put a stop to that? Let go of this monster for good, cut him out of his life?

Because he's a coward, that's why. He presses his back into the shelves until it hurts so much he gasps out. Pain. Focus. Breathe.

He's a fucking coward, so of course he's not good enough for someone like Forrest. Just like he'll never be good enough for Michael.

Michael. His mouth on him, again, after months of fantasizing about that. His warmth, his unique scent, his breathing−but they're not alone, and it's too much, too fucking much, that's not what he wants. Alex's skin crawls like that day, and he scrapes his nails at his palms, like he wants to rip it off.

No, no. No. He can't think about that again. He's in the middle of a fucking supermarket, for God's sake! He can't go down that hole.

Get a fucking grip.

Tomato sauce. That's what he needs. Nothing else. He can put everything aside, like how he's going to have to spend hours alone with Maria in his house tomorrow. After being touched by her that way. After watching her touch Michael that way.

He can't even get a handle on his thoughts long enough to remember the tricks his therapist gave him to get out of a panic attack. Counting. Right. One. Two.

No. Counting backward, or in threes, or the brain just takes over. But where to start? Twenty? Is that enough? A hundred? This is too much. How do you count in threes anyway?

Fuck.

Vaguely, he realizes the hand tightening on his throat is his own, his body desperately clawing at itself to breathe. Did his father mix his meds on purpose today? He wouldn't put it past him. But what would his purpose be?

Alex hates it. Being put in this position, the only son in town who is supposed to care for his ailing father. He avoids his childhood home as much as he can, but he's still the contact listed for him at the hospital. He hates watching Jesse Manes struggle to move around and feeling empathy he doesn't want, how somehow this is one more thing that brings them closer instead of separating them. Dammit. His dad in this position because he tried to kill Kyle, after torturing aliens−people−for decades. Alex shouldn't be feeling empathy for this man. He should have watched him fall on his face today, and not even moved a muscle.

Like his father watched him fall too many times after his injury.

Manes men don't show weakness.

Why couldn't he? Why is he such a coward that he can't separate the need to keep his father close, to monitor his actions and find out more about Project Shepard, from his own feelings?

Why can't he let the shadow of his father's abuse behind?

Making out with a hot guy in public is only made hotter when it pisses off all the bigots and the homophobes.

Alex wants to retch in shame.

“Alex!”

Alex can't tell where the voice comes from, but he feels someone coming close and that's what pulls him out of his panic. Reality brutally refocuses. He goes right from foggy, breathless dissociation to cold hypervigilance. He stills, releasing his left leg to be able to use it to swipe at someone's legs, and looks up very slowly.

It's Kyle, crouching down in front of him, frowning in worry. He may have called his name several times already, Alex doesn't know. He's surrounded by fallen cans of tomato, and one of them has burst and send red sauce flying everywhere.

Alex flinches away when Kyle tries to touch him. Breathing burns his lungs, but he forces the air in. Pain doesn't matter. Pain is good, right now, making him focus.

“Alex, what happened?” Kyle asks, like he's speaking to a small child. Or maybe Alex is imagining that. Everything is slow, unreal, his body unfeeling except for the pain.

He tries to make his mouth move to answer, but he can't. He shakes his head in frustration.

“Okay, okay, I won't touch you, alright? It's okay, there's no threat here. Do you know where you are?”

Alex nods, and dips his head, avoiding Kyle's eyes. Coming back to reality just means more shame. He's sitting in the middle of a supermarket, pants stained with tomato, panting and−for God's sake−crying. He's ridiculous.

“Good, you're with me,” Kyle continues. “Was it only a panic attack, or is there something medically wrong with you?”

Alex just stares at him, uncomprehending. He can't put the words together enough to make them make sense.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Kyle reformulates.

Alex shakes his head, and wills his hands to stop trembling.

Without taking his eyes off him for more than a second at a time, Kyle starts to pick up the intact cans of tomato off the floor. Giving him space, Alex understands. When he crouches down again, Alex feels stronger, more anchored, even if his whole body feels like cotton candy.

“Think you can get up now?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah,” Alex rasps out. He holds out a hand, though, rather than try to stand up by himself in the mess of tomato sauce. He wouldn't trust his leg with that on a good day.

Kyle scouts over, puts Alex's arm around his shoulders, and hoists him up.

“What about−” Alex gestures to the mess, and his own dropped groceries.

“I'll tell a clerk, it's okay. Let's just get you home, alright?”

“'Kay,” Alex murmurs. He doesn't have the brain space to think about it beyond his embarrassment, anyway.

Kyle lets him lean on him all the way to the checkout counter, and quietly explains what happened to the wide-eyed girl sitting behind it. Alex doesn't listen to her answer, his focus still shot. He stares vaguely at a the packs of gum behind her instead.

“Let's go,” Kyle prompts him to move again.

Alex wants to make it out under his own power, or some variation thereof. He takes his arm back, but he stumbles at the first step, and he has to catch himself roughly on the counter. Rather than make a big deal about it, Kyle simply hooks his arm into his, providing discrete support.

Sometimes Alex wants to hate him for how considerate he is. Right now he doesn't even have it in him to be anything but thankful, though.

The store is just two blocks from Alex's house, so he came here on foot, but there's no way he's making it back. His leg aches something fierce, and his steps are uneven, awkward.

Kyle guides him to his car in the parking lot without a comment, and takes the time to make sure Alex is comfortable in the passenger seat before he drives the thirty seconds to his home. There seems to be no end to Alex's shame tonight, and yet Kyle somehow manages to make it as painless as the situation can be−physically and emotionally. He gets Alex into the most comfortable armchair in his living room, pants and prosthesis off, with minimum fuss and as much privacy as possible.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs when Kyle finally sits down on the couch across from him.

“I can go, if you tell me you're going to be okay,” Kyle says. “But I can also stay.”

Alex bites his lip. No, he doesn't really want to be left alone with his thoughts. “Not the night,” he says. “But maybe for a minute?” He doesn't like how whiny his voice sounds, but he's exhausted. He curls up in the armchair, propping his right leg on the arm rest and tucking his left foot under him.

“Okay,” Kyle nods, though it's almost midnight. Alex feels bad for asking that of him, but he did offer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There isn't much to talk about,” Alex shrugs. “I'm sorry. I was just...tired.”

Kyle raises his eyebrows. “You're allowed not to talk about it, but please don't downplay it, Alex. This wasn't you being tired.”

“No, you're right. This was me freaking out over what tomato sauce to buy. But mostly, it's been a long day. Long week. Long...everything.”

“Your work?” Kyle asks.

“Not really. Not mostly. I've been, uh, taking on side projects, researching Project Shepard and Caulfield, helping you guys. And...my superiors were on base yesterday. My boss. And my boss's boss. And for about half-an-hour, I thought they were here to arrest me.”

“What?”

“It turns out that it was unrelated, but people are asking questions. Not my team, but I'm just a Captain, I still have to answer to people. And recently, I've had to cover up a shit-ton of things. Things that I could be court-martialed for and spend my life in prison several times over. You know this, you did the same.”

“Well, I'm risking my medical license for sure, maybe being sued by the hospital, but probably not jail,” Kyle says. “I didn't...honestly, I don't think any of us realized what you did for us.”

“For them,” Alex corrects him. “You're an outsider to them as much as I am. Tied up by shitty legacies and unwanted feelings for people who don't want us back.”

“You're right,” Kyle sighs. “I told Liz, before the surgery, I told Liz once that was over, I was done. But we all know it's not true.”

Alex gives him a commiserating smile. “In any case, Michael, Max and Isobel risk much worse just by being alive. I'm okay with doing my part. I have to admit that I started seriously questioning that when I learned that Liz decided to go ahead with the heart transplant when she thought you wouldn't be able to keep Max alive, because I had to pull in a lot of favors to get you that theater. That's when people started asking questions.”

“Wait, she didn't tell you beforehand? I thought she told you, or I would have.”

“I don't know if you've noticed, but Liz tends to get tunnel vision,” Alex shrugs. “Rosa told me.”

“Not Michael?”

“Nah, he was wrapped up in his family. We didn't talk.”

“What's going on with you two, anyway?” Kyle asks. “At Caulfield, you were basically flirting the whole way there, and now he's with Maria?”

Alex swallows. “Our...timelines didn't align,” he says. “My family destroyed his. I can't blame him for keeping me at arm's length.”

“That's bullshit, Alex. You're not your family.”

“And yet I brought so much pain into his life,” he sighs.

“So you're just giving up?”

“He's made it clear over and over that I'm not the one he wants. So yeah, I'm giving up.”

Kyle tilts his head. “There's something you're not telling me.”

Fuck. Either Kyle has become even more observant than he was or Alex is still so rattled that he's letting things through. Probably the second option.

Alex ponders it for a moment. He hasn't talked to anyone about that night. He hasn't seen his therapist in months, not since the nightmares and flashbacks Caulfield brought back up abated, and he doesn't exactly have a host of other friends to discuss things with. It's been a weight on his shoulders that doesn't live, that permeates everything. But then...this is Kyle. Is he really someone Alex want to talk about this with?

Actually, yes, he decides. Kyle has something of a unique perspective.

“We had a threesome,” he mutters. It's even more awkward coming out of his mouth than it is when he thinks the word.

“I'm sorry, what did you just say?” Kyle has his mouth hanging open. He's heard perfectly well.

“Michael, Maria and me,” Alex says. “After, uh, Maria and I went to see this boot maker, and he attacked us, stabbed me and went after Maria. She knocked him out and he's in custody,” Alex add hurriedly when he sees Kyle's expression become murderous.

“He stabbed you,” Kyle states.

“Just a little,” Alex shrugs. It's healed just fine, it will probably barely scar. “I'm fine.”

“You got stabbed, and instead of, I don't know, calling me, you had sex with your ex and your best friend. Your female best friend.”

“She initiated it, it's not like we came onto her or anything,” Alex raises his hands.

Kyle blinks. “Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about, Alex.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Kyle works his jaw several times, trying to find his words. “Let's put it like this. Why are you telling me about it?”

“I...don't know,” Alex shrugs. It weights on his mind, and it needs to get out.

“How did it feel?”

Alex swallows. “Not great. I didn't...I didn't enjoy it. I thought−” he trails off.

“What did you think?” Kyle prompts him.

“We were coming off an adrenaline rush, and being with other people, with them, it felt...safe. I didn't want to leave. When Maria started to−I thought I wanted Michael enough that it would be okay, that I could handle it.”

“'Handle it',” Kyle repeats. “Alex, are you even hearing yourself right now? What would you say if one of your partners said they could 'handle' sex with you?”

“I'd back off right away,” Alex sighs. “But it wasn't like that, we were all consenting.”

“You'd just been attacked. You were injured. I'm assuming you'd been on your leg for a long time. Am I getting the right picture here?”

Alex shrugs. He can't deny it, but it doesn't feel right. Maria and Michael didn't make him have sex with them, he did it of his own free will. Sure, he should have left, but he hasn't been known for making the best decisions for himself, right?

His hands are shaking again.

“I could have left,” he says, his voice trembling. “I didn't want to, but I should have.”

“Okay,” Kyle says, physically backing off. “Don't spiral out again, it's okay.”

“I tried to go on a date, today,” Alex says after a few deep breaths.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. The guy is great. I just...he tried to kiss me, and I couldn't.”

Kyle frowns. “Why−oh, in public?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know about your father?”

“No,” Alex shrugs. “Does it matter? We all have our bad coming out stories.”

“Your father is a little more than that, Alex,” Kyle raises an eyebrow, like Alex doesn't know that.

“It doesn't change anything. He's not ready to date someone who's not out and proud.”

“Except you are, Alex. You are out and proud. And honestly, with what you've been through, it's amazing how open you are. So maybe you don't wear glitter or dye your hair blue−”

Alex snickers.

“What?”

“Forrest has blue hair,” he says.

“The guy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, my point stands. You're not in the closet, you just have baggage. Heavy baggage, maybe, but it's not the same.”

Alex tilts his head. Kyle is not wrong, even if he hadn't thought of it that way.

“You think I'd look good in glitter?” he asks, because he needs to stop getting in too deep with his emotions.

“Alex, you'd look good in sack. Glitter, rainbows, crazy hair colors? You'd definitely pull them off. Green would look good on you. Or purple.”

“I think I'll stick to black, thank you,” Alex laughs. “But maybe I'll think of getting my ears pierced again. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You suddenly seem to be awfully interested in queer fashion.”

Kyle actually blushes. “Um, I...I might have taken to hanging out at Planet 7,” he mumbles.

“You?” Alex asks in shock.

“I wanted to get away from Liz. And anything alien. Actually aliens, I mean. Not that it worked.”

Alex frowns. “Michael was there?”

“No,” Kyle shakes his head. “Not him. Fuck, I shouldn't have told you that.”

It takes Alex a few moments to catch up. “It can't be Max, so...Isobel? Really?”

“I didn't mean to...out her or anything.”

“It's okay, I'm not going to go shout it from the rooftops,” Alex says, because Kyle really looks worried. “Though you should definitely be careful who you tell.”

“I will.”

“What about you?” Alex asks.

“What?”

“Are you trying to tell me you're not as straight as you thought?”

Kyle hides his face in his hands. “I don't know, maybe? I don't...I'm really not sure. I never thought about men that way, but when I see the couples there, or the people who hook up...I don't know.”

“It's okay,” Alex smiles. “It's okay not to know. You don't need to have a word that fits right away.”

“Thanks,” Kyle nods.

“Anytime.”

“I was so horrible to you in high school, this would be a perfect opportunity for payback. Just goes to show what a good man you are.”

All the levity that this conversation has brought Alex goes right down the gutter, leaving him ice cold. “I'm not a good man,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You are. You're a good friend, Alex. A good person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Alex sighs and lets it go. It's not a conversation for one in the morning. “You should go home,” he says.

“Are you sure you'll be okay?”

Alex stands up slowly, wishing he had his second crutch for the trip over to his bedroom. “Look, I'll call my therapist, okay? I promise.”

“You do that,” Kyle says, standing up as well. Then, before Alex can completely process it, he opens his arms and closes them around him, careful not to make him lose his balance. Alex stiffens, unused to the contact, but it feels good. Safe. He relaxes slowly, bit by bit, and awkwardly pats Kyle's back with his free hand. “We'll grab a beer sometime this week, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex nods in Kyle's shoulder. “Would be nice.”

“I'll text you tomorrow.”

Kyle lets him go and fishes out his keys from his pocket, turning to leave.

“Hey, Kyle?” Alex calls after him quietly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for tonight.”

“You're very welcome,” Kyle smiles sweetly.

Despite his exhaustion, Alex doesn't fall asleep for hours, and when it does, it's to restless slumber, full of vague nightmares. He drags himself out of bed at nine, two hours past his usual wake-up time, and spends the morning trying to force his aching body into submission with a mix of PT exercises and yoga, that turns too easily into a punishment. A hundred push-ups, for being so weak. The voice in his head is his father's.

As he stares at his counter come eleven, an hour before Maria is supposed to be there, he remembers something. He still doesn't have tomato sauce. Or pasta, for that matter, since he never got to pay for his groceries last night.

“Fuck this,” he murmurs to himself, almost smirking at the joke that is his life. There is nothing he wants less than to spend the day with Maria. He doesn't have anything to cook her, and the Crashdown is closed on Sundays.

No. He's not going to do this.

He eyes his phone, thinking of coming up with some bullshit excuse to Maria. He can think of a dozen that would work well enough off the top of his head, though she's sure to give him hell for it later. At the thought of even seeing her later, Alex grimaces.

No. He sticks his phone in his back pocket and grabs his wallet, his keys and his crutch.

Right before he leaves, on a whim, he grabs a pen and a pad of sticky notes and writes SORRY. HAD SOMETHING TO DO. in capital letters. He sticks the note on his front door and sets the alarm.

Maybe this is his breaking point.

Forrest looks truly surprised when Alex shows up on his doorstep. He had to look up the actual address, since Forrest doesn't actually live in the barn where they met, and the Longs have several properties in the same area. He wouldn't want to knock on an random door and run into Wyatt.

“Hi,” Alex says.

“Is that voice in your head already gone?” Forrest asks.

“Not exactly. I just...thought you should hold all the cards.”

Forrest stares at him for a moment, thinking. “Alright,” he says. “Come in, then.”

The house is really more of a cabin, small and wooden all around. The inside is very different from Jim Valenti's cabin, though, and it screams Forrest. It seems this man really is what he shows to the outside, an open book.

The opposite of Alex, in a way.

“Sit down,” Forrest says. “I was just making coffee, you want some?”

“Sure. Black, please.”

Alex sits down on a comfortable couch covered with a patterned comforter while Forrest pours them both mugs in the tiny kitchen area.

“So, what did you want to say?”

Alex takes a deep inspiration. Despite his coming here being a heat of the moment thing, he's tried to practice his words in his car. He's not good with words, but it all comes down to what Kyle said last night.

“You asked me about my PTSD triggers, yesterday,” he says.

“Yes,” Forrest agrees carefully.

“You know, the funny thing is that no one's ever asked me that before. Beside my therapist, I mean. Most of my friends don't know I have PTSD, and the one who does usually doesn't need to ask.”

“Alien guy?” Forrest asks curiously.

“No. My relationship with Michael is more complicated. He has his own issues.”

“Okay. So you want to tell me about your triggers?”

“How they relate to what we talked about,” Alex says. “Being closeted. It's not that I don't want to come out. Sure, I wasn't out in the Air Force during DADT and that was hell, but here...I haven't been in the closet in this town since early high school. Everyone who knows me here knows I'm gay, and I'm fine with that.”

“Then what is it?” Forrest asks.

Alex bites his lip, then takes the plunge. “The last time I really pissed off a homophobe, it didn't end well for the guy I was with.”

“What do you mean? Did you get assaulted?”

“Yeah, you could say that. He went at my...boyfriend's hand with a hammer.”

Forrest covers his mouth with his hand in shock.

“I was seventeen,” Alex continues. “It was my father.”

“Fuck, Alex, I−”

Alex waves it off. “Don't apologize. I just...I wanted you to know. I'm not in the closet. But ever since that day, I haven't been able to be with someone and feel completely safe.”

“Of course,” Forrest murmurs. “Was your father generally abusive? Or did he snap?”

“He didn't start hitting me until he figured out I was gay, but he basically raised us−me and my brothers−as if we were in basic training,” Alex says. “After the...accident, he made me enlist, and I didn't come back to Roswell until a few months ago.”

“That's, wow, that's a lot. I thought my family was bad.”

“There's no comparison to make,” Alex shrugs. “You're brave enough to be proud of who you are in spite of them. I...I'm trying to get there. But it's hard.”

“I get that,” Forrest nods. “I understand it better now. Something didn't quite make sense about you.”

Alex thinks of Michael, of aliens and the secret lab and his classified work. He thinks of his father in the hospital, and being unable to just let him fall. He thinks of last night in the supermarket. “I don't make a lot of sense,” he says. “Which is why I completely get that you don't want to try something with me. I just wanted you to know.”

Forrest pauses and looks him up and down. “You know, maybe...I've put my standards very high, because I've been burned too many times, but so far you met everyone of them easily, except for this one. Maybe it's unrealistic. Maybe I shouldn't let you go, just because you're not quite ready to kiss me in public.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I like you Alex. I really like you, and I'm guessing the fact that you came all the way out here means you feel the same. So maybe those standards were just me closing myself off from opportunities. Maybe I should give this a chance.”

Alex smiles.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #kyle valenti #forest long #forlex #2x08 coda #anti malexa #trying to tag appropriately #tell me if i miss something #rnm s2 #rnm fanfiction #mine #echo's fanfiction

102 notes · View notes

ajokeformur-ray · 6 years ago

Note

Hi! ✨ idk if requests are open but if they are: joker is hurt real badly at work and his composure slips the closer he gets to the apartment. you hurry to stitch him up/calm him down but what he’s not telling you is he’s SO upset cuz he saw a woman who reminded him of you getting attacked in the street tonight + he realized he really doesn’t wanna lose you

Omgggg I’m so excited to write this one, as soon as I saw it I knew what to write! I truly believe that Joker would love you even harder than Arthur did, he’d basically be Arthur x 1000000 with you, and an event like this would hammer it all home for him. As such, I’ve done my best to not make this out of character - if I have, please let me know so I can re-write! @rebs-doom and I discussed this a little so I took inspiration from there. Please check out her blog if you have the time to, her writing is just incredible and I love her so much!!!!!

Okay so TW; blood mentions, injured!Joker, reader stitches him up, angst (but also fluff bc I refuse to hurt our boi), Joker dissociates, pain induced confessions which aren’t actually confessions because he doesn’t say anything? That sounded weird but if you read it you’ll know what I’m talking about. Also swearing, obviously. And I have no medical knowledge whatsoever but I don’t care. So please forgive any inaccuracies!

Arthur Fleck/Joker: @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox

Word count: 2, 718

Your relaxed plans for the evening were immediately cancelled when Joker almost fell through the front door. He slammed it shut, and you stood up in a panic. There were riots all over the news, talks of gunshots from unknown locations, talks of people getting beaten up and trampled over, the city was on fire yet again and you wondered how long it would be before Joker was able to get proper control over his newfound calling in life.

Your eyes roamed over his form and your heart stopped dead when you saw that, even with his makeup flaking and his skin coming through, he was pale. He was as white as a sheet and clutching his arm. There was blood splattered all over his once yellow waistcoat and you were grateful in that moment that his suit was mostly red; it would make hiding the stains so much easier. You could see straight away that most of the blood on him was his.

You fought back the sudden intense wave of nausea and hurried over to Joker, wrapping a guiding arm around him and leading him over to the sofa. You sat him down gently, quietly, and watched him for just a second. He wasn’t looking at you. No, he was looking through you. His eyes were glazed over with pain, emotionally and physically, his skin still had that ghostly pale pallor, and he was shaking like a leaf. His bottom lip was trembling and you could see how hard he was fighting himself. What the actual fuck had happened to him? Gone was the confident Joker you were used to. In his place was Arthur Fleck, and it broke your heart to see him in so much pain.

Hurriedly did you gather all the supplies from the bathroom that you would need. You didn’t know yet what kind of an injury he had obtained on his arm, but based on his physical signs of his distress and all that blood, it was bad. Knowing from experience that when Joker dissociated, you weren’t even going to be able to ask him to move or to help you, you tenderly removed his jacket, wincing to yourself when his facial expression showed no change but his eyes, oh his eyes were overflowed with tears, which steadily dripped down his face, removing the makeup which stubbornly clung to his skin. He looked a complete mess. Even his vibrant green hair was deflated and sticking to his skin, which had a light sheen of sweat on it. You had never seen him like this and you found yourself wishing that this was all just a nightmare. A really real nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You forced yourself to concentrate, to think. Now wasn’t the time for you to tap out of reality, either.

As his jacket slid off his body, the rich material getting stuck to the place where the blood was the worst, you gasped in horror. He had been grazed by a bullet or something similar, and the wound was leaking blood at an alarming rate. Could someone bleed out from an arm injury? You thought so, but you weren’t entirely sure. You had no medical knowledge at all beyond the most basic first aid. Quickly did you check the sight for any bullet. Nothing. It was a clean wound in that respect, at least. Still, it would leave a massive scar. Joker had always cared little for how his body looked and though his mind was riddled with scars which had never properly healed, his body was, at least on the surface, completely unblemished at the present time. He hadn’t taken a beating in months, for which you were immensely grateful. You had been happy when he had finally decided to start standing up for himself.

Your first priority was to clean the wound, and then you could bandage it. After that, you could focus on your true problem: getting Joker out of his own head and back with you. You had pulled him out of dissociation numerous times with some difficulty, but you had never seen him this bad, even when he was Arthur. Something had scared him, really scared him, and for Joker that was unprecedented; so laid back he was almost horizontal was he. While you worked, you spoke to him. You kept your voice low and calm, your tone as soothing as you could despite how much you wanted to break down and cry. You stroked his damp, matted hair, kissed his forehead, and you kept talking to him. You made him as aware as you could that you were there with him, that you were real, and that you were taking good care of him. He was safe with you.

When at last his wound was clean and bandaged, and you had cleared away the towels and the flannel you had used, and everything looked like before he had come home, you worked on undressing him. Joker would need to be as comfortable as possible in his body, even with the amount of pain he was in, before you could draw him out of himself. If he came to with something still remaining of the evening’s events, he would stay inside his own head. It was a delicate procedure and you didn’t even know if you were doing any of this right, but you had to try. You just had to try. Joker would appreciate your efforts more than anything else.

You left him shirtless but pulled up those electric blue trousers that were almost comically baggy up his legs. You brushed his hair gently and kept kissing parts of his face, his neck. You washed his face with a flannel using hot soapy water. You were so, so gentle and so tender and you were still feeling beside yourself with how his tears kept flowing, his bottom lip kept trembling, and still he didn’t talk. He only blinked occasionally and kept breathing at a regular rate. His heart rate was fine, too. Physically, Joker would heal.

Mentally?

You had to find out what had happened first. The question was - how? With patience and persistence, was the whispered answer. You shoved it away.

You sat beside him on the sofa, your entire body turned towards him. You were watching his every move, his every breath. You were waiting for a chance to get him back home to you.

You waited for maybe another half an hour before Joker blinked once, twice, three times, four and - a deep breath which moved his entire body. There he was. At last. Tears began to pour faster down his face and you leaned forward and kissed his forehead, holding your lips there as you just breathed him in. You were so heavily relieved that your heart was pounding.

A broken sob. You pulled away from him and pressed your lips together to keep yourself from crying. It didn’t work. Your tears mingled with his as they rained down upon his lap, so close together were you and he.

“Arthur?” You smiled gently at him, your eyes holding his. You only ever called him that when you needed to comfort him, when it was imperative that he knew how safe he was. You saved it for the occasions in which you needed his true name, and as such the effect was almost immediate as the familiar name sunk deep inside his ears, touching his brain gently. You followed his gaze every time he looked away from you, and he blinked again. A slow, careful hand came up and into the air as he reached towards you. You stayed so still, refusing to even breathe, and as his hand touched your face, he gasped lightly and wrenched his hand back.

“Y- Y/N. Are you real?”

You smiled, crying just as hard as he was. “Yes. I’m here, darling. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Joker bowed his head and leaned forward so that he could rest his forehead against your shoulder. He cried noisily, like a small child, and you wrapped your arms around him and just held him. You held him tightly, rubbing his back, kissing the top of his head, your stomach and mind sick with worry as that familiar question kept circling around and around in your head like a destructive hurricane:

What the fuck happened tonight?

Slowly did a hand leave Joker’s lap and come up to touch your face. He was checking to see if you were real and it only added to your distress. You didn’t know how much more you could take of this tonight, so mentally taxed were you. His hand followed the curve of your cheek and you pressed a kiss to your palm. His bloodshot green eyes met yours and your heart shattered all over again when tears continued to fall. That question was still in your head, and now it was on the very tip of your tongue. You couldn’t speak. The answer to your very significant question was written all over his face. It was in his eyes and all at once the horrifying truth slammed into you like a truck. It left you breathless and now your fear was his fear. You had always suffered together as a couple, and just because he was Joker now, that didn’t make it any less true. You felt each other’s emotions like they were your own.

You saw the blood on his clothes, which were now in the bath soaking in cold water. You saw the haunted expression on his face when he had crashed through the door. You felt the way he was still gripping you to him, even now, like he was protecting you from an invisible danger. Pieces of the devastating puzzle all clicked into place and at last, at last, you understood.

Someone who looked like you had been attacked tonight. Joker had seen it and it had distracted him in his overwhelming fear, which had resulted in his injury. His physical injury, a bullet graze, was nothing compared to the eternal mental anguish if he were to ever lose you. Only then, should such a thing ever happen, would Arthur Fleck truly go off the rails.

If such a thing were possible, your every emotion in this moment increased. The room became so much brighter, poorly illuminated though it was with lamps which desperately needed a bulb change but you couldn’t afford it right now, your heart began to roar through your head as though your blood was singing its way around your body, your grip around Joker and his around you grew tighter, until it felt as though you would become one physical body. Everything became clearer, more succinct. Mental clarity came to you and you saw Arthur Fleck. Just like you always had and you always would. Gotham had forgotten about him, it had cruelly abandoned him to a life of abuse of the worst kinds, given him back to his abusive mother and more, but you had never thought him invisible or unimportant. No. Since the day you had met had Arthur been a prominent figure in your life. That would never change.

Joker had found his own truth this night. He had always known just how deeply his love ran for you. He had always known how devoted and loyal he was to you, how much you meant to him and how much he didn’t want to lose you. But now, tonight, when he had seen someone who looked just like you getting violently attacked and lost in the crowd, he had come to know his truth. It had shocked him right down to his core, which was still kind and good and soft, and it had made him retreat inside his own damaged mind; his perceived reality was once more scarier than the infamous and familiar demons in his own head.

He was so fucking terrified of losing you that the mere thought of it had sent him spiralling into a dissociative state that you nearly hadn’t been able to pull him out of. A tsunami of love crashed over you, drowning your shores, and you were lost as your grip on what you had thought to be real faltered. You were the luckiest person on the entire fucking planet and you knew it.

Joker’s palm was still on your cheek, warming you from the outside. He still felt hazy, like he was watching himself through a television screen, but he was coherent enough to be able to see the exact moment you figured him out. His mind was so complex even he didn’t understand it, never mind the supposed professionals he had always been made to see (and a fat lot of good they were) but you had taken the time to try, and you had come to see him. You always did, in the end, no matter how long it took. Your innate understanding of Arthur had always meant the absolute world to him, and he had always made the effort to use his own intuition to see you just as clearly. It was one of your many strengths as a couple. Your continued joint willingness to try was one of your favourite things about your relationship. Anything could happen when you just tried.

Slowly did he lean in to press his lips to yours. Bare faced, his hair slicked back and his eyes shining with a galaxy that, even with its immeasurable size couldn’t quite quantify his love for you, he looked like Arthur. He was Arthur and sometimes you had to take care to remind yourself of the fact that no matter what, Arthur was still himself at his core. He hadn’t changed his truest, most genuine self. He had only grown into it, succumbed to it. You kissed him gently, trying to comfort him without words. Touch was the best way to affirm that you weren’t a delusion, that you were real and he was real and that you were in love and together.

“I was so scared,” He whispered against your lips, tears running anew down both of your faces. “I had to come home as quickly as I could just to see. If I lost you, I’d die - “ His hands, shaking, cupped your face as he fought with himself for control. You were both fine. His injury would heal and in the morning this would all seem like a bad dream, but in the moment he could only let himself feel with the liberation that Joker embodied.

He was exhausted and you could see it. With steady motions did you stand up, taking Joker with you. You didn’t let your skin leave his for even a second. You took him to the bedroom and the two of you got comfortable in the bed. The mattress protested, the springs creaked and bounced back into place as you moved, but for once your economical situation didn’t even occur to you. You didn’t give a flying fuck about anything but Joker right now. He laid facing you, his legs tucked up so he was in the foetal position. His arms were wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in your stomach as he allowed himself to cry it all out. Crying really did make people feel better. It restored the chemicals in the brain which were unbalanced. It left people tired, though, and you were really tired too, so taking him to bed had been your only option. You weren’t physically strong enough to move him to the bed if he fell asleep on you.

You held him, there was nothing you could do or say to assuage his very real and palpable fear that either of you could one day lose the other from a reason entirely out of your control, and pressed kisses to whichever parts of him you could reach. You remained quiet, letting him express himself, and when he was finally done sobbing, you wiped his tears away and kissed him as tenderly as you could, biting back your own emotions as you had been since he had come home.

Only when Joker was definitely asleep did you allow yourself the luxury of crying.

I’m actually crying now. Someone send help.

EDIT: PART TWO

#Nonnie #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x reader #joker #joker imagine #joker x reader #joker 2019 imagine #joker 2019 #todd phillips #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix imagine #Joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix x reader #phoenix!joker imagine #phoenix!joker #phoenix!joker x reader

484 notes · View notes

shuttymcshutfuck · 5 years ago

Text

I’ts okay if you can’t find the words, let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Type: hurt/comfort

Word count: 1,059

Relationships: Juno Steel & Peter Nureyev (Jupeter), Past Juno Steel & Diamond (Mentioned)

TW: past sexual assault, dissociation, flashbacks, PTSD, self-harm (I’m not sure if it is or not but better safe than sorry)

Ao3 link

Sometimes even when you have a good day the past can creep up on you. Juno is mostly used to this by now. What he's not used to is someone caring for him.

It had been a day off from jobs on the carte blanche so everyone was just doing little bits and bobs. Juno had spent most of the day held hostage on the couch by Rita with each member of the crew popping in and out every so often. He hadn’t paid much attention to the streams Rita had put on, just letting his mind rest for a little. Once they had well and truly stayed up a bit later than they should have Juno decided to call it a night and head back to the room he and Nureyev shared. He walked in and Peter lay on the bed reading a book, his glasses on the very end of his nose.

“Coming to join me?” Nureyev spoke softly, still not looking up from his book.

“Just gonna hop in the shower real quick first.” Juno walked straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Nothing was different, so why did something feel off? Suddenly it flickered in his mind. Diamond. No, this wasn’t going to happen again. Today was a good day after all, why should he think about them. But it wasn’t them he was thinking about, it was something they did. Juno tried to hold on, trying to focus on the feeling of the water running down his back. As much as Juno wanted to forget it he couldn’t help but feel Diamond’s light touch on his body. Their unwelcome touch, that is.

He slowly turned up the temperature, using the faint burning of his skin to drown out the ghosts of touch that haunted him. And he stood there, just grasping onto his last thread of reality. He knew that they weren’t here, that they were long gone, planets away and he was safe on the Carte Blanche. The static of his thoughts were so loud that he didn’t hear Peter call his name. He didn’t even know that Peter had come into the bathroom until he had pulled back the curtain slightly and came into Juno’s line of sight.

“Nureyev?” It came out more like a sigh than anything else but it was enough to let Peter know that Juno was back in the present at least a little.

“Juno, why is the water so hot?” It was only now that Juno felt the burning sensation all over his shoulders and back. When the only response Peter got was Juno’s eyes widening he assumed that Juno wasn’t aware that his shower was scalding hot.

“Dear? I’m going to turn off the shower and hand you your towel, okay?” Juno nodded slightly, still partially stuck in his memories. Peter did as he said, moving slowly as not to scare him. Juno wrapped the towel around himself, taking Peter’s hand when it was offered to keep him steady. He led Juno over to the bed and shuffled over to the chest of drawers, pulling out an old baggy t-shirt and pair of joggers. Making sure Juno knew when and where he would touch him, Peter helped him into the clothes and into bed. He was humming a soft tune that slowly soothed Juno’s frayed nerves. It was only after they were both lying in bed, Juno’s head on Nureyev's chest with his fingers carding through Juno’s damp hair that he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry.” It was close to a whisper, his voice a bit hoarse from tears he doesn’t remember shedding. Thankfully, apart from Peter’s gentle humming the room was silent.

“For what?” Peter’s voice was just as quiet and Juno could feel his chest vibrate lightly.

“Me? Tonight? You shouldn’t have to put up with this.” Juno nestled his face deeper into Peter’s chest, trying to hide the embarrassment that was slowly washing over him alongside the realisation of what had happened.

“You have nothing to apologise for, my love.” His humming had stopped now but his hand kept carding through Juno’s hair, slowly massaging away the growing headache that always came after crying hard enough.

“Don’t you want an explanation?” Juno said, confusion evident in his voice.

“If you want to talk about it I’m all ears but, you don’t have to explain anything to me. Whatever happened was clearly distressing so if you’re not up to it then I won’t force you to relive it just to clear some things up. If at any point you want to talk about it then of course I’m here. For now though, I am quite content just laying here with you.” At that Juno felt the whisper of a smile graze his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been so kind after one of his “moments” as Diamond used to call them.

He hid it from Rita as much as he could because he didn’t want her to worry. Of course there were still times where he slipped and Rita saw a stray tear or times where she would catch him staring into space, his hands grasping onto his arms like a lifeline. But there wasn’t much she could do apart from waiting for him to come back to and asking if there was anything he needed. An offer which he always declined, not wanting to bother her. Juno doesn’t even want to think about what happened on the rare occasion Diamond found him, especially after Benten died. Those nights never ended well.

“Would you like me to read to you, Juno? It may not be the start of the book but it might help.” Nureyev’s voice was sincere and raw. No trace of Rex Glass, Duke Rose or even Peter Ransom. It was just him.

“Oh, uh sure.” As Peter started reading Juno focused on his voice. Within minutes Juno was struggling to keep his eye open as fatigue continuously hit him in waves. Peter, of course, noticed this and paused his reading.

“You can fall asleep, Juno. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” At this Juno finally let himself drift off to the sound of Nureyev’s voice, his heart beat and the feeling of his fingers running through Juno’s hair. And when he woke up the next morning, Peter was still there as promised. Maybe things weren’t perfect in the mess he calls a brain but he thinks that maybe that’s okay as long as he has Peter by his side.

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #junoverse #tpp fic #my writing

6 notes · View notes

marshunter06 · 5 years ago

Text

Sad Bitch- Łaszewo (Trentney)

A/N: Sorry I’ve been absent, but my brain has been a bitch lately... I never imagined I would be writing a fic like this, but I had to get it out. The reason why I do have such a soft spot for Trentney is because I have a Trent in my life to keep me grounded and I’m so grateful for him

To be a good artist means one must be burdened with great suffering especially at the hands of oneself. This may not apply to all the arts and typically not with singers, but Courtney understood this more than anyone in the industry. It was never her intention to be this way, dissociating while her manager tried to plan her next move, but the weight of her own thoughts were just too much to carry. Back when Total Drama was still a thing, she hid her depression well, she often exploded into anger to keep people out. No one would dare befriend a fiery volcano just waiting to erupt, no one besides him at least. With a touch of his hand, she was brought back to reality to listen to the meeting with their label. His smile and bright green eyes soothed her dark thoughts away briefly, enough to put on her persona as a successful pop princess. His hand stayed put, right next to hers barely touching. It brings a warm feeling into her heart and soon she’s lost in a daydream with him as the focus. Still the sadness starts to ease into her thoughts making doubts plague her mind. Was she foolish with possibly falling for her best friend? Was it smart to trust Trent with her heart so soon after her final breakup with Duncan? Would it even be the final breakup? Duncan, the name still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She still remembers everything about their failed relationship, every callous word thrown at each other without regard for the other’s feelings. A primes example of two toxic people made for each other. Their love always sizzled out leading to another prison both were too familiar to let go of. What happened to the young her who welcomed every change with a light in her eyes? Courtney doesn’t know when her old self died only to be reborn into a shell of who she was before, but when she finally realized what happened, it was too late.

“Court, you’re home.”

She blinks once then twice wondering when she got into his car. Her scenery magically changed from a corporate office to her newly purchased home.

“Here, I’ll walk you inside. I think I forgot my guitar pick anyways.”

“The silver one?”

“Yeah, did you find it?”

“No, I’ve been busy, sorry. It should be in the studio though.”

He simply smiles as he walks around to open her door; he doesn’t call her out on her obvious lie. She wasn’t busy, he’s been there with her as her demons pull her away from the real world, she just stares into nothingness. He tries to pull her out of it when possible, usually a nudge will do it, but sometimes the demons are too powerful to keep at bay for long. Lately it’s been worse. They’ve had to reschedule the label meeting several times already. He knows she’s heading down a dark path, it’s why he’s been making excuses to stay over despite him living an hour plus away due to LA traffic.

“Found it, you were right, it was on top of the piano.”

“Oh? Glad it’s not missing anymore, thanks for bringing me back by the way.”

“‘Course, can’t leave my fav girl stranded.”

“I would’ve been fine, really. You can go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I never break my promises.”

He only hesitated slightly then nodded bidding her goodnight. It was already late, the moon high above the sky with stars twinkling around the crescent shaped light. He was almost out the door when he turned back to tell her to look outside.

“The moon is beautiful tonight.”

“You tell me this every night.”

“And I mean it everytime.”

“We couldn’t even see it a few nights ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not still beautiful.”

“Trent, I think you’ve been awake for too long. Get some sleep tonight.”

“You too. I’ll call when I get home, so you don’t worry.”

“You can just text me, I’ll still be up.”

“It’s better to hear your voice.”

“You hear it all the time, you should be sick of it.”

“You’re kidding right? I get the honor of listening to the greatest singer of our generation, how could I ever pass that opportunity up?”

“Are you talking about yourself again?”

This gets both of them to smile, he knows he’s succeeded in pushing away her sorrow for a moment. It won’t last long though, they both knew this. She can only hope she doesn’t call him crying again tonight. He’s been losing sleep because of her, still he never complains.

After he leaves, she tries her best to get ready for bed. She gets distracted a few times, just managing to slip under her covers by the time Trent calls her letting her know he made it home safely. She keeps the conversation short telling him she’s tired, he wishes her sweet dreams as she tells him good night. She lays in bed tossing and turning until she’s on her side facing her window with the just a glow of the moonlight seeping into her dark room. She closes her eyes willing sleep to take over, but her brain runs wild bringing her further into its abyss.

You’re going to be sad and alone forever.

Trent doesn’t love you, no one does, you couldn’t even keep Duncan.

Your parents are ashamed of you, you’re the reason they divorced.

Cate’s won’t talk to you because you’re too much to handle, your own sister hates you.

You’re only famous because no one’s caught on that you’re talentless yet, the whole world will shun you soon.

The only reason you have hits is because Trent’s the one writing the songs, when he leaves you’ll be nothing.

What’s it like being a hurtful bitch getting karma like you deserve?

Honestly Courtney, you’re pathetic, why do you even try? No one likes a sad bitch.

Everyone’s tired of how whiny you are, just stop with your lame excuses, who cares if you didn’t get sleep?

The self hatred goes on and on until she’s drowning in negative energy. She’s suffocating and breathing isn’t helping, she can’t take in air fast enough, the room feels too confined. She needs to get up and get out, but she can’t, she’s trapped. Tears stream out of her eyes as her body continues to be paralyzed, her heart is erratic and she can barely breathe. It’s too much, the walls are caving in and she can’t do anything to stop it. She closes her eyes again trying to fight back with happy thoughts, but she fails again and again as her mind continues to tell her how useless she is. She’s losing the battle, she just wants it to be quiet, but her thoughts ring loud and clear with every word cutting into her soul. Pain, so much pain leaving invisible scars all over her. If she waits long enough she’ll blackout from the pressure, she just has to focus on her breathing. In then out, in then out, she can do this, she promised she could…

Her eyes snap open and she’s able to move once more. Her first thought is to call him, she should’ve just asked him to stay. She’s always felt better in his arms, his regular heartbeat bringing her back to earth. Why didn’t he fight harder to stay this time? Was he really sick of her too? He’s just like the others, he can’t handle her. The kindest person she’s ever met and even he’s exhausted being near her. The misery takes over and all she wants is to drown herself in alcohol and cigarettes. All bad habits she learned from her ex, though to be fair, she didn’t take much persuading. She’s always known she has an addicting personality, it’s why she tried to stay sober, but she needed an escape. A bottle or two of wine wouldn’t be too bad. It was with this thought in mind that she decided to go into the living room for her secret stash of sherry’s. She rounds the corner heading to her hidden cabinet when she spots it: a silver guitar pick on the coffee table. She stops dead in her tracks.

“Trent.”

She sits on the ground as she cradles the pick rubbing over the letter “T” confirming it was his. She feels restless as she continues to stare at the precious item left behind for her sake. He knew. He must have. Why else would he leave the pick again? She closes her palm and holds it close to her chest, she has an overwhelming urge to do something. She wants to go to him, so she does, she doesn’t bother with a jacket, she simply follows her heart running out in the dead of night. She’s out the door in a flash clearly not thinking as she leaves her car behind and doesn’t lock her door. All she knows to do is keep moving forward as she jogs into a sprint. The cold air hits her bare arms and legs, but she isn’t bothered.

She makes it a block before her brain catches up telling her this is a bad idea; she starts to spiral down in her thoughts again. Do you even know where you’re going Courtney? You’re such an idiot, you just moved. How do you know the way to his house already? He obviously doesn’t want you to disturb him, he’s never invited you over since you moved. Stop with your delusions, Trent doesn’t like you, he only puts up with you because you work together. What are you going to do now? You’re lost. You’re going to lose him just like how you lost everyone else in your life. Face it Courtney, you’re just a loser. All you do is waste time.

She collapses on the hard concrete scraping her knee in the process. She nearly drops the pick in her hands as she hides her face with tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t know what to do and now she’s blinded by a bright light. She drops her hands, it wasn’t the moonlight nor the streetlight, so it must be a headlight. It’s the middle of the night, no one should be out driving in this neighborhood. She should get up and go back home, but she’s lost the strength. She’s not even slightly afraid as the car approaches closer. It slows to a stop right next to her as she continues to stare forward. She doesn’t hear him when he calls out to her. She’s tired and cold, all she wants to do is close her eyes. She opens her eyes when she feels a warm jacket draped over her engulfing her in a familiar scent.

“Sorry I’m late, didn’t realize you wanted to go jogging.”

“Trent?”

“Hey Court.”

He says her name with a smile, he doesn’t question her on why she was out in her pajamas at nearly three in the morning sitting on the ground. He helps her up and into the passenger seat as he drives them back to her place. He doesn’t yell at her, his voice is calm and gentle when he tells her she’s home. She removes her seatbelt and that’s when she notices the duffel bag in the back seat. He catches her gaze explaining immediately even though he would never ask her to tell him what went wrong.

“It’s just some spare clothes. I was going to leave it in the car. I figure I might be here a while since we’re going to start on the new album tomorrow… or today rather.”

“You can bring it inside. I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

She nods. He smiles at her again as he grabs the duffle in one hand with the other holding hers as they walk back inside her place. He doesn’t scold her on leaving her door ajar and unlocked. Once inside is when he notices the scrape on her knee. He immediately heads to the bathroom to grab the medical kit to help clean her wound. When she’s all patched up, he places a kiss on her bandaid as if it was the most natural thing to do. He notices her surprise.

“Sorry, Mom always did that for me whenever I got hurt. It took the pain away.”

She doesn’t say anything, she just opens her left hand where the pick had been the entire time. He takes it from her understanding that she was okay for now. When he looks at her again she’s overcome with another intense feeling, one that she never thought she would feel again so quickly. Panic starts to rise within as her brain feeds her false information. He pulls her out of the darkness as he wraps his arms around her keeping her safe and secure. The intruding fear leaves as she calms down. She pushes him away when his embrace becomes too much, he scoots over to give her more space.

“Are you ready to go to sleep Court?”

“Almost. I know it’s late, but I want to write for a bit. You can go to sleep first.”

“Inspiration strikes at any time. I’ll stay up with you.”

She pulls out her notebook armed with purple ink as it spills out on the page. He doesn’t interrupt, as she continues to put words on paper. It’s not often that she gets to write herself. She writes down all her haunting thoughts and with each line she feels a bit more healed. It’s therapeutic in a way, she wonders why she never did this in the first place, it would’ve saved her a lot more heartache. She passes him the notebook when she’s finished, he scans through the words until he reaches the end. He looks back up at her with a smile and a promise.

We've all been hurt before

If all's fair in love and war

What are we fighting for?

Baby, had the good intentions

Couldn't face another change of direction

Tell me what's the method to your madness

I'm just a fucking sad bitch, show me you can handle it

Save me from my own reflection

I can't take this tight rope tension

Tell me what's the method to your madness

I'm just a fucking sad bitch, show me you can handle it

A/N: This is only a glimpse of how I feel, I didn’t want to make the fic more dark, but it did to write it out. If anyone else is in the same boat know you’re not alone and that you can beat this. I’m still here and you here too.

#trentney #sfs #depression tw #it’ll be ok and maybe I can find more normal inspiration #sad bitch summer let’s not make this a trend

7 notes · View notes

aquagenesis · 4 years ago

Text

This is by no means a vent post or anything I just need to discuss topics and ideas.

It’s so bizarre how, for most of my life, I did have psychotic tendencies and explicitly schizophrenic symptoms. I would get disoriented on a school bus and want to make a big show of it; storm up to the bus driver in a fit of rage and demand to know where I was being taken. I would ask incoherent, nonsense questions in class that would get me a resounding look of “what the fuck are you talking about”. Friends in particular would always take the time to step in and allow me to re-phrase what I was asking because they would learn to understand sometimes information is jumbled in my head, which I am not aware of.

It happens on here too, though I’ve gotten better at it. What begins as a cohesive argument in my mind eventually spirals into a whirlpool of me repeating the same three things, the same three points, the same three everything while pretending it’s something different. Because I have voices in my head that take over and make it hard to focus. I thought everyone heard voices, because how else do you process information? But for other people, it’s not voices. Not ones they can hear, at least.

The only thing that ever stopped me was, incredibly, what I think my paranoia was. I was too afraid of making a scene because I thought, assuredly, they’d always tell me they were going to kill me. I would stand up to assert myself only to get pulled back down in my own head with “if you cause problems, you will die”. I thought that was survival instinct. I prided myself, in fact, on my survival instincts because of things like that. Because I believed every person who utilized and prided their autonomy was doomed to die for their arrogance. How can you exist so unabashedly in life when you know death is something you cannot hide from and cannot know the origin of? Standing up for yourself is putting yourself in harms way; the lines between “what is paranoia” and “what is formative child abuse” are too blurred for me to even care “which one it is” because they’re both the same.

It’s just knowing I was so schizophrenic. Knowing I was so blatantly delusional; I’d get called delusional all the time because I wasn’t living in reality. My original self was already forced to be so separated from its body because of infant-aged trauma when I felt “normal” it already wasn’t me. Every time I’d stabilize myself in a deeper level of my own psychosis I’d get punched down through another one, like a personal version of Dante’s Inferno.

Of course I developed a dissociative disorder. How else was my psyche supposed to survive losing family members who cared about me, how else was it supposed to survive losing everything. The personality I shifted into to appease my conditions were never good enough; they never protected me enough. It’s so fucked up my brain already had to put me in another reality to cope with not receiving basic physiological needs as an infant and then had to shatter and reform reality after reality because anything was better than living in real life but nothing protected me enough, nothing justified anything enough, nothing could make me feel like I was living how I was meant to.

And then I wonder why I got so deep in it. I wonder why that’s all I knew. It was. Living in delusion was the only thing that kept me from being suicidal, because it made me believe something grand was meant for me at the end of it all. I only broke down because, after everything, after five years of eviction and homelessness, there was still only despair ahead. Now I’m 26. an entire high school education away from 30 but abysmally depressed I had to spend all this time helping myself, and continue to, in the vain hope one thing would ever happen to me to make life worth it.

All I needed was to be pushed into reality, to be shown and taught nothing happened to me in some grand plan. All I needed was a therapist who would listen for long enough in my Anime Tragic Backstory to tell me, “Hey man, that was fucked up, but it’s not like you have to forgive them. You don’t have to be tortured by anything. You can leave other people; you can leave them too.” But therapists are no longer trained to listen to trauma and try to work out anything formative that could have happened to someone. I didn’t know I was schizophrenic. Nobody cared enough to tell me I was unless it was through the “well...you have The Disorder. we have to keep you to make sure your SCARY PSYCHOTIC EPISODE--you’ve seen American Psycho, right?--doesn’t make you do that to yourself or someone else.” lens of “take this medicine and it’ll fix something you don’t think is a problem, because psychosis deludes the brain into thinking it isn’t delusional”.

And there was nothing anyone could have done; my untreated schizophrenia prevented me from being able to work. My delusions would go unchecked, people wouldn’t know I was stretching the truth and neither did I. Through the lens of insanity I doomed coworkers to bitter rivals, others to beloved friends, and still others to unworthy of my respect with nothing in between. My life was a grand path to luxury and respect from the bottom of the earth; who wouldn’t be adored to know me?

I would tell people time and time again I was schizophrenic, I was psychotic, I experienced delusions. I was cast as “the good outcome” of a psychotic condition and my experiences, the only true part of my life, were chalked up to “well there Luke goes with his silly little rants again”. I was abandoned to spiral because I was “okay”; I didn’t experience delusions where I thought I was God (anything remotely attached to that was different, I said it was different), my psychosis never drew me to suicide. Everyone else who claimed they were schizophrenic were automatically compared to me and regarded as “good” or “bad” with no regard to what was swimming around in my brain. If I didn’t have a god complex before (I did, but I said I didn’t, so there’s no blame here), I certainly developed one then.

But I knew I wasn’t someone to be compared to, because I did experience delusions where I thought not that I was God but some higher being, I was drawn to suicide at the drop of a hat. But then I couldn’t admit to those things being so much deeper than they were, because everyone else who experienced these things were “bad” schizophrenics. I was supposed to have this together; I knew I had no right to judge people with my same condition because I knew I was no better than them. If I had a best friend I’d known all my life, I would probably go to them with my ever-wavering mental condition too. That’s what I craved; the ability to tell someone about what was happening to me.

And it’s not like I ever thought I was entitled to people, you know, listening. I never expected anyone to look me in the eyes and tell me “Hey buddy you know you don’t really seem in reality” because if someone said that to me I’d probably freak out and doom them to “Bitter Rival Plus” for the rest of my life. It was the attitude that I was redeemable because of how well I handled everything, the way I never let my symptoms show, the way a one-time freakout seemed more preferable to everyone else but me because “at least he only got that bad once”, as opposed to the risk of smaller breakdowns more often. I lost my ability to realize I had control over myself because the admittedly bad symptoms everyone else experienced, which I did too, never were offered support. I was told a story of a mutual once-friend who threw herself off a roof in the midst of a schizophrenic breakdown. The pitilessness of it all told me I would never find sympathy in admitting my faults.

It’s hard because if it were depression, if it had been depression, this would have been solved eons ago. Anyone can go to a friend and talk through a depression; nobody can go to a friend and talk through a psychotic episode without your companion growing frustrated as you’re unable to grasp reality. Once is fine, twice is annoying, thrice is overwhelming. I can feel it just as anyone. Nobody wants to talk to crazy people.

And what do people think that does, exactly? Do you think your delusional friend can really have a talk once, be told they’re psychotic, and immediately know? How do we have thousands of articles dissecting every aspect of anxiety, from work to generalized, but none to tell the everyman that “psychotic people suffer from a condition that prevents them from differentiating reality from fantasy”. or, we do tell people, but it still follows the same rules of once is fine, twice is annoying, thrice is overwhelming. Depression is a mental condition that causes extended states of misery. Anxiety is a mental condition that causes extended states of stress. Psychosis is a mental condition that causes extended states of, well, delusion. Someone who wakes up already delusional is not going to be able to tell you “when it started”; everything has always felt this way. Now that they can see clearly, because they feel energized (because they are delusional), “nothing is wrong” and they are left to spiral into whatever rabbit hole they fall into.

If we know it’s harmful to tell people with depression and anxiety to “get over it”, why are psychotic people different? Why is it so hard to go into a relationship and be told, explicitly, “I have a psychotic condition”, and follow through as you would anyone else?

“Because psychosis is different.” No further context needed.

#hi guess who it is #it's me and i'm complaining about ment of illness loves #not mine just in general #you know. my lifetime topic of psychosis.

1 note · View note

secritivebadhabits · 5 years ago

Text

mental health rant, TWs galore:

disclaimer - i have no plan to kill or harm myself or others

the amount to which i genuinely crave death is unhealthy. and i don’t mean it in the joking way, i want to fucking die, i’m just too much of a wuss with no energy to do it myself. my roommate called security on me the weekend before last bc i said i was gonna call my doctor cause i’ve been having suicidal thoughts and want to get help. she was too scared to fall asleep and wake up with me dead, i get it, but that whole fiasco took the last of me away. it left me feeling like an overdrawn credit card: there’s nothing there but still somehow more was taken. and since then i’ve been putting on this facade of being okay because what the actual fuck happens if she feels the need to do that again? i don’t think i could survive inpatient, or if i could i wouldnt after. im too scared to be sick around her and that sucks so bad because she is one of the two people i am closest to. and now according to our residence director, i have to be less negative, as she’s in need of a mental health recouperation period (and the suicidal one isn’t??) and everything is just bottling up inside of me. i’m still talking to my friends like before but it’s not the same not being able to say it out loud to someone physically in front of you. i’m trying so hard not to grow resentful towards her but it feels like what the school is doing is having me give her all the space to heal and grow while they tell me to just stop being suicidal. like i know this isn’t easy on her, i’ve gone through this with one of my closest friends, but i don’t think it’s right that i’m being treated this way. my self deprecating humor? not allowed. she gets to use it tho. me joking i wanna kms because of some minor inconvenience? not allowed. she still says it. it’s so fucking hard to not be ‘negative’ when you’re in one of the worst places you’ve ever been in your life. after our meeting with the residence director i was highkey dissociating and i was trying to pull myself back and it was like my soul or whatever was just flung from my body into outer space (it normally feels like i’m a balloon being held, attached but by a thread). i couldn’t speak or move or focus my eyesight. i physically could do these things, but it was as if there were no longer the connections that allowed the brain impulses to tell the muscles to work. it was terrifying and i don’t know how long it happened for but i genuinely thought i would die in my sleep because of how not there i felt. have i been able to tell her about this? no because it would be considered ‘too negative’ and ‘too much of a burden on her mental health’. imagine if this were to happen when she’s around. totally protecting her mental health, it’s not like she’ll have a panic attack if she ever sees it happen or anything seeing that she doesn’t know about it. can’t wait for her to eventually figure out my issues with food bc that’s inevitable. god, i was standing in the bathroom earlier and i was just staring at my hips with the most intense urges to cut but i just didn’t even have the energy to go get my blade. i’ve been on a steady decline since yesterday and i know im gonna spiral this weekend cause she’s going home and i’m going to be alone and that always just makes me worse.

#10/29/2020

1 note · View note

tocxmply · 5 years ago

Text

ATTENTION, AWARENESS, AND LEARNING [sources: click, click, click, click, click]

the original plan was to have this as the initial section of my meta about Bucky’s memory (what he remembers vs. what he forgot, essentially) but: 1) i realized that was going to be a massive thing and splitting it might be in my best interest, and 2) memory does not exist without learning and learning does not exist without attention so, really, exploring each step individually might not be a bad idea after all. other than the linked sources, this meta will also build on what i have already discussed regarding the process of brainwashing that underlies the functioning of the Winter Soldier: here. on the other hand, whereas the topic of this meta is not memory, all of these cognitive processes are deeply enmeshed and therefore do not exist as categorically separated as this text may make them look like — these are conceptual separations only (despite the little fancy numbered topics, i end up talking of attention + learning + memory all at the same time), and a degree of overlap will always exist.

1. ATTENTION starting with the concept that we cannot learn about what we do not pay attention to, then it makes all the sense to ask: what does the Winter Soldier pay attention to? and the answer is: to whatever HYDRA commands him to. the hypnosis protocols (explored in the brainwashing meta) have the purpose, exactly, to fixate his attention on fulfilling the mission goal(s), whatever they may be, at expense of everything else — which, in turn, means that if, he’s not paying attention to, say, his surroundings and the people who are with him, he won’t be able to learn about, and posteriorly remember, this sort of details.

this brings me to the “i remember all of them” line in “Captain America: Civil War” — which Sebastian Stan himself has already stated was something Bucky said in the spur of the moment, something that Tony wanted to hear while having him literally in a choke-hold. no, he doesn’t remember all of them, much as this is a heartbreaking line with big cinematic impact. i personally headcanon that Bucky remembers Howard Stark, based on the fact that this is someone he met and got to know in the 40s — which is information that comes from the long-term memory, not equally affected by the mind wiping + cryostasis as short-term memory (which i shall explore in more detail in the future memory meta). even so, it’s not clear recollection — more like remembering what that particular mission was about, and remembering faces that, back then, the Soldier could not recognize but that, in retrospect, he’s able to make sense of. i also headcanon that a similar logic applies to the mission referenced in “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”, where Natasha talks of how he shot the man she was guarding through her, and it applies as well to the highway scene in the same movie. for these three missions, long-term knowledge and/or an intense emotional tone allowed for the Soldier’s attention to be highly focused on Howard/ Natasha/ Steve respectively, spanning beyond what the hypnosis protocol dictates. nonetheless, memories of these missions are fragmented and he remembers the associated emotions that these three persons evoked, more than any coherent dialogue or details of that moment.

in regard to the other targets/ missions, Bucky remembers conceptual information essentially (e.g., the target’s name, what day it was, what the mission briefing required him to do), considering that these targets held no previous meaning to him. because these conceptual details were what his attention was focused on. so, for example, he may be able to remember who was the target assassinated on a specific day and in which way this was done, but he won’t be able to remember what the person was wearing or what their face looked like or who were the handlers for that mission. not only he didn’t pay attention to these details but they would have been wiped in post-mission, anyway. the only memory traces that stay are those which already existed and those that HYDRA allowed him to effectively learn — and these, again, are reduced to information that was necessary for carrying out the mission successfully.

what consequences does all of this have, once Bucky breaks free from HYDRA? first, what he was allowed to pay attention to is what he is now able to remember, as discussed. and then, it means that his attention span undergoes a big change as soon as it’s “free”, so to speak. now he doesn’t have anyone dictating what to pay attention to — and, whereas this is a good thing, it also implies that the world is suddenly perceived as chaotic. because now he’s suddenly aware of everything that the Soldier never noticed — he perceives faces and colors and shapes and sensations and all else, and this can easily get overwhelming (even the good things).

again, i will complement/ explore this better in the memory meta, but this is why, in post-HYDRA, Bucky struggles with actions that require short-term and working memory — not only because these brain areas were affected by the wiping, but because his span of attention itself is all over the place. not in the sense of attention deficit disorder, per se, but because there is so much stimulation happening at the same time that he isn’t used at all to be aware of (and now add to this the fact that he is also a man out of his time, as much as Steve, and there is so much to learn anew in this modern world). depending on his general state of mind, his coping may vary from dissociation (just downright shut down everything because he currently has no mental energy to process any of it, so he withdraws instead) to actively trying to process the information he’s being given (and try to understand and make sense of it, and currently being mentally stable enough to pay attention and learn and keep up with all of it).

nonetheless, this process will frequently be a bumpy one. for example, he will try to pay attention to everything and, in the end, retain none of it exactly because he was so scattered, or he will (consciously or not) direct his attention to one thing only and everything else that is going on will go completely over his head. with this said, and roleplay-wise, you should expect things like your muse having to repeat something before he actually gets it and commits it to memory, or that he won’t be able to follow what your muse is talking about if there is a lot being conveyed in a short period of time (because, by the time your muse finishes, he’s already forgotten what was said at the start, or, instead, he focused on what was said first and didn’t follow anything else), or that your muse expects him to be paying attention but in the meantime something else captured his interest and, by the time your muse realizes, Bucky has gone over to the other side of the street to pet this cute cat while leaving your muse talking alone. exceptions to this are situations that are an actual mission or resembling of it, aka situations with a very well defined goal and where he has very clear instructions to adhere to — exactly because this is what he was trained, for 70 years, to focus on and pay attention to.

2. AWARENESS again. awareness and attention are two conceptually different things — but with a great degree of overlapping and interdependence. awareness, in particular, refers to directly knowing and perceiving, feeling or being cognizant of events. it’s the state of being conscious of something. so… is it possible to pay attention without being aware? technically yes, and i see this as a particularity of the Winter Soldier, actually. because if you ask him, during a mission: what is your target doing right now? — he knows, he’ll tell you, because he is paying attention to said target. but is he aware of what he’s doing, as in, does he realize he’s about to kill a human being and what this implies at every level? he isn’t. he’s doing it because he was commanded to do it, and weapons don’t question the hand that pulls the trigger. this is possibly the most drastic change that happens in post-HYDRA, because he finally becomes aware — finally regains a sense of being conscious of his actions (and shoutout to Sebastian’s terrific acting at the end of that helicarrier scene in CA:TWS, because with his eyes only he can so clearly depict this change — this moment when the Soldier becomes aware of what he is doing to Steve). and let me redirect to another of my previous metas, re: the dehumanization of the Winter Soldier, because this shift in awareness relies entirely on the human being vs. weapon/asset mindsets: here.

in post-HYDRA, then, this comes laced with everything i already discussed about attention. the increased capacity to pay attention to the world, once the hypnosis protocol is discontinued, comes hand-in-hand with this rise in awareness — paying attention to the sunlight like you never did before, and being aware that sunlight feels warm on your skin and being aware that, in turn, this is a pleasant sensation. unlike attention, however, gaining awareness brings Bucky a whole lot more demons to deal with — because it makes him conscious of what the Soldier has done and what it implies and, at the same time, it makes him conscious of what was done to him — and this dichotomy fuels a very toxic, very difficult to undo, cycle of guilt/shame vs. paranoia. on the other hand, whereas i don’t want to go into much detail about empathy right now, this also allows him to grow very compassionate and very mindful of his actions — because he knows what the Soldier is capable of, and because he never wants any of it to happen again as far as he can help it. which is why, for example, in my writing post- CA:TWS, a pervasive theme is that Bucky is way more scared of the harm that he can potentially do to others than what can be done to him.

and a smol extra note, once more based on Seb’s acting because this man’s body language is a heavens-sent: despite everything stated above, i don’t personally believe that the Winter Soldier is completely unaware of what he’s doing. this is speculative, obviously, and no more than my own headcanon, but i really don’t think he is. he’s trained to not question it, and most of the time he doesn’t actively question it (possibly, the only time this happens is the whole “the man on the bridge” moment), but he’s not completely ruthless either — on the contrary. the highway scene in CA:TWS is a perfect example, because we can see how uncaring he is re: his own well-being (hopping off the rail like he does and landing on that car like a ton of bricks, with zero care for his own body), but we don’t see him shooting/massacring any civilians even though he so easily could. he’s solely focused on Black Widow at that point and, yes, this is likely because it’s what the hypnosis protocol dictates his attention be given to, but i personally believe it also comes out of an unconscious desire to do no harm — that belongs not to the Soldier, but to James Buchanan Barnes. one more topic for a future meta!

3. LEARNING so… i actually feel like there isn’t much left to say about this topic in particular, given how i have already been tapping at it during the two previous ones. the Winter Soldier’s learning relies on two big strategies: classical/ Pavlovian conditioning and operant conditioning (both of which i have explored in the brainwashing meta). and a whole lot of repetition, till he learns what HYDRA wants him to learn — and anything else he casually/ autonomously learns and that is considered unnecessary is taken care of via mind wiping. the biggest implication of this is that, in post-HYDRA, Bucky is a bit like a child learning about the world for the first time. not only he’s in a modern world where so much is new and he doesn’t know about it, but his learning process relies basically only in association of stimuli + punishment or reinforcement. in post-HYDRA, he starts doing trial-and-error in an autonomous manner, he starts doing vicarious learning (i.e., learning through observing other people), he starts learning things by accident in the sense that he wasn’t even trying to but it happened anyway, he starts learning by imitating and doing what others do.

which brings me to another roleplay thing, and one that i often joke about but that, in fact, happens for real — the fact that all this makes Bucky rather gullible. for example, he will see some modern contraption that he never got to see/use before and he logically won’t have a clue about it, and he will likely believe what he’s told about it — because he has no other reference, because he trusts the person who’s telling him this, because this is how he’s learned things for the past decades. he’s used to being taught, more than to learn on his own, and he’s used to the things he’s taught being the only truth that matters, in typical HYDRA fashion. the difference is that he now is aware of what he’s being told, so if you tell him “go and assassinate the prime-minister” he will obviously know what this is about and why this isn’t a good idea, to say it mildly. also, this doesn’t make him completely oblivious, in the sense of believing everything he’s told blindly and without a sense of criticism — because, yes, he’s got a shitty memory but he can sill use logic and rationality — so if you tell him to cook a sundae in the microwaves he’ll tell you to go screw yourself, because sundae is ice cream and ice cream melts. on the other hand, popular references are the thing that confuse him the most and that are hardest to learn, exactly because they don’t carry this inherent sense of concrete logic — so if you tell him that YEET! is the new way to say good morning nowadays, chances are he’ll start telling it to everyone from there on until he’s taught properly about it.

to conclude, i just wanna mention yet again the connection with attention — because the limitations i have already discussed obviously have an impact on Bucky’s capacity to learn, in post-HYDRA. generally speaking, this capacity is reduced when compared to the Soldier — not only due to brain damage, but also because the Soldier was exceptionally prepared, through hypnosis, to learn any minimal details deemed necessary (for example, this is how he learned the 16 new languages that add to English and German that he already knew --- this specific headcanon: here). so, it’s not like he now sucks at learning, rather it was the Soldier that was (forced to be) way above the standard level. now in normal conditions, this capacity is more scattered and it fluctuates along with his span of attention — which, in turn, fluctuates along with his mental health status. but he is a curious person and he wants to improve and to learn more, either on his own or with help, and this intrinsic motivation is very important when it comes to adapting to a new life/new world.

#long post #「ᵐᵉᵗᵃ」ʷᶤᵖᵉ ʰᶤᵐ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ

5 notes · View notes

yogaposesfortwo · 5 years ago

Text

Digital Detox? Nah. How to Cultivate Digital Wellbeing

When Jess Davis and I were first scheduled to chat, I didn’t get an answer. I knew that she was planning to spend the day in the woods, and figured it was a reception issue. It’s an appropriate issue for Jess to have—as the founder of Folk Rebellion, a media and lifestyle brand advocating for offline living—a lack of cell reception kind of comes with the territory. When I spoke with her a few days later, she gushed about her experience in a Getaway cabin, a new-ish company founded to help city folks develop a personal relationship with the great outdoors. Jess had been running around for the previous couple of weeks, stressed and overworked, and had gotten sick. Jess’s friend and founder of Getaway insisted she come and stay in a cabin, completely off-grid. Unplugging for a few days was just what the doctor ordered—though it came as no surprise to Jess. A former award-winning brand strategist who thrived for 10 years in a fast-paced, tech-heavy world, Jess had a reckoning that while she’d helped to create a world that was digitally connected, the flip side was a sincere disconnection from the actual, tangible world. She founded Folk Rebellion to help others like her develop a sense of digital wellness and a healthy relationship with their devices. WTF is Digital Wellbeing? “Five years ago, digital detoxing was a way to start the conversation,” says Jess, but notes that an absolute approach may not be the healthiest way to go about digital wellness today. The digital revolution isn’t comparable to something like cigarettes, for example, when it comes to being healthy. “Technology is an amazing tool when used appropriately. For me, it’s digital wellbeing,” she says. “The same way you have wellbeing with nutrition and with exercise, I think that the next form of wellbeing is being digitally well. You can’t rush to yoga, have your juice, take your supplements, and be well if you don’t have a healthy relationship with your technology and your devices,” she says. Jess likens the evolution of digital wellness to the seatbelt revolution in the 1980s. Cars were, point blank, unsafe—and auto manufacturers were reluctant to spend the money to revamp their factories. Ralph Nader led the charge to change mindsets: It wasn’t cars that were dangerous, it was the cars without safety precautions. He successfully lobbied for seat belts, airbags, and stop signs. “I’m not saying that the tech is bad and we need to go without it completely,” says Jess, “but if we don’t start adding some stop signs, seat belts, and some age restrictions, there are going to be some negative things that happen.”

The Dangers of Digital Overdose Going through the windshield of a car is a significantly more dramatic deterrent, however, than the threat of a sore thumb. Consequences of digital overuse are much more nuanced, and complicated by the fact that digital dependency is, point blank, a revenue model. The more time we spend online—and the more information we share—the more money companies make. “When you think of addiction you think of drugs,” says Jess. “You think of all of these terrible things that you think, ‘Oh, no. Not me.’ When you find out that people are sitting alone and they can’t get off of their phones for like 13 hours a day or a video game, this is addiction.” Jess should know. Before she left her previous life, she absolutely considered her own dependency an addiction. “The experiences that I had and what’s now being documented is a general sense of dissociation from reality,” she says. “A malaise, a feeling of un-wellness 24/7. Inability to focus, memory loss—which was my number one ailment—which now they call digital dementia. It’s terrifying, but it’s literally called that,” she says. If we don’t start adding some stop signs, seat belts, and some age restrictions, there are going to be some negative things that happen. Overuse can result in myriad consequences. We’re physically rewiring our brains to consume and retain shorter and shorter content, which shortens our attention spans. This can in turn inhibit our ability to be creative and to follow-through with complex tasks. Additionally, there is no shortage of evidence that boredom—space previously unfilled by mindlessly scrolling—spurs innovation. But it’s more than that. “One of the things that they’re finding is the scariest thing to me is that children who studied with an iPad or used and iPad as a learning device from birth till they entered kindergarten versus children who did not,” says Jess. She understands that these can be great learning tools, but when comparing the socialization of these kids, children who used the device were 35 percent less empathetic than the ones who didn’t have it when they entered kindergarten. “What does society look like 35 percent less empathetic?” asks Jess. There’s also the issue of increasing narcissism, which leads to increased rates of depression and isolation. The long-lasting effects of heavy social media use have yet to be determined, but again, there’s no shortage of anecdotal evidence that the negative effects of overuse are damaging at the very least. And Jess suspects that there are potential negative effects on physical health as well—she thinks there could be a correlation between the cortisol released when our phones ding, and increasing stress levels that lead to autoimmune disease. “That’s my hunch, anyway,” she says. Corporate Responsibility Just as the doctor who created Frankenstein was ultimately horrified with his invention, Jess says that many of the bigwigs who helped to create Silicon Valley are aware of its dark side. One group, the Center for Humane Technology (the guy who invented the “Like” button and an original founder of Twitter among its founders) is one organization looking to pull back the reins on the creations they put into the world. What does society look like 35 percent less empathetic? “They’ll go to Google, they’ll go to Apple, and they’ll say: ‘This is how you need to start thinking about making things’,” says Jess. “On the other end of the spectrum is me, and organizations like Folk Rebellion. What we’re really trying to do is to educate the consumer.” Jess says the approach to curbing digital addiction should be three-pronged: Organizations funded by the government (ie: education in public schools), corporations, and personal choices. “I think it really starts on a small scale,” she says. “Homes, small businesses, neighborhoods, families, schools—things like that.” Advice for Kicking Your Addiction The first time Jess purposefully went without her phone for a three-day weekend, she says she was forced to face just how dependent she had become. “I’m an introvert at heart,” she says. “What happened was I kept touching my back pocket when I was being introduced to somebody, and I then had this gross realization that I’m cutting off conversations of people I have just met because I’m uncomfortable and I have this sort of get-out-of-jail-free card in my back pocket,” she says. The first step Jess recommends to digitally detox is to truly get rid of everything. Keep a pen and paper handy, and jot it down every time you think of your phone, touch your pocket, or feel uncomfortable without it. “Then you start to understand your triggers,” says Jess. “Once you have that, you go back to the real world and you have to start to set these boundaries in balance.” Jess only checks her email Monday through Friday, at specified times. She keeps her cell number private. She gave herself the rule that she no longer scrolls while in motion—that includes the subway, while walking, or in a car. “It’s just creating space,” says Jess. “If you can slice off and put these little hatch lines throughout your day of space that you can expand that doesn’t have the digital or the tech in it, that’s where you’re starting to create that better balance of it.” The other thing she’s done is to reintroduce tangible mediums where possible. “I use tech all day—I’m a creator on the computer,” she says, “and so when I don’t have to be working, I go back to the forms that I used to love before these devices kind of consumed everything. I have magazine subscriptions. I actually carry physical books.” Despite that they’re heavier, for Jess, it’s a relationship worth the weight. Bottom line? Technology isn’t the enemy—it can be a powerful tool to connect, which can enhance your relationships and make life easier. Allowing the digitized world to make life too easy, however, is the trap. As yogis know, balance is the key. Author: Lisette Cheresson Source: https://wanderlust.com/journal/digital-detox-uk/ Discover more info about Yoga Poses for Two People here: Yoga Poses for Two Read the full article

2 notes · View notes

long-bodyswap · 6 years ago

Text

Swapper

by brossession-collection

Shit, Cliff thought as he heard the sirens in the background. Gotta find a fucking body! Quick! They know I’m in this CIA operative! Yesterday… The authorities were in a mad scramble for him, trying to detain him due to his abilities. Being able to switch bodies with anyone via eye contact and having high intensity mind control powers had given Cliff quite a fun last few years, but the trail of chaos he left in his path eventually caught up with him. The CIA designed a special holding facility just for him. He was being held in a room that featured a glass wall and door for observational purposes. They believed they could contain him, but they had severely underestimated his talents. The guard assigned to monitor Cliff was equipped with special reflective glasses that made swapping impossible, but there was nothing to protect him from Cliff’s suggestive power. “So you’re the little skeez shit that had the whole CIA shitting a brick. Don’t seem so tough to me,” The guard said mockingly. “Well it doesn’t help that I swapped into a high school boy before you guys got me.”“So how long are you guys going to keep me in here anyway?” Cliff asks. “And why did you guys go all suburb bedroom? I kind of expected prison to be a bit more concrete block and matte-finish metal.” Cliff asks.“Oh, you’re never getting out of here. A person with your…talents is a liability to the safety of this country. Can’t have you deciding to swap into Senators or Generals or even the President whenever you feel like it-”“No disrespect, but I prefer hot guys under the age of 25. I might make an exception for you though,” Cliff says with a wink. “I’d like to see you try,” the guard responds with a smirk, tapping on his special glasses. “When we caught you and put you under we scanned your eyes and developed a countering mechanism to block your power. These lenses reflect any attempts you make to swap with me. We’ve also developed an inhibitory mechanism. If you try to escape, our special dart guns are equipped with an ink-like inhibitor that will seal you inside your body and spread to form a distinctive tattoo, making you easier to identify and reclaim.”“You guys have been pretty busy it seems,” Clifford says with a sneer that seems so foreign in his current high school cutie body. “You tend to be more efficient when you’re operating outside of the official federal government and agenda. Oh right! That’s a perfect tie-in to you being here forever. Basically, we are getting to study your ability and body until we can replicate the process. The suburb vibe is for your own comfort because we want you to feel safe while we learn more about you.”“I want to go.”“Negative.”“I didn’t do anything harmful!”“That’s not true and you know it!” the guard growls. “You think there are no consequences to this little game you’ve been playing? Every boy you have swapped with has been placed in a mental institution from the trauma and confusion of waking up in a completely different body. How do you think we tracked you?!! We followed the trail of spikes in schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder diagnoses that you left wherever you went!”Cliff doesn’t say a word. He just smirks and begins laughing.“You think that’s fucking funny?! What do you have to say for yourself?!” The guard snaps.“oh just one thing,” Cliff says as he begins focusing intensely on the guard’s mind. “Take off those glasses.”The guard stands frozen still, face going red as he resists the overwhelming urge he has to lift his arm up and remove those glasses. “What the fuck?! How are you?! FUCK!” the guard roars as his hands continue slowly rising until they calmly pull those glasses off and put them in his pocket. The guard is now squinting his eyes shut, spinning around and trying to run for help.“FREEZE!” Cliff shouts, making the guard stop in his tracks before he could sprint away. “Good. Now turn around. And be quiet.”The guard reorients himself in front of Cliff, bright red in the face as he keeps squinting his eyes shut and fighting this control. “Open your eyes and look at me.”The guard begrudgingly lifts his lids, instantly seizing up and grunting as surges of energy flow into him. He convulses as the energy flowing into him makes him feel so full he might burst. He feels sweet relief though as another energy dissipates out of his body, feeling light and completely free until he starts feeling warm and like he has mass once again. Cliff wakes up on the ground right as the guard begins stirring in his new body. “Very nice,” Cliff coos as he stands up and begins examining the CIA operative’s body. Feeling his strength and muscular mass as he cockily begins grabbing his new body’s pecs and reaching his hands down his solid torso and rubbing his new meat through his dark slacks. “What the…?” the guard says with the high school cutie’s voice as he blinks his dazed eyes open. He groggily stand up before noticing his own body on the other side of the glass feeling itself up. “SHIT! GUARDS!! HELP!!! SOMEONE!!! THE SUBJECT HAS ESCAPED!!! THE SUBJECT HAS MY BODY!!!”“Shut up!” Cliff growls at his previous body, instantly forcing the guard to be silent against his will. “You should be thanking me. A nice cute body like that doesn’t come along every now and then.” Cliff says as he approaches the glass door’s biometric scanners, letting the device scan his iris before hearing an unlocking click and the system saying: Approved access. Welcome Agent Daniel Frost. The real Daniel Frost cowers in the corner as his own body saunters over to him. “Please! You can’t just leave me hear! They’ll find you! We have brain scans that will show I’m not you! You’ll have to kill me and this boy’s body because as soon as you leave I will report you to the first guard I see!”“Actually, I don’t think you’re going to say anything at all,” Cliff says as he focuses hard on the guard’s mind. “I think you enjoy being a high school cutie. I think you feel grateful to me and you will promise to keep our little secret. I think you’re a fucking whore for cock and the best way for you to thank me is to let me dump a load in that tight virgin boy hole with your old cock.”The guard, Daniel, grabs his head as he scrunches in discomfort as he fights off Cliff’s influence. His CIA training makes him naturally tougher to manipulate, but it’s not long before he let’s out a cry of defeat and collapses down to the floor, breathing deeply and smiling up at his old body. “Thank you. Fucking thank you! I get to be young again! And I get to be this hot high school boy! I promise I won’t tell because I don’t ever want to go back! I’m so grateful to you! Please! Be the first one to use my new virgin boycunt!” Daniel insists and begs as he looks up at his old body with adoring desire. “Oh I’m gonna give you this cock alright,” Cliff growls as he begins pulling his CIA suit off, so fucking horny and turned on by the mind fucked CIA operative in the high school cutie in front of him. Daniel is already naked by the time Cliff is nude and he gasps as he is scooped up by his strong old body and pressed up against the wall. “Ohhhhh yeah, give it to me! Let me show you how happy I am with this body!” Daniel exclaims as he reaches his hands to begin massaging his old body’s chest, squeezing those nipples and making Clifford get fully hard and growl in sexual desire. “I know what that body likes,” Daniel says with a wink before moaning as Cliff forces their mouths together, letting them taste each others’ tongues as Daniel wraps his legs around his old body and squeezes to let Cliff know he was ready. Cliff gets his new 8 inch meat slick with spit before pushing Daniel further up the wall with ease and lining the head of his dick with that tight boy hole.“oohhhhhhhh fuckkkkk,” Daniel moans as his old cock slides inside him in one long and smooth motion. His old body is letting him slide down onto that meat until all 8 inches are completely inside him and he’s literally frozen by the fullness and gasping from how hard his new boy cock just got. “Now comes the fun part,” Cliff whispers into Daniel’s ear before pulling those boy thighs up, making Daniel lift off his old 8 inch cock, cooing from the sensation and friction along his new hole’s nerve endings before Cliff yanks him back down onto a powerful thrust. “AHHHHHHHH OHHHH MY FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKK mmmmmmmmmYEAH Please! PLEASE! God PLEASE FUCK ME SO HARD OH GOD!!!” Daniel screams as his old cock begins a full on assault of his hole, thrusting so deep up into him. Cliff is using Daniel’s old body’s strength to repeatedly lift the boy up and thrust up onto the free falling hole, making them both grunt and grab onto each other so tight. Daniel can’t get enough and he thrashes his head each time he’s speared by his old meat, but Cliff makes him focus as he locks their mouths together. Their sounds of pleasure reverberate in each others’ mouths as Daniel keeps riding up and down on his old cock, feeling so good that his toes are curled tight and squirming. They keep this up for over half an hour, becoming soaking wet with sweat but continuing to plow on thanks to the CIA operative’s body’s stamina and training and the high school boy’s body’s fitness and athleticism. Finally, the pressure becomes too much as they both reach earth-shattering orgasm together. “I’m gonna- FUCK I’m close! GOD your hole feels so fucking GOOD!” Cliff roars as he thrusts up into the panting boy. Daniel is beyond words at this point as his old body continues to fuck his new hole. He wants so desperately to shout out his joy and appreciation, but the best he can do is squeeze his new boy body’s ass muscles, making Daniel grunt and go into a thrusting heaven as he’s overcome by the feeling of Daniel’s tightened hole. “Ohhhhhhhhhh KEEP DOING THAT KEEP DOING THAT KEEP-AHHHHHHHHHH YEAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” Cliff roars as he slams his meat into the boy’s hole one last time, squirming as he feels a flood of hot cum surge into that tight boycunt, stream after stream. Daniel is overcome by the feeling of his old body’s cum filling him up and without even touching his cock he starts shooting streams of youthful teen cum that spray the chests of his old and his new body. Finally settling down, Cliff carries Daniel over to the bed and lays down on top of him, cock still buried deep inside. “Thank you so much,” Daniel whispers to his new body.“No, thank you,” Cliff says, enjoying his new deep and powerful voice. “Now go to sleep.”Daniel instantly passes out. As Cliff slides his cock out of the slumbering CIA operative he can’t help but groan in pleasure one last time before being impressed by the flood of cum leaking out of that used hole. Must have been enough to make a solid handful!“Gonna miss that body, but yours will do for now,” Cliff says to the slumbering operative. “Now it’s time to get cleaned up and get the fuck out of here.”TBC

94 notes · View notes

xbananaleensyo · 6 years ago

Text

Numb Calls and Dumb Walls

Ship: Ohmtoonz

Warnings: Depictions of mental illness/dissociation, mentions of trauma

Words: 2,754

Summary: There was a lot of things that Cartoonz didn’t understand. Dissociation? What is that? But damnit there was one thing he knew: he loved his boyfriend and he’ll help him cope any way he can.

A/N: So I’ll mention this again, if you’re sensitive to the topics above I suggest not giving this a read. I want you to be safe. This was, more or less, a coping fic of some sort that I wrote on a bad day. It's also not a universal depiction of what's happening. Kinda based it mostly on my own experiences and some accounts I read online but everyone is different. Also, also these are real grounding exercises if you wanna research those! They’re pretty niffty for like anxiety and stuff. But before this note gets too long: any likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated! And I hope ye enjoy! Have a nice day, yo

Cartoonz was in love with Ohmwrecker. In turn, that means he cared deeply about him and vice versa. Ohm was a beautiful man in his eyes. He had so much compassion to give, so much information in his head, so many laughs and witty comebacks between his lips. He was proud to be his boyfriend. But, unsurprisingly, Ohm had faults, he had demons, he had nightmares. And Cartoonz knew that. Everyone experienced pain, afterall. He was willing to work with them, however. It was the only way to go forward in their relationship. Even if it was something he didn’t understand at first. Ohm seemed to notice that too. They needed to let each other in one day. That’s why they were here, sitting on Ohm’s bed, as he confesses that his brain was, as he calls it, ‘a little weird’. It was a new world to Cartoonz, talks of mental illness and trauma was only something he advocated for but not something he actually experienced. But now he was sitting there, Ohm in his lap holding down tears, as he explains the troubles of his mind and past life. Ohm doesn’t like to remember it, or his brain doesn’t like to remember it, so it doesn’t at times. It flights.

Ohm calls it “checking out”. He said this is what he called it before he figured out what it really was. Ohm describes it as being there but not really being there. Like you’re slowly shutting down but never completely off. Time doesn’t exist. Nothing exists except the numbing wave he drowns in and the thoughts that sometimes float with him. He can fake ‘normal’ if he tries, he says, but it never looks or feels as genuine no matter how hard he pushes it. He can escape after awhile but some days his body just gives up. He found it relaxing but at the same time anxiety-inducing and frustrating when he can’t get out. “I have stuff to do, things to feel and I can’t get to them when I’m like that. I don’t like it when I’m like that.” Ohm admits, biting his bottom lip. Cartoonz brushes his lip out from under his teeth before he makes it bleed.

When Cartoonz first saw it happening with his own eyes he was scared. He didn’t know what to do. His body was there but Ohm wasn’t. His face was a blank canvas without all the pretty expressions he knew Ohm made. His eyes held nothing, his tone was forced. It was scary that someone that didn’t know him too well probably couldn’t tell the difference. And when Ohm finally snapped out of it a couple hours later, he was surprised it was evening. He was surprised at Cartoonz’s panicked expression.

“Toony, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” Ohm started stuttering. But Cartoonz just shook his head. It wasn’t his fault, it was things that happened to him that were at fault. The trauma that he had no control over. They spent that night talking about what happened and assuring Ohm that he’s not just crazy. Cartoonz didn’t care that he had to wash his shirt afterwards.

“I think…I think I know how you can help. But you have to be patient.” Ohm admitted one night during dinner. Cartoonz stopped the mouthful he was about to eat and gave Ohm his full attention. “I know you’re scared to touch me when I’m in that state…but please, just touch me. I’ve realized it’s easy to pull myself out when there’s something tangible I can ground myself on. Just remind me to come back to reality. Remind me there is a reality to come back to…” Ohm’s breath started to stagger. These things were never easy for him to talk about. Cartoonz walked around the table to Ohm’s side, kneeled down and grasped his hands. He kissed Ohm’s cheek, reminding him if he needed him to hold on, he’ll never let go.

Cartoonz learned a lot of stuff along the year he’s been with Ohm. It was a lot of trial and error and a lot of learning for both parties. It was a lot of studying and working around things. But things are worth it when it came to his boyfriend.

Sometimes, there was signs when something was wrong. Like when Ohm loses interest in things or when he starts to pull away and isolate himself. That’s usually when the walls start happening, the wall that cuts him off from the world in front of him. The wall that contains him in his lost space. Ohm says his focus usually starts getting fuzzy when he gets overwhelmed or when he has a flashback. But since it’s impossible for Cartoonz to foresee things like that they came up with a color system to communicate with. Code: Lime Green (Ohm’s favorite color) when he was good. Code: Grey when he was in-between. Code: Orange when he was anxious. Code: Blue when he was depressed. And finally, Code: Black when the numbness takes him. The same color as nothingness. Whatever color, Cartoonz still loved Ohm but it’s obvious that Cartoonz’s, and Ohm’s of course, favorite days were when they were fully engulfed in each other, enjoying the world, Ohm whispering ‘Lime Green’ over and over again.

Today, for some reason, felt off for Cartoonz. It wasn’t like his routine was any different. He woke up, went to the bathroom, fed his cat and went for a quick run. Then he ate breakfast, nursed his hot coffee while he texted Ohm his daily morning text. Ohm responded with a heart and a link to an article he found interesting. Today was a work day, which meant he was going to spend most of it recording, responding to emails and messages, and doing final edits before setting the videos live. It was a productive day but there was just something in his stomach that was telling him something was off. He felt off-balanced in a way. He quickly looked at the clock, realizing it was time to call Ohm and ask him what they wanted to do for dinner. Ohm hasn’t texted him since the afternoon. That was a common thing though. It was something that happened a lot when they were both too engrossed in their work to talk but Cartoonz couldn’t help but think about the feeling in his stomach that he had all day. He started to worry when Ohm didn’t answer his call. On his second call, however, he answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” Cartoonz swallowed at the low, indifferent voice.

“Ohm? Is everything okay?” There was slow breathing on the other line until a raspy voice appeared.

“…Luke…Black…” And then the line was dead. Cartoonz pocketed his phone, grabbed his keys and a jacket and was out the door.

When he arrived at Ohm’s house, he saw the familiar tell-tale signs of a Code: Black. The blinds were closed which was unusual because Ryan likes to open the windows to let the spring breeze in during the morning. All the lights in the house were off even though it was nearing sunset and the faint glow of the sun was no good. As he neared Ryan’s door, he realized the front porch light wasn’t even set. Luke lifted the third potted plant that was near the porch swing, finding the spare key that was there just for him. He entered the house, finding it cold and quiet.

“Ryan? Are you here?” he called, turning on all the lights as he went and boosting up the thermostat. A jingling of bells answered him instead as Tiny starts galloping towards Luke from the hallway.

“Hey there, boy. Been keeping your Dad company while I was gone? Where’s your owner? Where’s Ryan?” Luke scratches the small dog’s chin, getting excited licks up his palm. Tiny whimpers at the mention of his owner. He barks and heads toward the hallway, looking back every once in awhile to make sure Cartoonz was following. He’s brought to Ohm’s office, where the man in question is sitting in his gaming chair in the middle of the room. The only thing illuminating the room were the duel screens from his PC set-up showing that he was in the middle of editing a video. But the man was turned away from it, choosing to look at the other direction instead.

“Ryan? Sweetheart? What are you looking at?” Cartoonz gently asked while Tiny settled back in between Ohm’s feet.

“A wall.” Ohm responded in a monotone voice. It was hollow and ghosted around the room. Cartoonz saw the wall too. Not the office wall, however, but the invisible wall that was blocking him from Ohm.

“Okay. Describe the wall for me.” Cartoonz says, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the couch. He turns on a lamp light, not wanting to turn on the ceiling light in case it was too bright. Finally, he sees his boyfriend’s face. It was blank, his eyes dull and glazed over. His cheeks were damp, signifying that must’ve been crying earlier. Cartoonz never liked when he looked like that. It pained him with worry. But his rational side told him not to panic. Panic was the last thing he needed in this situation. He learnt that the hard way.

“Describe the wall to me, sweetheart. What’s the color of the paint?” Ohm slightly lifts his head.

“It’s…it’s navy blue.” He takes a deep breath.

“Yes, it is. We painted it navy blue last summer if you remember. We’re in your office. Tell me more. What else do you see?” Cartoonz was on Ohm’s side now, stroking his hair softly.

“I see…there’s, there’s posters on the wall. Fan art….and a light switch…there’s a desk. There’s a bunny on the desk.” Ohm takes another deep breath. He starts to scrunch his eyes, trying to process what’s in front of him.

“Good, Ryan, good. Tell me what you hear now. Focus on your hearing.” Ohm thinks for a bit and licks his lips.

“I hear the fans of my computer…and scratching. Dog scratching…And…the heater?”

“Yeah, I turned it on when I came in.” Cartoonz nodded, waiting for him to continue. He starts humming a tune.

“I hear your accent and…humming. Are you humming your outro song?”

“Yeah, it’s the best goddamn song I know.” Cartoonz chuckles. A hint of a smile peaks out and Cartoonz knows it’s more of a real one than not. He swipes his hair one more time before sliding towards Ohm’s shoulder and down his arm, never leaving his person. Cartoonz walks around the chair so he was facing Ohm. He grips his hands, applying pressure with his thumbs to remind him he’s there.

“You’re doing so well. How’s it going, sweetheart? Squeeze my hands for me.” Ohm’s fingers twitch before clenching his hands around his. Cartoonz lightly squeezes back, hoping to bring him down.

Sometimes, this was enough. Sometimes, reminding him of his surroundings and giving him something to grasp was enough. But the way Ohm clenched and unclenched his hands and the way he shook his head with each steady breath, he realized he was still trying to claw his way out.

“Ryan, remember what we practiced, Love. Press your feet on the ground, tense your legs, then your thighs, then your stomach…keep going up. Pay attention to how it feels. Good, good.” Luke repeated the grounding technique. He knew it was easier for Ohm to focus with instruction. It was almost like a yoga coach. He watched Ohm’s muscles contract and relax then contract and relax again. It was a system of control, Ohm once said, it reminded him that he had control of his own body.

“Ryan. Listen. We’re in your office. It’s just me, you, and Tiny. It’s Monday in April. You’re okay. You’re safe. You can do this. There’s no danger here.” Luke repeated the affirmations until Ryan’s eyes started to flutter. They dart around, character splashing down his face. He meets Luke’s eyes and gives him a confused look. Luke lets go of Ryan’s hands and places them on his cheeks. Ryan follows him and lays his hands on top of Luke’s. “Ryan?”

“Luke you’re…how long have I been gone?” He was still trying to lift the final remnants of the fog but was coming to.

“About 15 or so minutes with me. Not sure how long before.”

“Shit.” Ryan muttered. “How did I let myself fall into that. I don’t understand what happened.” Cartoonz understood his disappointment. Self-awareness was something he’s been working on and has gotten quite good at. It must be frustrating to fall into habits again, it must be frustrating to remember he wasn’t linear.

“You responded this time though. You picked up the phone and told me what was happening. We went through the motions together. That’s a good sign.” Ohm closed his eyes while Cartoonz massaged his cheeks. The times when Ryan was unresponsive were the hardest ones. All Luke could do was hold him, wait and wonder where his mind was taking him. Thankfully, those were rare days.

“Yeah, I can vaguely recall that. I tried to stay. I did good. I’m here.” Ryan sternly told himself. He opened his eyes and gave Luke a smile. It reflected all the soft things he was finally feeling. Cartoonz kissed the tip of his nose then another one to his lips.

“Okay, bitch. It’s time to eat dinner now. Look, I’m starving and I know you are too. Think I still have some sweet tea stashed in your fridge.” They walked to the kitchen deciding to order delivery instead. Ohm wanted to watch some movies too but he knew it was just an excuse to cuddle on the couch. Cartoonz was pouring them glasses of sweet tea, looking through food options on his phone. “Hey, babe, does Thai sound good? I’m kinda feelin’ spicy and…” His sentence was cut off suddenly, when he hears objects fall on the floor. Cartoonz pivots and walks into the livingroom to find Ohm, a stack of DVDs dropped on the ground, while staring at his wall calendar.

“It’s April 7th. That makes a lot of sense now.” He says moreso to himself than to his partner. Cartoonz’s breath hitches. How did he not realize the date? He knew it was April but…was that what his body was trying to tell him all day? Cartoonz thought back to April 7th of last year. It was filled with so much tears and a whirlwind of emotions. So much phasing in and out. Cartoonz never forgot how fragile Ohm felt. Ohm was in so much pain. It messed with him that he couldn’t fully comprehend the things that haunted him about this day. It was a nightmare.

Cartoonz braced himself, ready to catch his boyfriend if he fell again. He was ready to do it all night if he had to. Cartoonz loved Ohmwrecker. He was never going to let him go through this day alone.

“Well, damnit.” Ohm said. He took a long breath and tapped his fingerprints on the shelf before picking up the pen he hung next to his calendar. Ryan crossed out the date with a big ‘x’. “Yeah, Thai sounds fine, Toonzy. You think the restaurant down west is open and can deliver? They make a mean Pad Thai.” He starts picking up the movies he’s dropped, fingering through which ones they should watch. Cartoonz just continues looking on, his heart swelling in his chest.

“I can feel you staring at me, Toonz. And I know what you’re thinking. The date still bothers me obviously; as we saw earlier. But I’m fine at the moment. I want to stay in the present with you. I will stay in the present with you.” Cartoonz was always amazed at the strength his boyfriend had. He was amazed that the capacity of it was limitless. He was fighting but he put out one hell of a fight.

“I’m so proud of you, love. So fucking proud.” Cartoonz trails his lips down Ohm’s jaw until their lips meet. They took their time to taste each other, to feel the other so close. Ohm released and leaned his forehead on his. They entangled fingers for a second, just basking in the moment before Ohm giggles and leads them back into the kitchen. Cartoonz still didn’t know how he managed to find such a wonderful man.

#banana writes #banana bus squad #ohmtoonz #/mental illness #/dissociation #I was really nervous about this #but maybe some people will feel that they arent alone #plus the grounding stuff!#maybe people might dig those #cartoonz is a sappy boyfriend 100%#will call him all the pet names

41 notes · View notes