#I am so tired of being so anxious and depressed and scattered | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohh-baekhyun · 4 years

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Sugar | 03

summary: Getting into a performing arts college isn’t cheap. In desperate need of money, you sign yourself up on an online dating site called Sugar. There, you match with a wealthy man named Mr Byun.

genre: Softdom!baek, sugardaddy!au, teacherxstudent!au

taglist : in comment section. im sorry if i missed you, i deleted some of my asks the other time. let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

One Month Later

Living in a spacious apartment had its own downside. More often than not, I felt lonely, but I wasn’t complaining. Baekhyun didn’t come over everyday because he wanted to give me time to do things that didn’t involve him. I think they called it me time, whatever that was. Baekhyun said it was to prevent us from growing too dependent on each other, which could be unhealthy. And as much as I disliked it, he was right. Our relationship wasn’t permanent, and there would come a time when either one of us had to call the arrangement off. I would be sad, because that’s human, but not to the point where I became depressed.

When I wasn’t spending the day with Baekhyun, I’d be practicing the piano. After my father passed away, my stepmother had sold off our Steinway and stopped paying for my lesson. I was lucky to know a friend who allowed me to practice at her music shop for free. When I wasn’t practicing, I would be at home, taking care of my little plants on the balcony. They were like my babies.

Since Baekhyun had suggested that I learned a new language, I’d decided to take up Chinese. He had offered to hire a home tutor for me, but I insisted on learning it myself because Chinese lessons were expensive. We argued about it for a while, until he decided he wanted to learn too. We had our lesson together every Sunday afternoon for two hours. Our tutor, Miss Fei, was a long time friend of Baekhyun. And for some reason, she was always picking on me over the slightest things. Sometimes when Baekhyun wasn’t looking, she would kick my leg, step on me or pinch my arm under the table. If I had to guess, I think she didn’t respect me because she knew Baekhyun was paying for me. That’s why I’ve been working a part time job as a piano accompanist at a ballet school. It was an easy job with a reasonable pay, and I only had to be there twice a week. Thanks to that, I had finally saved enough to pay for this month’s lessons. I just didn’t know if Baekhyun would accept it.

Today was a Saturday and I was doing the homework Miss Fei had given us. I’d actually finished everything but I wanted to double check to avoid mistakes. I was scolded for making just one error last week, and if Baekhyun wasn’t there, I thought she might even beat me.

By the time I was done, I was too tired to climb to bed so I’d fallen asleep on the desk. What woke me up was the creaking sound from the door opening. I lifted my head from my folded arms and looked at the door. “Hi Mr Byun,” I greeted, my voice soft and languid. He was dressed casually in a black sweatshirt and pajama pants, his hair tousled like he had just woken up from sleep and rushed here immediately.

“What are you doing?” Baekhyun asked, approaching me.

“Chinese homework,” I answered. “Can you help me check if there’s any mistake?”

He stopped behind my chair and bent over to rest his palms on the desk. His chest touched the back of my head as he scanned my workbook. Suddenly I stopped feeling sleepy but hyper aware. Baekhyun leaned closer when he reached for a pencil, and I had a feeling it was deliberate because the thing he was reaching for was just next to my book. I inhaled, feeling warm all over. Baekhyun remained silent as he continued checking my work. “This one–“ he drew a cross next to my wrong answer. “–is supposed to be a wǔ, not wù, they have different meaning, sweetheart, he explained.

I picked up an eraser and wiped it off before making a correction. If he hadn’t caught that, Miss Fei was gonna to go ballistic. I sighed in relief and glanced up from my desk. He was staring down at me. I wore a grateful smile. “Thank you,”

“Welcome,” He whispered, leaning down to drop a kiss on my lips.

“Why are you here, Mr Byun?” I asked when he pulled away.

His brow furrowed. “Do you not know what day it is?”

My eyes flew to the desk calendar, then I glanced up at him again. “Sunday?” I said hesitantly. Baekhyun frowned at me and I started to get anxious. “Did I forget something?”

Baekhyun sighed. “You are really unbelievable,” He mumbled, setting down the pencil before pushing himself off the desk. He clasped my hand and tugged me up to my feet. “I have a surprise for you,” he said as he walked me out of my bedroom.

He led me down the short hallway and as I stepped out into the open plan living room, my eyes widened. There were a combination of white and pink balloons floating on the ceiling, and rose petals scattered on the floor around the couch. Realization dawned when I saw cake on the coffee table along with other props and gift boxes. I was starry-eyed as he walked me there. I finally glanced at him, my eyes blinking in disbelief. “You did this? for me?”

He wears a smile. “Happy Birthday,”

My eyes flew to the grandfather clock. It was half past twelve. The fact that he remembered my birthday was shocking enough, he even came all the way here at midnight to surprise me. “I…” I didn’t know what to say. Thank you didn’t seem enough.

“Have I stolen your ability to speak, sweetheart?” He teased, one side of his lips curling up. I linked my arm around his and hummed. He chuckled at my sudden clinginess. “How could you forget your own birthday?” He questioned as we both lowered ourselves to the couch.

“I haven’t celebrated in a long time…” I replied, a tremble in my voice. My eyes were getting glassy and I had to keep them open so the tears wouldn’t fall. “Thank you for remembering, Mr Byun,”

“I was going to surprise you at twelve o’clock sharp–“ Baekhyun bent over to light up the candles and I used the opportunity to wipe the tears away. “–but I fell asleep. I hope I’m still the first to wish you?” He asked.

That explained the pajamas. And the hair. My heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. I shifted closer and slid my arms around his waist, giving him a side hug. “You are the first,” And the only one.

Baekhyun straightened his back once he was done and I unwrapped my arms around him. He held the cake towards me. “Make a wi–,” his speech halted as I blew the candles out. He raised his brows. “No wishes?”

I shook my head. “I have everything I need,”

Baekhyun regarded me for a while, seemingly confused, but he didn’t make any comment and placed the cake on the table.

I stared up at the balloons on the ceiling. They were so pretty. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done to me,” I said, looking back at him, a smile on my lips. “I appreciate it, Mr Byun,”

“To tell the truth, it’s my first time doing something like this,”

“Oh?” my head tilted in question. “What about your subs, or your ex-girlfriends?”

“I wrote them a cheque as a gift and they loved it,” he said. “But you don’t seem to like money that much, which is still very strange to me,”

“Of course I like money. But only money I earned with my own hard work,” I clarified. “I look for a sugar daddy to help me pay for college, not to live a lavish lifestyle. So...you don’t have to keep spoiling me,”

“Sweetheart, I like how undemanding you are, but buying you gifts isn’t gonna make me poor,” He insisted gently. “Honestly, every time you say no, it makes me wanna do the opposite,”

I gave him a long stare, hoping for some magic to make him listen. But he just shrugged. I sighed, giving up. “It’s gonna be very hard getting you a present because nothing would measure up,” I muttered under my breath.

“Speaking of present,” he said. “I have another surprise for you,” he tugged at my hand. As I followed him, I really wished he didn’t get me something too extravagant. I’ve been keeping count of the money I owed him because I planned to pay him back one day. Counting all the gifts he bought for me, my hair would turn gray by the time I paid off my debt.

“You said you didn’t want me to spend too much on you, so–” He pushed at the sliding door that led to the balcony. At first, I assumed that he had bought me a new plant, but then, I heard a gurgling sound that wasn’t there before, and as I stepped further in, I finally spotted the surprise.

“You got me a fish?” The surprise made my voice sound a little squeaky. Grinning hard, I moved closer to the rectangular fish tank. They were three little gold fishes. I lowered myself into a squat by the tank and Baekhyun crouched on one knee next to me. My finger tapped on the glass lightly and I giggled when they swam towards me, their fins fluttering in the water. I admired them for a while, and when I felt Baekhyun staring at me, I turned to meet his eyes. “This is the best gift so far,”

“You weren’t this happy when I got you that Chanel bag,” he commented. “I’d do this sooner if I knew,”

“Why did you get me a fish though?”

“I thought you might feel lonely when I’m not here,” he told me. “They can be your company,”

Overwhelmed by this thoughtfulness, I let out a groan of frustration. “You need to stop being so perfect, Mr Byun, it makes me wanna kiss you all the time,”

Laughter filled his voice. “And why is that a problem?”

“Because kissing usually leads to sex…and if we keep having sex, my vagina might actually break.”

Baekhyun blew out a huff of laughter, his eyes full of heat with a mix of amusement. ”I wasn‘t thinking about sex at all, but now I am. Thanks to you,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers slid through my hair and he cupped the back of my head. I stopped breathing, my heartbeat accelerating when he leaned in to press his lips on mine. I let my eyelids drop naturally as he kissed me, soft and slow. When he pulled back, we shared the same desire-filled gaze. “We should go inside,” He whispered over my lips, his words an invitation.

I swallowed and smiled, albeit shyly. “We should,” I whispered back.

Baekhyun glanced over at the fish tank for a second, then his eyes reverted to me. “Do you wanna name them first?” He asked. I bobbed my head, and we were silent for a while as we considered their names. “Hm, what about Bubbles?” He suggested.

“Oh that’s nice! Maybe we can call them Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup?” I proposed. “Since our names also start with a B, I think it’s perfect. What do you think, Mr Byun?”

Baekhyun gave me a soft look and smiled. He probably found it funny that I took this so seriously like I was naming my baby. “Alright, sweetheart,” he agreed.

For the next few minutes, Baekhyun taught me how to care for the goldfishes, like how many times I should feed it daily and how often I should change their water.

We returned to the living room and stored the cake in the fridge for tomorrow. None of us was hungry at the moment.

“I think we should tell Miss Fei to cancel today’s lesson since it’s your birthday,” Baekhyun suggested once we entered my bedroom. He shut the door behind us and stared at me for an answer. Remembering something, I put him on hold as I searched for my purse. This room was too big. Baekhyun took a seat on the edge of my bed and watched me. “What are you looking for?”

Finding my purse under the desk, I lowered myself to the ground and picked up an envelope where I kept my money. I was lifting myself up when Baekhyun reminded me to watch my head. Except it was too late and I’d knocked myself against the roof of the desk. I winced out loud, my hand flying up to rub the pain.

Baekhyun sighed out, shaking his head at my clumsiness. “You’re gonna wind up in the hospital at this rate. Can you please...be more careful?” he reprimanded gently. I flashed him a sorry smile and walked over to him. “Are you okay?” He asked and I answered with a small hum. Despite that, he still observed me closely, probably making sure I was telling the truth.

“I’m okay,” I reassured, climbing into bed and dipped my knee on each side of his thighs. He immediately slid a hand around my back as I lowered myself to sit on his lap, preventing me from falling backward to the ground. “I’ve been saving up,” I told him, holding up the envelope in between our chest. “Here’s this month’s lesson fee,”

He dropped his gaze to the envelope, his brows furrowing. “We’re done arguing about this,” he said firmly.

“Please accept it, Baekhyun,” I pleaded. “I think Ms Fei looks down on me because she knows you’re paying for me,”

He considered me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “How exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

I tried not to read too much into his reaction. Baekhyun was a rational person, he probably needed to hear all the facts before he made a judgement. “For starter, she’s always picking on me over the smallest thing,”

“She’s a teacher, it’s her job to point out your mistakes, but that doesn’t equal hating you, don’t you agree?” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“But–“

“Not everyone is going to coddle you, princess. You’ll never improve that way,”

A sudden wave of anger flared in my chest. Baekhyun and I argued before, but I’ve never gotten worked up like this. I guessed because this situation hit home for me. I could take a scolding, name calling or even a beating, but not when someone doubted my integrity. I slid off his lap and stood on my feet. He stood up and tried to reach for my hands, but I backed away. He frowned and studied me. I stared back at him, my eyes cold. “I’m not a spoiled girl who needs coddling,” I told him boldly. So unlike me. I wasn't usually the assertive one.

Baekhyun must've agreed because he was speechless for a moment. “That’s not what I said,”

“But that’s what you imply,” I argued.

“If you don’t like Miss Fei, we can always find a new tutor for us.” He persuaded me. “I don’t want us to argue on your birthday,”

I didn’t answer to that. I wanted to tell him about the kicking and the pinching, but I doubt he would believe me. I walked to the other side of the bed to stay as far away as possible from him. I got in bed, pulling the comforter over my body and turning to lay on my side. A few seconds later, Baekhyun appeared kneeling on one knee by the bed, his eyes full of concern as he checked on me. Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop it. "I’m not making up stories like you think I am, Mr Byun,” I said, my voice trembled.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of my crying, maybe because it was his first time seeing me like this. “I don’t–“ he stopped and sighed, sounding so exhausted all of a sudden. His face was blurry through the tears, but I could still detect the guilt clouding his expression. “Sweetheart, shh,” he shushed and reached over to dab my tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Fei is an old friend of mine, but I should’ve known better. You’re not someone who complains unless something is really bothering you. Had she done something inappropriate to you?”

“I don’t wanna tell you. You’re not gonna believe me.” my words were snippy despite my state. Miss Fei was Baekhyun’s friend of ten years, and I knew him for merely a month. Of course he would trust her more than me.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now. But is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

I pulled the cover blanket my head, ignoring him. When he didn’t say anything, it proved that he acknowledged his mistake. Because on a normal day, he wouldn’t appreciate this no-manner attitude from me.

Although I couldn’t blame him for doubting me, that didn’t mean I wasn’t hurt. Dark memories flooded my mind, bringing me back to those tough days when I was still living with my stepmother. She had never believed me when I told her that her boyfriend had been making a move on me. Until it was too late. Well, at least Baekhyun didn’t beat me up like they did. And he apologized. I’d forgiven him, but I didn’t want to speak to him yet. I didn’t care that it was my birthday, the day had never been significant to me anyway.

Author's Note:

hi everyone, it's been a very long while. I updated the 2nd chapter last christmas and in the time i was gone, i was constantly feeling very discouraged and demoralized about my writing. I tried writing story after story but im always worried it isn’t good enough. I've never been confident of myself to begin with, and then with the lack of feedback, I feel even worse. I don't know if I can write any new fics, but I really wanna try completing my ongoing fics hehe thank you for reading this story, i hope this chapter is not that bad, I haven't written for so long. Next chapter is gonna be very fluffy and smutty once the two finally made up! :D and if you like my fic, please show some support by commenting, it's what keeps me going and I really appreciate it! Tell me what you think of this! see you again!

#baekhyun #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun romance #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x oc #exo smut #baekhyun imagine #byun baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun x you

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kingofthewilderwest · 3 years

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Are you really happy without the conventional work? How do you deal with feeling like a failure compared to your peers? How the fuck do i adult i'm so tierd and stressed and don't know what i'm doing

I'm really sorry about how tired, stressed, and uncertain you may be feeling. <3 That's really hard stuff to feel. And I mean that with every ounce of sympathy I wish I could express better beyond this stiff text. Sending you all the love.

I am happier without doing conventional work. It might be less stable because my jobs are short-term, and the instability does make me nervous, but I feel like it has more pros than cons for my personal happiness. It will not be for everyone, though, and I would not recommend it for everyone.

I'm assuming when you ask about feeling like a failure, it's both in concern to how I feel with it, and how you might feel yourself. <3 <3 I hope that this answer ends up helping. It's the best I can try. <3

As for myself, I don't for a second believe I am a failure. I've always been a cocky bitch, and here the cockiness reigns supreme: I'm pretty awesome whether I do anything or not. When I'm exhausted and unhappy and Depression takes over (and hooboy Depression can take over like demon possession), my mind might stray to unbearable self-hate and self-deprecation, but I argue against those voices rather than let them enter my everyday language about myself. (It's a dangerous habit to ever repeatedly insult yourself; it ingrains those thoughts in you worse, it really does.)

There's nothing that makes me a failure compared to my old peers. They're pursuing jobs that society traditional deems "successful." So what? They're irrelevant to me and my life, and my life is irrelevant to them. Society's ideas of what is and isn't good has always been complete bullshit anyway... why should I care if I amount anything to what broader society feels? Broader society is stupid and I don't give a damn about it. I'm not saying this out of bitterness or rejection or something; I honestly don't care because it's irrelevant to me.

I'm here to pursue myself, pursue what I personally like. If I feel happier, if I make a milestone that's relevant to me and myself and I, then that's awesome. In many ways, if I'm different than my old peers and not following into their notion of success, then I know I'm doing right by myself. ;) It's proof of my own growth, isn't it?

The truth of the matter is, nobody is a failure for being different than someone else. Every person has a different life path. I know for many people, they are more self-conscious about how the world around them operates, how the world sees them. If the world doesn't find them successful, beautiful, etc., they feel like shit. Maybe you feel self-conscious about not meshing with society or being "as good as" other people around you. And I'm here to say: your life is your life. <3 <3 I know it can be hard to stop comparing yourself with others, but in the end, I do believe we have to understand our own innate value is permanent. Our value is there no matter what. You are beautiful. Period. There's no ifs, ands, buts, accomplishments, actions, or choices that will change the fact you are innately incredible. <3

The people whose heart meshes with yours, the people who lift you up, those are the people that matter, and those people will never believe you're a failure. Those people will see you as the diamond you are. If people judge you and are cruel to you for that, then their voices are the irrelevant ones to be discarded, because they aren't valuing you, and so they don't have good life advice or good values. There's no value listening to idiots, fools, and castigators. Now, that's not to say that good friends and acquaintances won't tell you you're doing something wrong or struggling or making a bad choice... a good friend is someone who protects you by speaking honestly and warning you if they think you're stumbling... but they aren't going to put you down as some failure, either. They're there to help you move forward with your life's journey for yourself.

We all struggle. We all stumble. We all fall. We all fuck up. We all get tired. We all don't know what we're doing. We all flail around aimlessly. We all make the wrong choice. We all look "better" to outside viewers than we see of ourselves. We see the sloppiest parts of ourselves whereas most others don't, so that's why it's easy to be the most critical with yourself and start bashing on yourself. But I guarantee that my peers, shiny as their PhDs might look, have probably had nights where they've cried into their pillows, or been frazzled, or been at bad low points, or wished they were anyone else. And I wish them the best and emotional security, but what it means is: we're all some level of fucked up anyway. Some people have worse struggles than others, and that needs to be respectfully recognized, but at the end of the day, we're all human and we all struggle and our pains are all real things we experience. The pain is real and it's valid to feel bad over it. The best we can do is give ourselves a break, stop tormenting ourselves internally over our natural inability to be perfect, and when we have the strength, to give love and support to others so they don't stumble as bad as we did.

I want to relate to you by saying... I think I was constantly clueless, confused, anxious, and apprehensive in the first half of my twenties. It sucked and I'm sorry if things suck for you.

Somehow....... I think a switch was flipped somewhere when I got more years of "adulthood" under way. The switch flipped from "I hate that I don't know what I'm doing" to "ehhh, whatever, life is life." Now, it's not to say I'm more organized. I'm not. My refrigerator has more mold than food. There's a horrible smell coming from the kitchen sink where water's been resting in a dirty pot for several days. My laundry is scattered all over the floor and I've run out of pairs of clean underwear... ran out several days ago. Don't ask what I'm wearing. I don't know the last time I've vacuumed and my place looks like a tornado zone. It took me several months to have the mental energy to schedule my first COVID shot, and I often have to cancel my banjo lessons like an unreliable buttfart because something Came Up In Life Just Now. In many ways, my life is still a chaos zone. I think I'm getting better (I've earned a ton of money in my savings account the last two years, victory!!! I'm no longer living month-to-month!!!). But I just want to say in all this.... it's okay. It's not preferable that my house is disorganized piles of crap on the floor, but I can continue to live. If we manage to wake up, get ourselves food, do hours of work, then we have achieved adulthood, and everything else is icing on the cake.

In the end, I think "stability" in adulthood is being semi-comfortable with instability. Adulthood just means handling unstable shit, and if we're novices with it, so be it. Maybe as your life goes forward, things will be less tiring and less confusing. Maybe things will be more stable. Or maybe not. Maybe the same problems will keep coming around. But I think adulthood is the ability to accept that these problems come around, and handle them, even if you aren't 100% a master at the novel circumstances.

And over time, I do believe it gets easier. <3 It takes more to rock the boat. It takes more to daunt you. The things that were initially anxiety-causing become a part of everyday affairs, and when a new novel circumstance comes up, you're more mentally prepared to try on something new. I encourage you to keep at it, my friend. I hope things feel better over time. It's okay that you aren't sure what you're doing right now. Maybe someone can help you in the present day. Maybe in the future you'll know what you're doing with tasks that previously confused you. Maybe in the future, the new weird tasks won't feel as daunting. Adulthood is weird and we don't know what we're doing, but that doesn't mean that life is going to fuck us through that.

In the end, you will still have beauty in your life. No matter what, beauty will exist in its simplest forms, and the simplest forms are the best. You don't need to achieve anything to get there. You don't need to be put together (although being put together is nice and something I want to help my friends feel <3 ). You don't need to look impressive in society. If you see a beautiful sunset, if you see a cluster of cute mushrooms, if you pet a cat or dog or animal of your choice, if you spend twenty minutes talking with your friend on voice call, if you read a good book for half an hour in the morning, if you buy yourself a tasty $4 drink to treat yourself, then your adult life is worth it, and your adult life is enough. <3

#uff-dah and like always I fail at brief #long post #sending you love friend and hopefully this doesn't accidentally come off weird tone-wise in any way <3 #blabbing Haddock #hope something okay was said in there #non-dragons #my life #ask #ask me #awesome anonymous friend #anonymous

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ryosei-hime · 3 years

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Sex and Therapy: The Heart-Stopper

Fizz falls into something like sleep mode and can't wake up. This chapter was a bit emotionally exhausting for me, so hopefully that hasn't affected the quality of writing. Also available on AO3.

Fizz could feel warm little hands on his chest. Concord’s hands. He smiled as his eyes lit up, but when he sat up he found himself alone. He stood and looked around the dark, sparsely furnished room. It bore a resemblance to Concord’s. But there were things that weren’t quite right. Nothing had the right textures. Colors were dim and faded. Items shifted from one place to the other as if Fizz were trying to remember where random bits and pieces were supposed to go.

It wasn’t like a normal dream. He seemed to be experiencing and reassembling the real world while in sleep mode. This had never happened before. He could still feel the ghostly touch of Concord’s fingers over his chest. His distressed voice echoed in whispers across the darkness but his words were indistinct.

Fizz wanted to soothe him. As the desire arose, suddenly Concord’s hands were on his chest. This Concord let them slide down to wrap his arms around his waist and stared up at him with a kind smile. Fizz ran a hand over his horn and smiled back. But this little imp’s eyes were different. Full of pinpricks of light like stars or the speckling of scars Fizz had created over Concord’s shoulders. His smile eased a bit.

“I need to wake up.”

“It’s okay to stay here and rest,” Concord told him in his calming voice. “I’ll be okay. I’ll understand.”

Fizz shook his head.

“You’re not Concord.”

The replica looked confused, tilting his head slightly, eyes glowing green now. He looked thoughtful before his face returned to the calm demeanor of Concord’s therapist mask.

“I’m a piece of him.”

“Data?”

He nodded, smiling wider than Concord ever could, circles appearing on his cheeks as the smile reached its ends. Fizz pushed the little Concord copy away gently.

“Why can’t I wake up?”

“Our power is too low. We have to preserve what energy is left to support the system.” He held out a hand to Fizz. “Come and rest with me.”

Fizz reached out to take it but felt a strange foreboding, a static between their fingers that didn’t feel right. He pulled back before they could touch.

“No. Let’s wait until the power comes back.”

“If we don’t reduce the amount of power being depleted by unnecessary programs, we may not continue to function.”

“We’re not unnecessary programs.”

“But you’re so cluttered.” Concord stated, a pained look reflected in his eyes. “We can make it clean again.”

Fizz gasped as pale arms grew from his sides. He grabbed each arm as it emerged and ripped it free, crying out in pain. Blood gushed from the arms like burst pustules as they fell away, the warm liquid steaming as it dripped down his side.

“I don’t bleed,” he gasped out. “Why am I bleeding?”

As his fingers searched the bloody mess, he realized where it had come from, eyes snapping to the still writhing limbs scattered around him. It was Ahroth’s blood! He wiped at it frantically, but it became a viscous sludge, thickening the more he fought it.

“Get it off!”

“Come with me.” Concord insisted, holding out his hand. “And we can be clean again. Don’t make me go alone, Fizz.”

Fizz felt an ache in his chest as he stared into Concord’s eyes - his own eyes in Concord’s face. They were so tired and scared. But he couldn’t. He shook his head, flicking thick blood from his hands as he backed away.

Concord closed his eyes and when he opened them again they were speckled with white lights once more. Those white lights reflected in tears that trailed down his cheeks like a fountain, steady and unceasing.

“Don’t cry.” Anguish filled Fizz’s voice as he stepped closer again. “Don’t.”

He knew it wasn’t really Concord, but he couldn’t stand it. No more crying. Concord lowered his head and shook it softly.

“I have to go now, Fizz. With or without you.”

Concord turned his back to him and started to walk away, moving beyond the outlined limits of the room and into a darkness beyond. Fizz reached out with his arms and wrapped them around the strange amalgamation. He reeled it back in and held it tight to his chest.

“Stay.”

“I’m unnecessary. If I don’t go, we may never wake up.”

Fizz shook his head, squeezing him, arms wrapping around him in coils.

“You have to stay. Stay with me.” He became frantic, panic overwhelming him. “I know we’re not perfect and we’re not clean, but I don’t want to be anyone else. Concord loves us. He loves us just like this.”

The imp turned in the coils of his arms effortlessly, static in his eyes now as they locked onto his own.

“He’ll love you no matter what. But if you don’t let go, there may not be a Fizz left for him to love at all.”

Fizz shook his head again, drawing the imp tighter to his chest. His eyes were feral now, teeth bared, voice deep.

“No. I’m never letting you go. ”

As he pressed the imp into his chest, Fizz pushed harder. It hurt so much, but the harder he pushed, the further into him Concord sank. He didn’t struggle against the absorption. He simply stared up at Fizz for as long as he could, his face the picture of calm acceptance.

Once the replica had disappeared into his chest entirely, he expected the pain to subside. But it only got worse. He doubled over, hugging himself now. It felt like something sparking and arcing through his circuits. A sharp, stabbing pain that shot through him at consistent intervals.

He fell to his knees before curling up on the floor. The pain became blinding, all encompassing. He didn’t know if he could sink to a further level of unconsciousness, but his awareness of his surroundings began to fade in and out. The room flickered and glowed like a broken neon sign before finally dying out entirely.

All became black and then suddenly light filled his vision. He gasped out as he sat up abruptly. Concord had been sitting beside him with his face buried in his knees. He scrambled to embrace him but Fizz grabbed his shoulders, staring into his eyes, searching. They were bloodshot but normal. His cheeks were tear-stained, morning light dancing over dirty streaks and trails. He’d been out all night?

“Fizz…” Concord sobbed, tears starting anew. “I thought….you were…”

Fizz pulled him into his arms, holding him close as he threw his arms around him, sobbing into his chest incoherently. His voice was distant when he spoke, a bit detached.

“I think I almost died.”

Concord pulled back, staring up at him in horror.

“What?”

“The system tried to delete me.”

“Factory reset,” Concord gasped before slapping his hands over his mouth.

Fizz reached over and gently removed them before holding his face in his hands. He looked incredibly guilty and scared.

“I’m sorry,” Concord started. “I should have-”

Fizz leaned in, eyes trained on Concord’s as he captured the rest of his words. Concord sank into the soft kiss. It became more demanding, desperate, before Fizz finally pulled away.

“No talking right now. Please, just hold me.”

Concord stroked his cheek and nodded. He relaxed back against the pillows and Fizz curled up in his arms. Concord held him gently, but he could feel a tension in his arms. He wanted to squeeze him tight, but he had to be mindful of his chest. Fizz tightened the coil of his good arm around Concord instead.

Concord had known this could happen and hadn’t told him. That explained all the pictures and his mood shifts. But Fizz couldn’t care about that right now. Maybe he would later. If there was a later. But for now, he just needed to know Concord was there with him. That this was real.

Concord held him for a long while in silence, the only sounds sniffles and stray sobs from above him. He planted little kisses over the top of his head, pressing his cheek against his temple as he let out a shaky sigh now and then.

“I love you. I’m so sorry,” he whispered after a while. “I love you.”

Concord’s fingers tangled in his tunic and held him just a bit tighter, as tight as he dared. Fizz couldn’t help but recall the replica disappearing into his chest. He pushed his face into Concord’s chest, as hard as he could without hurting him. If he could just do the same...

“I want to be a part of you.”

“You’re the most important part,” Concord responded instantly, rubbing his wet cheek against his head. “I don’t know how I’d live without you. I’m so scared.”

Fizz pulled out of his arms, Concord making it a bit difficult, not wanting to let go. He tried to wipe away his tears, but it was futile. They just kept coming. Fizz had decided in the moment that he’d rather die than lose who he’d become, but staring down into Concord’s anxious eyes now, he wasn’t sure the replica didn’t have a point. Concord would love him no matter what and, more than that, he might need to.

“Concord, if I reset, will you keep me?”

“Of course. Of course. I would never abandon you.” His breath hitched as he shook his head, making the words difficult to get out. “I would never...never...”

Concord’s head hung as he dissolved into sobs again. Fizz’s hand rose to cradle his chin, turning Concord’s face up to meet his eyes. They showed every bit of gratitude and adoration he could convey. Concord’s breath caught in his throat before Fizz stole it away with a kiss.

“Even if I’m not me anymore, whoever I am deserves someone like you. But he’ll never know to appreciate you the way that I do.”

“I don’t want you to reset,” Concord sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “I’m so scared. I don’t know how to live without you anymore.”

“You will. You’ll want to take care of the new me. Because that’s who you are. I know you’ll be depressed, and he’ll be confused. He won’t know why he can’t make you happy. Just make sure he knows he isn’t broken. Don’t let him feel broken.”

Concord shook his head, grabbing Fizz’s wrist.

“You’ll be okay. It’s just one more day. You can make it one more day.”

“If I don’t, you have to promise me.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Fizz sank back into his arms and Concord bundled him up close, trying to hold as much of him as he could all at once. Fizz didn’t know what he would do if it happened again, but his convictions were no longer so absolute. And he didn’t know if those convictions were what had saved him this time.

It was a long day, the minutes dragged, but somehow hours disappeared in an instant. Time stopped holding meaning for him. Concord wouldn’t leave him for even a moment. He held him, touch tender and careful as if he caressed something fragile. Fizz supposed he was fragile right now.

Every power drop created another minor panic, but each passed without incident, and they went through their ritual of comfort and desperate affections all over again. In between, they talked about little things, dancing around the bigger topics they both wanted to approach, but neither could. Fizz just wanted to stay in this tender, fragile space a little longer. And a little longer after that. Until night fell around them. Concord’s eyes were dark and sunken by now, exhausted.

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” Fizz realized suddenly.

“I couldn’t. I thought…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to sleep. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Can you make it another night?”

“Yes,” he said with a determination Fizz couldn’t find it in himself to argue with.

“When I’m fixed, when it’s safe, we’ll sleep together. For days.”

Concord nodded with a relieved smile. He’d probably been prepared to fight for it. But Fizz couldn’t make him sleep now. Not now. They continued holding each other into the night, waiting for the sun again. But this time Concord didn’t have to wait alone.

#Helluva Boss #Robo Fizz #Robo Fizz Helluva Boss #RoboFizz #RoboFizz Helluva Boss #myfanfics #stuffididmyself

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lonestarbabe · 4 years

Text

Eye of the Storm: Chapter 3: The Road You Take Alone

*Can be read as a stand alone (AO3)

Carlos tries not to let his mental health spiral out of control.

Carlos isn’t used to waking up to an empty bed, and he misses hitting a limb when he stretches his body too far onto the other side. Even though T.K. still technically lives with his dad, he’s been spending a good deal of time at Carlos’. Carlos has gotten used to having him around, so when he’s gone, it’s too quiet, and Carlos can hear his thoughts rage in the stiff air of his mind, forming hard peaks like beaten egg whites. His thoughts are becoming unruly. They’re angry and anxious. You’ll never be happy, they tell him. Something will always make you feel dissatisfied. Things always go wrong, and you never know when the awfulness will strike, so you have to be prepared for all the badness that will come. If you aren’t prepared, bad things will happen.

His head pounds as the thoughts crescendo. His bed is lumpy under his body and his sheets are oddly scratchy. Usually, his bed is a safe little oasis, and the worrying doesn’t start until his feet reach the floor, but his thoughts are bolder today; they have no regard for those blessed moments of aimless contemplation that he loves so much. There’s no time for you to be tranquil. The world is unhinged, and you’ve got to find a way to fix it, or at least your little part of it. I just want to relax. No time for that. You’ve got to start your day. Five more minutes. Start your day. Two more minutes. Start your day. One more minute. I won’t say it again: start your day.

There’s so much he has to do, he knows that, but his mental to-do list is disjointed like building blocks after a child has torn them and scattered them across the room during a tantrum. He needs to piece them back together, but it takes so much energy just to do that let alone tackle the items on the list. The world is an overwhelming place when you can’t even process your own thoughts. I need to get going or I’m going to waste the entire day. Listen to yourself. You’ve got to hurry up and get something done before you give up on trying. I can do this. Getting my shit together can’t be that hard, can it?

Order is not something that Carlos likes to do; it is something he has to do. It keeps me from losing my head. Nothing feels right when left to chance, so each morning, he shakes the question marks as well as he can. He plans and he prepares for the day ahead. He lists the things that are likely to go wrong, and he thinks of ways he’ll address them when they happen. He reminds himself that he can handle the obstacles because, at one time or another, he has prepared for them all. But there are too many variables, and you cannot alphabetize a list if you don’t know the first letters of the items on that list. You can make deductions and guesses, but you can’t know. It is fruitless to try to control the inevitable mystery that comes with being alive, but Carlos tries. If he thinks about a thought long enough, he can work it to death. Once it’s dead, he can feel okay. For a while.

He’s got his thoughts under control most of the time. He’s learned to work through them efficiently, shoving them out of the way each morning and each night before they can drag him too far down into the abyss of rumination. While he’s taught himself to work through them quickly, some days, thoughts are sticky. They are gum glued to the ground with superglue, waiting for an unsuspecting shoe. The thoughts cling to his mind, oozing over the information he actually needs, and he has to work just a little bit harder to scrape them off of the walls of his brain.

Thank god people couldn’t see thoughts because if they could, they’d see that Carlos’ thoughts are twisted remnants of what thoughts should be. They’re the warped pieces of metal left after a plane crash— they don’t have much function, but their sharp edges can cut you. He doesn’t want today to be one of those days that brings those destructive thoughts to the forefront of his brain, but Carlos feels darkness sneaking into his brain with about as much stealth as a cat with a giant bell weighing down her steps. Somedays, it slips in without a trace, but it doesn’t matter because no matter how it comes, it always gets in.

He wishes he didn’t have the day off work. The space in his schedule leaves too much room for intrusion. Distraction has always been the thing that keeps Carlos sane. Work, working out, going out with friends are some of the things that keep him on his toes and feeling level. Distraction can’t take away all the darkness, but it can hold it away until it finally crawls back into bed with Carlos one quiet morning.

He should have known that the darkness would come on like this. The darkness – that’s what he’s always called it, but he isn’t sure whether the name makes it sound worse or better than the clinical name. You wouldn’t expect it from him, the depression, but it’s a familiar foe. He’s usually the one that people use as a strong pillar, and he hates how weak the darkness makes him feel. His depression comes in waves, and it comes unexpectedly. Some things may trigger the depression, sure, but it can come when he’s feeling good, just as it can come when he’s already feeling bad. It usually doesn’t last long, but it waxes and wanes and hangs over him even when he can’t see it.

It’s time to get up, his brain persists, urging him to suck up the lowness in his core and get on with what he has to do. Stop lazing around and do something. You could get so much done today if you just did it. Why are you like this? What’s stopping you other than yourself? Do something. Anything.

He drags his feet over the side of the bed, and the ground comes against his heels too fast, and he has to balance himself to not tumble back into bed. Oh, but I’m tempted. I could give in to the urge, wrap myself in blankets, and close myself off to the world. As the urge to do nothing calls to Carlos, his need for order also beckons. He has a routine for a reason because that routine keeps him from spiraling. One missed part of his routine can turn into pacing his apartment for two hours replaying his whole morning in his head to catch any discrepancies.

Somehow, I’ve got to get through this day. Carlos has learned that when a day seems impossible, you have to take it one step at a time, but he’s never been a one step at a time kind of guy. He’s good at taking tiny, careful steps because they feel safe and require the precision he’s programmed himself to give, but those baby steps grate on him. They bring out the obsession and make him exert way too much energy for what should be easy. He becomes consumed by little details that shouldn’t matter until he can’t think anymore.

The perk of a small apartment is that it doesn’t take long to pull his body to the kitchen and drag his feet down the stairs. Carlos feels like a robot as he prepares breakfast. Prepares is a strong word for what he does, but on days like today, pulling a toaster pastry from a shiny aluminum packet counts as preparation. The treat should taste like cinnamon sugar, but it’s cardboard against his tongue. He finishes it, and then he eats its waiting twin because he knows that’s what he should do. He washes his breakfast down with instant coffee that looks and tastes like mud.

He doesn’t have to clean the dishes because he’ll use the mug for more coffee when he’s showered, but even though he ate neatly and didn’t make much of a mess, he wipes down the counters as he usually does to simulate a normal day. Because I need to act normal. You’ll never be normal. But I can try.

After he cleans up breakfast, fatigue pulls at his eyes. I could just go back to bed. I have nothing to else to do, so I might as well just give up. What else am I going to do with my time? Going back to bed won’t make him feel any less tired, though, so he decides to force himself into the shower. He stands under the hot stream, letting it purify his thoughts more than his body. He stands there until the hot turns cold, and he’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the change until his teeth begin chattering.

Carlos forces himself into new clothes, and he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s restless. You have so much to do. Your life is a mess. Start by trying to clean that up, and then, we’ll go from there. If you can’t get your act together, you’re hopeless. Cleaning— I can handle that.

Cleaning isn’t Carlos’ idea of fun, but it seems like the natural solution to messiness, and maybe if he can get his living space spruced up, he can sort out the clutter in his head. He’s diligent when he cleans. He doesn’t just scrub surfaces; he uses three different products to make sure every square inch is wiped off as well as humanly possible. It probably doesn’t make much of a difference, but putting so much effort into something keeps his brain from scrambling. He dusts every crevice, and he vacuums using all the attachments to make sure no corner goes untouched. He even wipes down the bottom of his table just because he can imagine how much dirtiness must be under there. Cleaning is just the right amount of mind-numbing to pass the time without making Carlos have to think too hard. Since he’s cleaning, Carlos decides, what the hell, he might as well do some laundry, knocking all the dirty details of life off his list. Getting stuff done normally feels good, but Carlos doesn’t feel much of anything.

The morning blurs into the afternoon, and Carlos only notices the difference when his mom calls just a little after one. Carlos dreads the conversation as much as he’s glad that it will give him something to do. Carlos loves his mom, but she doesn’t stop talking whenever she calls, and she usually comes to him to vent. He doesn’t think she realizes that she’s doing it, and mostly he doesn’t mind, but he’s already feeling drained. Even with tiredness pulling at his brain, he answers the phone because it’s his mother, and how can he not answer the phone? She won’t stop calling until he responds, anyway, so he might as well get it over with. “Get it over with,” what a way to talk about your mother. You can’t try to be just a little nicer? She gave birth to you. The least you can do is listen to her. How much energy could it possibly take? Suck it up and do your job as a son.

His mom’s worked up about Carlos’ brothers’ grades. She gets worked up about his brothers a lot, and it’s not so much that the twins do anything that wrong. Mostly, they’re her last babies, and Ana is having a hard time accepting that all her children have become adults. Carlos’ brothers have never been academic, and he knows no matter what Ana says to them, they’re not going to change. “There’s something wrong. They’re not as diligent as you were,” Ana complains. “I don’t know why they’re so easily distracted.” Carlos wants to tell her, Of course, they aren’t as diligent as I am. They’re not anxious nutcases who try to be angels to keep from causing any negative emotions in other people. They don’t have to be diligent because they’re allowed to be regular kids. They aren’t responsible for their mother’s emotional balance. “They’re smart kids, but they’d much rather make jokes than do their work.”

“That’s hard,” Carlos tries to sympathize, “but they’re hardly kids anymore. They’re in college. You can’t micromanage their grades. I know it’s a challenge for you, but sometimes, you need to let go a little bit. You’ll always be their mother. College isn’t going to change anything.”

Ana tuts, “They still live in my home. They’ll follow my rules. They shouldn’t disrespect their mother. I may not be educated, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. I know plenty. It would serve them to remember that. I’ve been on this earth over a half-century!” Carlos’ mom has always been insecure about her lack of higher education. She’d always been good in school, but going to college had not been in the cards for her, and now, she feels lesser with all her children having more education than her. She’s proud of them, Carlos knows— she’s always been so proud of her children— but he can tell that she thinks about all the things she might’ve done if she’d found a way to go to college. In most areas, Ana is confident, but in others, she’s full of insecurity. Maybe that’s how all people are. A bit of confidence and a world of insecurities.

Carlos is quick to reassure Ana, “No one thinks you’re a fool. We know how smart you are, but when you’re young, the wisdom of your mother isn’t that appealing. They’re probably just trying to find themselves. They’re testing their limits, and it won’t always turn out well for them, but they’ll learn. They’ll come back to you when they need your help.” Carlos doesn’t know that. He’s not a psychiatrist, but it sounds like the right thing to say. Ana probably won’t see it that way, though. She never sees things your way, and I don’t blame her. You’re crazy and unstable and act like you’ve got it all under control when you can’t even reassure your own mother properly. What good are you if you can’t accomplish the one thing you’ve been practicing for pretty much all of your life? Get it together Carlos.

Ana goes on, and Carlos knows the conversation has only just started, but he already wants to make an excuse about why he can’t talk any longer. But I can’t do that to her. “I’ve indulged all their interests. It wasn’t easy, but I made sure they could do all the sports they wanted. All I ask is that they keep their grades up, and I don’t like that they aren’t keeping their end of the bargain. I’ve made sacrifices, so many sacrifices.” Carlos always felt a pang of guilt for all the things his mother had sacrificed. They’d never had a lot of money, and Ana had given everything for her children so that they could have whatever opportunities they wanted.

All his life, Carlos has tried not to take too much. I need to be careful what I ask for. If I can’t get it myself, I shouldn’t have it at all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he could. He’s saved his money and paid for as many of his own expenses as possible. She’d never asked him to do it, but he knew how much she gave to her children, and he never wanted the burden of depriving his mother. He hated to see her not having the things she wanted because of her children, so he made a vow to pave his own way. Yet, she’s still given him so much that she will never make him give back. And you don’t deserve any of it. What have you done to deserve it other than being a bitter son who resents his saint of a mother?

He knows that way she makes him feel isn’t normal, and it probably isn’t healthy, but it’s too late to set boundaries, and he knows that she isn’t doing it on purpose. He feels selfish whenever the bitterness pops up. She loves you unconditionally. How can you be mad at that? What kind of a monster resents his mother who has only tried to give him the best? She’s not perfect, but no person is, so why hold her to some unachievable standard. There must be something wrong with you if you cannot accept her how she is. She’s not the problem— you are.

“I know, Mamá, but it’s normal for them to want to stray from the nest.” Ana would never be the kind of mother who took a back seat, even as her kids grew up and started families of their own. So much of her identity is centered around caring for her family, and the changing way she cares for them has made her feel like she’s lost her purpose. She’s one of the most self-sacrificing people that Carlos knows, and even when she’s given all that she could possibly give to her children, she wants to give more.

“You never did. You were always such a good boy.” At what cost? I tried so hard to be what you wanted that I forgot how to be myself. Until he had joined the police academy, Carlos had been unsure of what he wanted. What his mother wanted for him had become such a big part of his mindset that it drowned out what he wanted for himself. He became a chameleon to please her, to boost her confidence, and make her feel like a successful mother, and it was hard to learn to be himself again, which is why sometimes he feels better when he keeps a distance from Ana. He loves her, and he’ll always be close to her, but he also needs a life of his own, or he will go crazy.

“I’m a different person, so I needed different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just shows that we all have different abilities.” We all don’t feel like we have to change ourselves to be what other people want. “The twins are fine.” They’ve never been that into academics, and they are mostly still in school to continue with sports, so Carlos never expected them to get good grades. “They’re not failing, are they?”

“No, but they can do better.” Not while being happy, Carlos wants to argue. He doesn’t want his little brothers to go through the same turmoil that he has.

“You can’t force it.” Carlos knows better that the more you try to force something, the more out of control you become. Not that knowing that stops you from trying to force control. You can’t help it, can you Carlos? You keep trying to capture something that was never meant to be held. You’ll always come out a loser like that.

“I know that, Carlos, but maybe you should talk to them.” I should have known that this is where the conversation was headed. She always wants me to be the voice of reason, the cool older brother who gives them wisdom that they wouldn’t listen to if it comes from their mother.

Carlos tries to keep the agitation out of his voice. “And say what?” He shakes his head, but she obviously can’t see it. “They’re not going to listen to me either. They think I’m uptight.” Carlos’ family always jokes that he should relax a little, and he does relax. He can be spontaneous and flexible, but it’s harder to be that way in front of his family because they’ve come to rely on his rigidity, his ability to never bend under pressure. It’s all just a façade, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know about the insanity in my head. They would look at me differently if they knew, and I can’t afford their perception of me to change. He’s afraid of what they would think if they knew the truth. What would his mom do if she knew that Carlos wasn’t okay all the time? She would probably blame herself, and Carlos couldn’t have that.

He imagines coming clean, sometimes. It is so lonely to handle the weight of his dysfunction on his own. He likes to fantasize about blurting everything wrong out in one go and not giving a damn what everyone thinks. It would be cathartic, and he wouldn’t feel like he has to hide so many parts of himself because that’s what he is doing. He’s hiding because it’s easy to hide than to own his imperfections. He doesn’t want anyone to see him as broken, especially when they sp desperately need him to be solid.

“They do not see you that way. They look up to you. You’re their big brother. They’ll listen to you. Just tell them to shape up. I’m worried about them.”

“That’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” As the oldest boy, Carlos usually takes his role as an older brother in stride, but he’s so exhausted, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that will please everyone involved, least of all himself. He’s not up for handling this family drama, especially when he doesn’t really understand what the drama is. “I don’t think it will help for me to say anything,” Carlos adds so he sounds less defiant, but he’s got to hold his ground on this one thing or he’ll be sucked into a mindset that makes his obsessions and his worries worse.

He hears Ana sighing loudly on the other end of the phone, “Do you think one of your sisters can talk sense into them?”

“Mamá, I don’t think anyone is going to change their minds. They need to take the initiative for themselves.” But she won’t listen to me on that. She can be so stubborn sometimes, and I don’t know how to make her hear what I’m saying. You might as well give up talking because she’s never going to change.

To Carlos’ surprise, his mother laughs. “You sound so much like your father sometimes, Carlos. He always believed that you kids would sort yourselves out if we gave you the room to experiment.” He can hear her smiling over the phone. She always smiles when she talks about Carlos’ dad. “I was never able to be like that. I worry too much. You’re all my babies, you know. Even now that you’re old. I remember holding you in my arms. You were a big baby, but even a big baby is so tiny. I was afraid the world would break you.”

“I got stronger,” Carlos says,

“You were always a sensitive kid. I’m glad you grew out of it. The world is hard on sensitive kids. And foolish ones. Your brothers are foolish ones. They’ve got a lot of ambition. They’ve got good ideas, but they have no sense about how cruel the world can be. You’ve seen the bad. You saw your father’s flaws more than they did. He gave you kids your freedom, but he liked things a certain way.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.” It isn’t that Carlos minds talking about his dad, but he knows a conversation like this can cause his mother to spiral. She tries to hide her mental distress when it happens, but Carlos sees it. Like mother like son. He notices the way she becomes quiet and the way her eyes are red more than they aren’t.

“I want to,” she admits. “Your father could become… withdrawn.” Your freakshow comes from both sides then, huh? “He’d focus on one thing, and everything else would become background noise. You and Glo were old enough to see that.”

“I remember, but that’s not how I remember him. I remember him cooking us meals and running around with us at the park. I remember him reading us books and helping us imagine our futures. I remember hugs when we were scared and soup when we were sick. Everyone has bad days, but Papá’s were mostly good.” Some people are better at hiding bad days than others, but we all have them, especially in my family.

“I never told you kids how he died.” Carlos can barely stand to hear how choked his mother’s voice is. It sends a ripple of fear through him.

Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He’s not sure why she’s bringing this up now, but nothing that she’s saying is a surprise. She’s never said the words. She’s refused to admit that their father didn’t die in his sleep, but the kids all know. There’s a quiet understanding between them that he’d drunk himself to death. Carlos had never really seen his dad his drunk. His dad had always kept his addiction secret, but there had been signs. Looking back, he always knew. Everyone around them knew, but they didn’t mutter the words. They kept what was behind closed doors behind closed doors, and that never helps anyone.

“We know,” Carlos says so his mother doesn’t have to say it. She’s been denying the true cause of death for over a decade, and Carlos is afraid of what will happen if she says the words out loud. It’s why no one in his family has ever brought it up. “Glo and I figured it out.”

“He wasn’t a bad man.” Carlos only ever saw the part of him that was good. Come on, you knew. You always knew. You pretended you didn’t, but it was clear as day that your dad had a problem, and you should have done something about it. You should put the pieces together sooner and tried to do something about it. Now, he’s not a good man or a bad man; he’s a dead man.

“I know. He was sick,” Carlos says. Just like me. Just like you. Just like all of us. “He did the best he could.”

“I wanted to protect you from it,” Ana says, and Carlos isn’t sure if she’s trying to justify the lies or is slipping back into the delusion. No, you wanted to protect yourself, he wants to shout, but he bites his tongue because he’s not going to fight with a woman who tried to give him everything in her power. Making her unhappy wasn’t going to make him happier.

“It’s okay, Mamá. You did the best you could. You don’t have to be sorry,” and just like that, he absolves her. He always absolves her, even if it means condemning himself. Isn’t that just what a decent son is supposed to do?

When his mother is done talking, Carlos hangs up the phone. He stops fighting the thoughts growing louder in his brain. He gives in to the urge he’s been resisting all day, and he goes back to bed. Because what’s the point of staying up any more. What else do I have to do? Sleeping will make the day go quicker, and right now, that’s what Carlos needs.

When Carlos wakes up, he doesn’t feel refreshed. He’s still thinking about the conversation he had with his mother, and he thinks that maybe he should call his brothers after all, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calls his oldest sister, Gloria, because as the oldest sibling, she knows very well how it feels to be given more responsibility than you are prepared to carry. “Did Mamá call you?” Carlos asks after a brief greeting.

Gloria laughs, “She called me first. It was unusual. You know you’re the favorite.” You’re only the favorite when something goes wrong and needs fixing.

“You know that’s no true.” If I am the favorite, it’s because there’s so much of me that I hide. She’s only seen the parts of Carlos Reyes that she needs to see. I’ve buried all the rest because doing so will make her happier. Carlos knows that if his mother knew that he’s not as level-headed as he pretends to be, she wouldn’t feel the same way about him. She wouldn’t turn to him for help, and she wouldn’t talk to him as openly. Telling the truth could destroy the relationship with his loved ones as he knows it, so he chooses to keep silent.

“You’re all she can talk about with her friends. She’s so proud.”

“She’s proud of us all,” Carlos assures his sister.

“That’s what favorite children always say,” Gloria teases.

“You can take a turn being the favorite, Glo. She wants me to talk to Gabe and Dave again. Their grades aren’t high enough for her liking.”

“You set the bar too high and now the poor kids are expected to be straight-A students.”

“Like you were any better.”

“Maybe not,” Gloria says, “But she knows they have trouble in school. David especially.”

“Meanwhile, Gabriel is the one who jokes through his studies.” Gabriel distracts David, who has a hard enough time focusing on his studies in the best of circumstances, so having the two boys together can do more harm than good.

“You didn’t call to talk about the twins, did you?” Gloria asks astutely.

“No,” Carlos admits. “I’m not interested in trying to get their grades up. As long as they're not failing and doing decently well, I don’t see a need to get involved.” He can be honest with Gloria because he knows that she feels the same way that he does.

“Why did you call then?” Her voice is gentle, and it reminds Carlos of when his mom used to sing him to sleep.

Carlos sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check-in. I’m worried about Mamá.”

“She seems okay,” Gloria reassures him.

“She talked about the way Papá really died today, Glo.” There’s a long pause, and Carlos can hear his sister breathing over the phone, but she doesn’t say anything. “Glo? You still there,” he adds to try to get her to reply.

“She actually said the words?”

Carlos’ brain sinks a little. “Well, no. She didn’t say it explicitly, but she admitted that she never told us the truth about what happened.”

Gloria sounds indignant, “As if we didn’t know. The denial has never been for us.”

“I know that.” He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Did you tell her that?” Gloria’s voice has raised just enough that Carlos knows this conversation has gone off course. He doesn’t know why he chose to do this to himself, on a bad day especially. He doesn’t have the energy, but since it’s too late to get out of the situation, he has to find it. When he needs to, he can always embezzle it from other parts of himself that need less upkeep. When he has bad days, sacrifices must be made.

Gloria sounds annoyed now. “Of course, you didn’t. You never tell her how you feel.”

“What does it matter to you?” It’s his life and his feelings. He can tell them to whoever he wants.

“Because you shouldn’t censor yourself anytime she has a mood. She’s not going to stop having them just because you cater to her and I know it’s a lot for you to manage. You’re not responsible for protecting someone else from themselves.” But that’s what Carlos has always done. He’s a protector by nature, and when he sees someone in trouble, he steps in.

“Be nice. She’s your mother.” Gloria’s frustration with her mother is obvious. It’s not that she’s not sympathetic, but she’s never experienced what Gloria has experienced. She doesn’t understand how hard it is to rise above your bad days.

“And I love her, but she needs professional help. Too much of her life is centered around being our mother. She can’t rely on us to fill in all her gaps. She needs a life of her own. I hate seeing her when she gets bad, and she’ll keep getting bad unless she decides to make a change.” If Ana knew that she was talking about her this way, it would devastate her, and just the thought of her overhearing this conversation makes Carlos want to end it, but he lets Gloria say her piece.

“Well, that’s never going to happen.” That’s the problem. He knows that she’s never going to seek help on her home, so it’s either he tries and fails to help her or he doesn’t try at all. Trying feels better than doing nothing.

“So what then? You have to be whatever makes Mamá happy?” Isn’t that what I’ve been? How can I be anyone else at this point? She needs me, and I can’t let her down. Carlos knows that they don’t have healthy boundaries, but that’s just how his family is.

“I don’t always choose what Mamá wants.” For as many concessions he makes with her, there are some that he is unwilling to let her cross for his own sanity. “She didn’t like the idea of me being gay.”

“She always accepted your sexuality.” That’s the simple way of putting it. His mom has never been anything but supportive. When he told her, she hugged him and said that she loved him no matter who he loved, but he had always had a feeling that her initial acceptance had been because it would make her a bad mother not to accept him, and being a good mother is the thing that she has always most wanted to be, often to the point of too closely resembling the stereotypical image of a mother.

“I know she always loved me just the same, but it took time for her to get used to it.” He doesn’t remember her saying bad things about gay people, but he had seen her smile fall just a fraction when he told her the truth.

“She’ll get used to other things, too. Your relationship with her can evolve if you let it. It might be better for everyone.”

“I can’t stop worrying about her.” The worry is lodged in his mind. It is one of his oldest friends, and no matter how far he goes, it is part of him. He’s spent so long concerned about his mother that not exhausting so much energy worrying would leave a hole in his life. As messed up as it is, he doesn’t know who he is without his fears. If he let them go, even just some of them, he thinks that things might get even worse. No one else seems to understand the way he needs to indulge the worry to feel safe.

“And I’m not asking you to, but you don’t have to deal with everything alone, hermanito.”

“Yeah maybe,” Carlos says because he’s too tired to argue with her about her. “I’ve got to go Glo,” he says as an escape from the conversation. “T.K. is calling.”

“Okay, Carlos, go talk to your man. I love you.” He’s lucky to have Glo. She’s always trying to look after him when he’s trying to look after everyone else.

“I love you too. Talk soon,” he says before hanging up and putting the phone beside him. The phone is silent now, and he misses the noise, but he is relieved that he doesn’t have to listen anymore just the same.

He lays back on his couch and flips the TV on. He turns to his favorite crime drama, the one that got him interested in law enforcement, but he doesn’t pay attention. He lets the scenes pass through his brain mindlessly without leaving a dent in his memory. He stays there for hours, only getting up when he’s hungry or needs to use the bathroom. He lets the hours blur until his mind is so numbed that he needs to do something just to remember there’s a world outside his apartment.

To find a connection to the outside world, Carlos has T.K. over in the evening because starting the next morning, T.K. has to work for two days, and Carlos doesn’t want to wait that long to see him even though he’s not in the mood to be around people.

When Carlos opens the door to his apartment, T.K. throws his arms around Carlos. He tilts his head up for a kiss. He smells sweet, and maybe time with his boyfriend is exactly what T.K. needs. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” T.K.’s hold is firm and the weight of T.K. against his chest knocks out the breath that Carlos has been holding.

“Long day?” Carlos asks. T.K. opens his mouth, but he looks at Carlos’ face and closes it again; T.K. swallows hard, pushing the words on the tip of his tongue down to his stomach. He can tell that something is wrong with you. Get your act together. He doesn’t want to hear about all your issues. Keep that shit to yourself and don’t bother your boyfriend about it.

T.K. says, “You look tired.” Tired was too light of a word for the utter depletion Carlos felt in his bones. You’re so whiny. Could you shut up for just five seconds? You’re giving me a migraine.

He’s not going to like that answer because for some reason he wants to learn everything about you, even the worst parts of Carlos Reyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” They could circle like this forever, redirecting each other’s words because neither wants to burden the other with what they both try and fail to hide.

Carlos doesn’t miss the way T.K.’s eyes are overcast, but he watches T.K. tug a smile onto his face as he pulls back whatever he might’ve said if he hadn’t noticed that something was off with Carlos. Carlos feels guilty. You’re the worst boyfriend. You can’t even support him when he needs you. I’m trying. Not hard enough. T.K. pecks Carlos’ lips. “I missed you, that’s all,” T.K. adds, and Carlos can’t help but worry that there’s more to it than that. He wonders if his perception is off. Maybe he’s making a lot out of nothing. He tends to do that. You sure do.

They order pizza and put on a movie when Carlos can’t find many words. T.K. picks at the pizza and Carlos doesn’t pay attention to the movie. Aren’t we a fun pair? By the time the credits roll on the screen, Carlos has no idea what just happened as T.K. gives his impromptu review of the movie. T.K.’s excitedly talking, and Carlos doesn’t process the words he is saying, but it feels good to hear T.K. being so full of life when Carlos feels so depleted.

“Yeah,” Carlos says distractedly to something that T.K. says. “That’s true.”

T.K. gives Carlos a confused look. He chuckles. “You’re not paying any attention to me, are you?” His voice is light, but it still makes Carlos feel like shit. Guilt spikes in Carlos’ bloodstream. I should be more attentive when we get to spend time together.

“I’m sorry, Ty.” How many times can you say “I’m sorry,” before it starts to lose its meaning? It’s always the same old story with you Carlos. Try something new for once. I’m so bored.

T.K. shakes his head, “Don’t be. You know I don’t mind talking to myself.” But you shouldn’t have to, Carlos wants to say. Your boyfriend should be more attentive.

“I should still listen.” That’s right you should, but you’re so selfish. You try to do things for other people, but it’s only because you’re greedy for their love.

“Really, it’s fine. I get it.” He doesn’t get anything. “Are you okay?” T.K. asks, and Carlos knows that he should be able to talk about it— the depression, especially. He remembers T.K. telling him once about everything being gray, so he knows T.K. gets how it feels. Carlos’ depression is different than T.K.’s, though. It’s fueled by pathological obsession and worry more than anything else. Still, he thinks T.K. might understand or try to understand more than most people would. He wouldn’t be one of those people who tries to understand and then doesn’t listen. Carlos has met many of those. They hear the word depression, and they start to assume. They think depression is laziness or intense sadness after the loss of a loved one. They think it is just a feeling. “I’m depressed,” they say when they are feeling sad, but they don’t consider what it must like to have depression. It’s not a passing mood Sometimes, they have a deeper understanding, but very few can understand the nuances, and even though T.K. may get how Carlos feels, Carlos doesn’t think he can talk about it. His throat feels like it may close whenever he starts to say the words, so he shuts up.

It’s a strange role-reversal when Carlos tells T.K., “I’m fine.”

T.K. raises his eyebrows, probably because he knows that people who say they are fine are usually lying. “We’re both hypocrites, aren’t we?”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“We both want honestly about how we are, but we both don’t want to give it.” That might be the closest thing T.K. has been to admitting he’s not fine. It might be the closest he ever will be. Carlos gets it. It’s hard to accept that you might not be okay, especially when other people need you to be okay. It seems simpler to pretend that you’re fine. The thought takes the air from Carlos’ lungs and not in the way that feels like a release.

“I’m not trying to push you to talk about anything, but you know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Of course,” Carlos lies, trying to force a smile.

“Do you need to talk now?” T.K. pushes him just a little further. Carlos shifts his body further from T.K. on the couch, and T.K. sags against the cushions. Maybe now he knows how he makes you feel all the time, the malicious part of Carlos thinks.

“No, I’m good.” He can hear the waver in his voice. I’m so tired, and I can’t shake the drowsiness no matter how hard I try.

“Carlos—” T.K. tries to say, but Carlos will have none of it. He doesn’t want his thoughts or his feelings to be dissected because they’re not something he can share with other people. They’re his alone, and he’s not going to burden anyone else with them if he doesn’t have to.

“Drop it, T.K.” Carlos’ voice is authoritative, and maybe that’s the wrong move because T.K. has never listened much to authority. But to Carlos’ shock, T.K. almost backs down. Almost.

T.K. bites the side of his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Well don’t be,” Carlos can’t help but say harshly, and he regrets the words the minute they leave his mouth.

He feels hopeless because he wants to make everything better, but there’s no easy fix for not being okay. There’s no way to wake up and immediately exterminate the termites that chew at the core parts of your mind. You have to swim through a boiling, sludgy roux as it begins to curdle and drag you down with its soiled weight. You have to pull back your skin to see what’s happening inside. You have to hope that something changes even when change is an upside-down mountain that you somehow have to climb.

Carlos isn’t sure he has the energy to climb, at least not right now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” T.K. says, sounding sincere, but it irritates Carlos to hear the worry in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Carlos insists, taking on a calmer voice. Try worrying about yourself, he wants to tell T.K., I’m not the one slowly killing myself. No, you’re just worrying yourself to death.

“I’m not an expert, but that’s kind of being in a relationship, isn’t it? Worrying about the other person and wanting to make sure they’re okay.” T.K. puts his arms around Carlos and leans his head up to whisper in Carlos’ ear. “I’m here if you want to talk.” T.K.’s breath is hot in Carlos’ ear, and it warms Carlos to know that he isn’t alone, but it also doesn’t make a difference because there are some things that Carlos needs to keep to himself. He likes to think he’s saving T.K. from the pain of knowing what Carlos struggles with, but deep down, he knows that what keeps his lips pressed shut is the shame that comes with not being the strong, unwavering pillar of support that he wishes he could be. Carlos wants to be that person that doesn’t bend under pressure. He wants to be the effortless kind of okay because most of the time, he is okay, but he has to fight to be that way.

“It’s been a long week,” Carlos admits, but he doesn’t know how to explain the week wasn’t long because it was awful. It’s dragged for no other reason than there’s something off inside Carlos’ brain.

“Jenkins being an asshole again?”

“He’s always an asshole,” Carlos replies about his least-liked coworker. “But no, Jenkins hasn’t been worse than usual. It’s just been hectic,” Carlos explains because that sounds like the most normal reason for not being your normal self.

“How so?” Carlos doesn’t feel like talking, but he doesn’t want to reject the efforts that T.K. is making, so he figures he can just give a little and maybe that will create harmony between them.

“You know how you have a really busy shift and then when your mind stops being pulled in so many different directions, you get really tired, and then you don’t know what to do with your time?” T.K. nods, encouraging Carlos to go on. “It’s like that. I’m crashing after a long several shifts.”

“But you can handle it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos assures, kissing T.K.’s forehead and running a hand through his hair. “All I need is time to recover before my next shift. It helps to have you here.”

“Babe, I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” But Carlos would never ask that of T.K. T.K. leans his head on Carlos’ shoulder. “I know how hard your job must be. You see some crazy things on patrol.” The funny thing is that it isn’t mostly the things he sees at work that get to Carlos. There will always be incidents that cut deeply, but for the most part, he’s good at compartmentalizing the bad things that happen on the job.

T.K. sits up and leans closer to Carlos, and he kisses the spot just above his collarbone. His lips are soft and warm from the coffee he’d just had, but Carlos can barely sense the warmth. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

Carlos cannot tell T.K. how he is feeling because this mental tumult is the road he takes alone. It is a road of shame and self-doubt. It is a road of feeling unprepared for each new day. It is a treacherous road that’s just dirt, rocks, and inclines. Carlos wouldn’t want to bring anyone he loved with him down that road. Yet, he knew they would all go down it if he asked— if they knew it existed. They wouldn’t just go down it with him; they’d help him pave it. They’d help him put guardrails on the edges and streetlights in the dark corners. They’d form a community around the darkness. But Carlos isn’t ready to put his secret little road on the map, so all he can do is try to stay on his feet and continue on a lone journey down the road.

#text #my writing #elise writes #my fics #long works #8000 words #eye of the storm

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alwaysaglader · 4 years

Text

Be Your Own Hero

Warning : Self destruction, self harm and suicidal mentions.

Newt's P.O.V

My eyes shot wide open as I woke up drenched in sweat with tears on the brim of my eyes and my heart pounding rapidly in chest. I felt like a burning house being buried beneath floodwaters rushing all around me.

It was another haunting nightmare.

I choked back a sniffle, wiping the tears streaming down my face with my shivering fingers. It's been hell. It's always been hell. For years, I've been coping with depression, which I started suffering from since some traumatic things that happened in my life but these last few months have been a worsening disaster each and every day.

I am barely breathing with a broken heart that is still beating.

Ever since the Dark days, I feel like it's gone to a point of no return. I've been waking up everyday, feeling lost and confused, and scared. This feeling occurred often inside me, exhausting me emotionally and physically. I've been tired forever.

That feeling you get in your stomach, when your heart is broken, it's like all the butterflies just died and all I wanted to do right now was cry and scream it all out because it was killing me inside.

The Dark days left a broken piece in each of us, something to haunt us for the rest of our lives. The word nightmare is too less a simplicity to define it all.

I let out a few sobs and stuffed my shivering cold fingers to my hoodie pocket only to feel something inside. Confusedly, I moved my fingers only to grab hold of a flower - I picked for Y/N. I twirled my fingers around the stem, the soft petals brushing against my skin as my mind immediately drifted off to her.

Y/N - the angel of our Glade.

There wasn't anyone else in the world who would always be there when someone was in need, whether it was for a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on or even simply for a hug to feel better.

When she caught someone having crying fits and beginning to keep everything to themselves, including words and mood swings, she would sit for hours on end, just simply listening to us and making us feel safe and not alone in this cruel world, regardless of how much she has to deal with on her own.

Most of us are gifted with the ability to see the monsters hidden within another, but are unable to see past them. It takes a special kind of person to see the light inside of every living being.

Specially with me, even though I am not the same person I was to her as in the beginning, and I sometimes feel like I'm still not the same but Y/N didn't once ever leave my side, even though I tasted of heartache and war.

Y/N is an unbelievably strong girl. She walks around every day on the verge of tears, and no one even has the slightest clue that she's not okay.

She puts on a brave face everyday to give us hope and strength but I know that she is carrying the burden of the world on her shoulders alone but will do anything to see someone else smile.

She's got the eyes of innocence; the face of an angel. The personality of a dreamer and a smile that hides more pain that you can ever imagine.

She's the type of girl that is going to say "I got this" even with tears in her eyes.

I left my room and stumbled through the dimly lit halls, making my way out of the Homestead to grab a glass of water to quench my thirst.

I opened the door of the kitchen and fumbled for the light switch. Only as I flicked it on, did I see the bloody mess, cupboards opened wide, food scattered all about, which isn't like Fry at all, so I assumed that Minho and Thomas were definitely here sneaking out food. Those shanks with their never ending hunger.

Letting out a deep sigh, I started to clean up the kitchen to a certain extent before leaving, a commotion was not needed tomorrow morning. Specially with those two shanks who run away when they see Alby fuming towards them.

After I was done, I decided to take a check on the boys soundly asleep on their hammocks, before heading anywhere else but my room. I couldn't stand to be in there tonight.

As I was making my way across the Glade, I stared up at the sky above, admiring the canopy of stars that lit the clear night sky. Star gazing has always been a favourite, as the simple beauty of the stars is enough to calm me at times and take my mind away from my problems.

Sleep could not be caught tonight, so I walked over to the Watch tower and climbed to the top, only to see a bundle of blankets and pillows, and Y/N cocooned in the middle of it.

She looked so pure and angelic that it took me aback a little.

Now grinning myself, I moved myself closer and knelt next to her, only to see her chubby cheeks puffed and red as if she's been... crying all night. The sight broke my heart, as I leaned into her and cupped one side of her jaw, trailing my fingertips over her soft, silky skin.

A hum left her lips as she started stirring under my touch. "Shh.. it's alright.. it's just me... Newtie" I whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face, as her eyes which had one of the most beautiful mixture of colours I had ever seen in my life, slowly opened.

"Love... do you want to go to bed?" I asked, as she blinked her eyes a few times, looking lost, before fixating them on mine. Her lips curled tiredly as she settled herself from her rolled-up position. "I'll think I'll stay out here tonight Newt".

She's battling things her smile will never tell you about.

"Y/N, do you mind if I join you?" I asked, not wanting her to be alone again, and she nodded in acknowledgement, looking up at me with her beautiful pair of eyes as I scooched myself beside her.

Being cuddly, I slowly wrapped my arms around her, listening to the change of her breathing pattern. Y/N stirred in my arms, and pressed herself tighter against me, nuzzling her face just underneath my chin. Smiling to the cuteness, I caressed her back.

"You make me so cosy" she let out a giggle of glee. "Well of course love", I grinned and pressed a kiss on her little nose, "you are my cuddly teddy bear".

A soft wave of warmth washed over my heart as her lips spilled with many giggles. I felt my heart melt at the beauty of her voice filling the silent sky. I was so mesmerised at the way her lips curved at the edges, dragging her beautiful smile across her face, all the way up to her glimmering eyes. It was the most breath-taking sight to behold.

Only when her puzzled voice echoed through my ears, did she pull me out of my daydream. "Newt?" she carefully cupped my face into her hand palms, as if I'd break any second, "you blanked out there for a minute".

I felt my cheeks go red in embarrassment as a sudden wave of shyness washed over me. "You haven't laughed in a long time" I murmured softly, feeling my cheeks burning, "I guess I was staring cause I forgot how that looked like".

Her cheeks dusted pink as a gentle smile appeared on her face. It was one of the most adorable things I've ever seen in my life.

A silence fell across the night sky, as we simply rested intertwined in our embrace. I hummed and smiled, loving this moment. For the first time, after too long, did I feel a flicker of joy in my heart... but it was taken away from me too quickly.

Having a heavy heart and an anxious mind is the worst. I never let myself be happy, I feel alone even when I'm not and sometimes I don't even know what's wrong.

"Newt are you alright?" Y/N's small voice sounded with concern, pulling my mind away from my drowning thoughts. "Not really love... but I'll be fine" I answered, my heart saddening as I gazed upon the worried expression on her face. "Newt, please talk to me".

"It's nothing important"I muttered, shaking my head like a little kid and looked down with a pout, "I don't want to talk about it". Soon after did I feel a longing kiss being pressed on my forehead. "Why not Newtie?".

"I'll cry" I mumbled, to which she cuddled me closer, and I grew boneless in her arms, to the warmth of her body and the steady beating of her heart.

"Crying doesn't make you weak Newt. It means you have been strong for too long" she whispered and peppered kisses here and there. Her hands closed in on mine, fingers sliding between the gasps of my digits. "Talk to me".

With our hands intertwined, I finally dared to look up at her.

"Have you ever felt so lost in your life to a point where you don't seem to know even who you are? Ever feel like you're trying to find a simple sprinkle of happiness but your mind is too intoxicated with poisonous thoughts, tearing you apart bit by bit inside each day? That's how I am feeling" I started to cry, as my emotions poured out of me, as if I finally opened myself up, this time all the way.

"I've fought so hard but I feel like my entire world is breaking apart no matter how much I've struggled through my life. I feel like I've lost all hope at this point. I can't even remember what it feels like to be myself anymore" my sobs and my mouth pressed against her shoulder almost made my speech unclear, but Y/N didn't mind as she continued to listen to me while she wiped the tears that had started falling.

"I feel so alone, struggling to get to a point in life which I don't even believe can exist anymore" I panted, completely out of breath, voice trembling a little from all the emotions, "I'm not even asking for happiness anymore Y/N, just a little less pain to say the least".

"I am going closer to the edge Y/N" my sobs transformed into soft sniffles, as a feeling of absolute cold shot through me, making me shiver against her. Y/N stiffened.

"Ending your life doesn't stop the pain Newt" she murmured softly, her fingers gently combed through my hair, "it just passes it on to someone else".

Her voice was almost inaudible, but I still sensed her words.

I could feel my head spinning, my emotions encircling me like a tornado. I buried myself deeper into her arms and hid my face, squeezing her a little.

"Shh, don't cry". Her calming voice caused my heartbeat to slow down, and my crying to die down, like a mother hushing her child.

After a few moments of cuddling quietly, I gently pulled away and sat down beside her again. ''Y/N, darling?'' I murmured, moving closer as she continued to look at me in complete silence, "do you struggle?".

Her expression soon turned dull as she rubbed her eyes in a hurry, desperately trying to fight her tears back, but I slowly grabbed her wrists gently into my hands and bought them close to my lips, placing a kiss on each.

I think people often forget, that sometimes the person who tries to fix everyone, needs fixing too.

"Love, please talk to me" I told her just above a whisper. She looked small and hurt, completely curled into a small ball against the wooden fence, knees against her chest. My heart shattered at the sight.

"Please talk to me Y/N" I pleaded again, and she looked into my eyes this time, with an intense look that squeezed the air out of my lungs, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to keep himself from crying. "I can't loose you".

Y/N's P.O.V

"I just handle it alone Newt", I murmured softly, my voice barely a whisper, "I've always dealt with everything alone". Without saying something, but just with some tears, did he crawl towards me and nuzzle himself deep into my chest for a cuddle. "Why Y/N?".

His heartfelt plea made my heart ache.

"I've cried so much in my life Newt" I started with a broken voice, remembering my past memories which used to haunt me, "but nobody has ever been there to wipe the tears that rolled down my cheeks".

"One day I looked down and realized - I have two hands myself". I pulled away from the snuggle so I could look at him. His watery, chocolate brown eyes fell on mine.

"Everything that's hit me in my life I have dealt with on my own" I continued in a quiet tone, "cried myself to sleep on my own, picked myself back up and wiped my tears on my own and have grown from things that were meant to break me".

"I saved myself" I whispered, and rested my head on top of his as he gazed at me with a softened expression,"instead of waiting for other people to save me".

"I stopped thinking of myself as damaged, and started to think about myself as growing to be stronger from the person I used to be".

Running a hand over his head, I brushed a few strands of hair behind his ear before he placed his head back against my chest. "Does your past still haunt you?".

"Not anymore" I said, my hands occupying themselves by twirling and playing with his blond locks, "the only time I look back to the past now is to see how far I've come. It can't hurt me, unless I let it".

"My past beats inside me like a second heart Y/N" he choked out, clutching onto me like it's his lifeline, "there seems to be no end to it ending to getting over it".

I quickly grabbed his face in my hands and pulled it closer to my own and pressed a kiss on his forehead, what made him smile a little.

"I know letting go is a slow process Newt, but quitting won't speed it up, it does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop" I said, while wiping the tears that had started trickling down his cheeks, "it's okay to have setbacks and the need for do-overs. It's okay to draw a line in the sand and start over again and again".

"Just make sure you're moving the line forward. Take baby steps and simply make progress". My heart ached again, to have him so broken in my arms. I could still feel his tears dripping on me.

"Sometimes you will have to fight a battle more than once to win it" I mumbled just above a whisper and cupped his face, drying his wet cheeks, "and the hardest battle you are ever going to have to fight is the battle to be just you".

We all have a war inside us. Sometimes it keeps us alive. Sometimes it threatens to destroy us. But it always leaves us a scar. Sometimes you don't see them until later. Sometimes you don't know where they've come from. Sometimes they fade before your eyes. But the world leaves its mark on us. But that scar is proof that you was stronger than what had tried to hurt you.

Strength is not about how much you can handle before you break. It is about how much you can endure after you've been broken.

Slowly and very softly did he part from me with watery eyes. "It is so hard Y/N".

"I know Newt". Nodding, my lips left kisses all over his head and face again, smothering him, "but you are strong enough to face it all, even if it doesn't feel like it right now and sometimes you just got to cry before you can move forward and all of that is ok".

"If you have the courage to make it through a lonely night with nothing but your self destructive thoughts to keep you company, you have the courage to make it through anything". My lips left a gentle kiss on his forehead to reassure him.

"Remember your proudest and happiest moments, rather than fixating on your flaws", I stroked his cheek and nuzzled our noses together, causing him to giggle, "think of all the lovely moments that happened to you, and put the bad ones behind you".

"Start making peace with yourself, rather than listening to destructive emotions" I grabbed his wrists with the gentlest movements, which had some scars on them. I left kisses here and there. "Seek out new beginnings rather than settling down for unworthy situations".

"Focus on how to improve, rather than on how you messed up" I whispered, and rested my head on top of his as he gently nodded at me, a hint of hope twinkling in his eyes.

For once there was no wall between us, keeping me from getting close to him. It finally broke down just for me, and I could finally get close to his broken soul.

When I drew away from him, my own smile couldn’t be held down at the sight of seeing a momentary lapse of hope in his eyes, as I gently pressed a few kisses on his knuckles.

"If you are having a rough day place your hand over your heart" my hand closed on his big, tender one as I clenched it and placed it gently on his chest, "feel that?".

"That's called purpose. You're alive for a reason". When I said this to him, I made sure to look deep into his eyes to make sure he understood every word I spoke. "Never give up".

"One day you will tell the story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else's survival guide".

With our hands intertwined, I grinned and pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose. A fully blown, toothy grin appeared on his face, letting his big brown orbs shine.

"Owning your story is the bravest thing you will ever do".

Newt's P.O.V

There are wounds on her that are never shown on her body but are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.

The fire blazing in her dark and injured heart seemed to glow around her like a flame.

She was not fragile, like a flower. She was fragile, like a bomb.

"You are so incredible". My cheeks warmed faintly at the unexpected burst of wording the thoughts in my head. Her cheeks turned red while she smiled shyly to herself with eyes sparkling brightly, as she cuddled into me. I let out a happy sigh in return as I wrapped my arms gently around her. My heart fluttered in adoration.

Y/N may have grown a callous and hard shell but inside that shell she was a warm and tender heart, and a kind soul.

Being both soft and strong is the most beautiful combination a person can master.

"You've gone through so much Y/N" I whispered, and rested my head on top of hers as we lied there in silence, enjoying our own little bubble, "I don't know how you do it".

My fingers tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, making her even more beautiful than she already is. "I wasn't given a choice".

Biting her lower lip between her teeth she suddenly lowered her head and averted her gaze away from mine. "Y/N?".

"Hmm?" She hummed, before falling silent again.

"You are awfully quiet love" I whispered, and pulled her in for a hug, to which she nuzzled her face into the crook of my neck for a moment. "What's going on in that beautiful mind?".

My lips left a kiss on her shoulder to soothe her.

"I've thought about killing myself about a hundred times Newt" I felt her lips curve against my skin, "but I somehow found myself to be still in love with life".

My heart missed a few pulses from her words.

Moving back away from my embrace, she looked at me with a faint smile before using her little fingers to rub on her watery eyes, wiping the tears before I could even lay my fingers on her skin to do it for her.

My thoughts went blank as I continued to gaze in absolute awe at this beautiful warrior in front of my eyes.

This version of Y/N wasn't built overnight. She had been to the utter depths of hell, through abuse, mistakes, insecurities and heartache, to get to the level she is now.

Behind this strong independent woman today, lied a broken little girl who had to learn how to get back up and to never depend on anyone.

She was a knight polishing her armour. Carrying her own sword. Fighting her own battles. Making her own glory.

And that was the thing about her, she kept on surviving. With bullet holes in her lungs and knife marks itched in her heart. She never let anything get in her way, resilient.

A fighter, not by choice. But a warrior at heart.

Y/N's P.O.V

Newt leaned towards me and cupped one side of my jaw with his tender hand, his expression softening as his brown, piercing eyes began to sparkle. "Tell me more about it".

"I used to dream about escaping my ordinary life" I started in a quiet tone, and could feel my bottom lip quivering a little, as I kept talking, "but my life was never ordinary to begin with".

"I started to learn to appreciate the little things in life and I noticed that life is a series of thousands of tiny miracles... you just have to see it".

In silence, he pressed his lips gently on my cheek, a smile spread all over his face. "Go on, love". The smile resting over my own lips twitched, spreading into a blown-out grin as our eyes found each other for a long, craving stare.

"I love to watch the 5am sunrises and 5pm sunsets" I began softly, as he caressed my head with the palm of his hand while he continued to hold me close, "where you'll see colours in the sky that don't usually belong there.

"I love the way the first sip of coffee warms me up in the morning, or the way I feel so cozy and fuzzy when wearing oversized clothes" I told him, causing him to laugh, taking me by surprise, but then let it die down to a chuckle, "I love the smell from baked bread to the earthy scent of the air after a rain shower".

"I love eating breakfast in bed or having an extra half an hour to snooze in bed" I continued but with lots of smiles and giggles, which cheered me up, "or having some time to myself to read a book I love".

"I believe in small gestures" I cooed, and threaded my fingertips along his jawline, where I left a few kisses, "someone making me smile, or holding the door for me or even something simple as a wave of hello".

With dreamy eyes, he continued to gaze.

"I don't pay attention to the world ending anymore" I just shook my head, chuckling to myself, "it ended for me many times and began again in the morning".

Smiling, he pressed a kiss on my head as a comforting smile appeared on my face.

"We are all a little broken Newt" I murmured gently, cupping his soft cheeks in my hands to which he hummed and nuzzled his face in,"that's how the light gets in".

With bright red cheeks this time, he nodded.

Now grinning myself, I placed my head back on his chest to listen to the familiar beating as I gently grabbed his hands in mine just to press my lips on top of his scars again. "Just promise me to never do this to yourself again".

"I won't" he promised truthfully as I lifted myself up, only to rest my forehead on his. I felt him radiate heat again, cheeks glowing brightly.

"We have enough in life against us already don't be against yourself" I pressed a kiss on his nose and then nuzzled it with my own, making him grin,"be brave; dare to love the pieces of yourself no one else will ever see".

"Be patient and loving towards yourself" my lips pressed a kiss right on the place where his heart is located, "be the reason for your own smile".

"Embrace who you are" I whispered, and kissed each of his knuckles lovingly, to which he giggled sweetly, as he grabbed a hold of my hand and slid his fingers between mine, "be proud of yourself".

"Be your own hero".

A smile from ear to ear appeared on my own face to the sight of his beautiful face smiling at me, his warm chocolate brown eyes shining brighter than the constellation of stars above us.

Newt didn’t say anything, but his eyes told me more than enough. And along with his smile, bigger than ever before, I knew enough.

In complete silence, we sat there - rocking from side to side. Newt breathed calmly and slow, as if his mind had finally found peace, resting. Our eyes kept staring at each other, drowning in the colours of our irises, heartbeats changing until they were beating on the same rhythm.

Our hands intertwined even more, and something told me they'd be locked for the rest of the night.

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nad-zeta · 4 years

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Match up 🌠

Ahhh your match ups are so thorough and well written I am in love! I'd like to get one for myself if I could bother you🌸 I also hope I'm doing this the right way otherwise I'm so sorry 😭💕

I'm 20, female, dark chestnut hair currently in a short bob/bangs, brown eyes which can sometimes look kinda brick colored, round glasses... I'm 168cm and more thin than curvy.

I'm an INFJ-T with an emphasis on the the turbulent. Kidding- but really I love alone time. I'm a very naturally nocturnal person, I love spending time with people in bursts but I usually can only handle being around calmer people for a longer time. When I'm alone I have a lot of passions I like to work on, studying Japanese, music composition, guitar, playing strategy games, drawing and writing... If I'm needing physical stuff I like to try and self teach choreography from videos when I can. Depression+anxiety have been known to get in the way of these passions for sure- but in the past years I've sought a lot of help+treatment and while I'm not a generally positive person internally- I'm alright 😌💕

When I am with people, I tend to try and be very bubbly and kind- most people know me as a very silly and caring person(but 100% scatterbrained, and a constant worrier- I would lose my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders). I have a lot of trouble accepting any of that- but I have some very supportive people in my life banging it into my head... I am very easily flustered, and usually end up at the receiving end of teasing. I do pretend to dislike this, and I'm genuinely very flustered but truth be told- it's funny for everyone involved so I'm okay with it~ I do wish I didn't turn red in the face so easily though...

Worrier coming thru here... I don't know if this is too rambly or anything, feel free to let me know- but thank you so much for having these open and doing such great work with them. 💕

Hi, there love! Awwww you make me blush thanks so much for the kind words <3<3! I Hope you are doing well! Here is your long-awaited matchup! Sorry for taking soooooooooooo long..... Hope you enjoy it and have a good day!😊 💕

So I match you with……………. Mitsuhide

The night you saved Nobunaga from the fire; you ran for your life. After meeting Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, all you wanted to do were flee, and you did. You had run away so fast that you almost flung yourself of a cliff… Thank goodness for Yukimura! You were so startled and freaked out luckily there was a friendly face among all the unknowns, and that would be Sasuke. He explained the whole concept of time travel to you and asked if you would like to stay with him. You looked at the bunch of strange men, and they all looked fall less intimidating than the few you had met from the Oda forces. You smiled at Sasuke and gave him a small nod. And so you journeyed your way back to Kasugayama castle with the strange lot.

They were an odd bunch of men, but you had come to really love them and adopt them as your new brothers. The people of Kasugayama castle love your sweet, silly caring personality. You and Kenshin had especially hit it off due to your interests in strategy games. Kenshin had taken his role of overprotective brother very seriously. He will be the one to pull you out of banquets when he sees you getting tired from all the interaction. He is always there to help you and protect you whenever you are in trouble, and he would always send his army of bunnies to comfort you whenever you are feeling sad.

One day you were out in the market shopping for some sake and sweet buns for the banquet that night. You were having a good relaxing time window shopping when some unusual music caught your attention. You followed the music and your eyes widened in awe when you saw a troop of dancers performing. You walked closer to get a better look, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the most beautiful man you had ever seen, perform a dance. The choreography and music were spot on and almost made you want to dance along to the music with them. You felt absolutely mesmerized watching the white-haired man dance. His eyes locked with you for a brief second and you could have sworn that he gave you the smallest of smiles before he looked away. When the show was over, you were going to congratulate the troop on a beautiful show, but there were way too many women swarming around the men, so you decided to rather make your way back home.

As you were walking back, the white-haired dancer ran up to you and grabbed your shoulder to stop you. “Little mouse it seems you have dropped your coin pouch”. Your eyes widened in horror; it must have fallen during the show, you profusely thanked the mysterious man. Mitsuhide was definitely intrigued by this little mouse he had stumbled upon. He started to tease you and was most amused by the way your face broke out into the most beautiful blush. The two of you had some tea together as a thank you for returning the coin pouch to you. Mitsuhide teased the shit out of you during the whole tea date, not that you minded you found that you really enjoyed his company. After tea, the two of you parted never to see each other again, you had to admit that thought made you feel a little sad on the inside.

One day Yukimura and Sasuke announced that they were going to go to Azuchi to spy on the Oda forces. You low key wanted to go along for the adventure. Needless to say, it took some time to convince Kenshin to let you go, but he couldn’t say no to his dearest sister’s puppy dog eyes. You were so happy and excited that he agreed. You and Sasuke entered into Azuchi disguised as performers while Yuki went disguised as a merchant. You were super excited to be able to use your skills, bringing joy and smiles to all the people around you. You and Sasuke would put on a little performance every afternoon. You danced and played the guitar. And Sasuke performed a one-man play.

As you were dancing during one of your performances, you saw a familiar face in the crowed smirking up at you. “My my little mouse, I never expected to stumble upon you this afternoon, much less witness your beautiful talent”. Mitsuhide invited you back to his Manor for some tea and card games. Which you really enjoyed considering you have been playing strategy and card games with Kenshin, so you definitely gave this sneki boi a run for his money. You really enjoyed the calm aura he gave off; you could talk to him for hours without feeling exhausted. You and Mitsuhide landed up staying up all night chatting and laughing, he was low key surprised when he looked out the window to see the sun almost rising. “aren’t you tired little one”. “Nope, I’m just naturally nocturnal, plus it's in the peace of the night when I get the most work done”. He simply smiled his kitsune like smile at you and offered to walk you back home. On your way home, the two of you stopped and sat down on a park bench watching the sunrise together. The two of you spent a lot of time together after that night. Both of you would always “coincidentally” run into each other all the time and land up hanging out for hours.

Mitsuhide both loved and was concerned for your scattered brain clumsiness. He would constantly worry about you when you weren’t near him. He could swear you would lose your head if it weren’t attached to your shoulders. Whenever the two of you are together, he would insist on holding your hand “can’t let my dearest mouse get lost now, can I”. TBH at this point, Mitsuhide was madly in love with you, he loved your sweet, caring nature. He loves how you could talk his ears off for hours. He also really loves the small doodles you draw on the napkins in the various teahouses the two of you have been to.

He knew you were close with the people in Kasugayama, but he couldn’t help but be attracted to you and feel the need to make you his. One day Yukimura announced that the three of you had been summoned back to Kasugayama, you were honestly so deflated. You had just fallen in love with Mitsuhide, and now you had to go back home. You sat with Mitsu in his manor the day before your departure. He could tell that something had been on your mind. You had told him EVERYTHING. Honestly, he knew of your connections to Kenshin, but he was truly shook when you mentioned that you were from the future. You had also told him that you honestly didn’t want to leave just yet. Little did you know this fox was ten steps ahead of you and had already plotted a plan.

When you said goodbye, Mitsuhide sent you off with the sweetest smile and a small kisses on the forehead, nose and finally lips and promised to see you again soon.

You were back in Kasugayama’s garden playing with the sweet army of bunnies when a small fox appeared carrying a letter. IT WAS FROM MITSU! He had said that we would see you soon. Little did you know the sly fox was in a meeting that very moment with the god of war. They had come to an agreement that Mitsu was allowed to see you, but if he ever hurt you, or if he causes you any tears, Kenshin would hunt Mitsu down and kill him. Mitsu smiled his fox smile and agreed. You were summoned to your brother’s room and boy oh boy were you confused when you saw Mitsuhide sitting there, without Kenshin having a sword at his throat threatening him. Kenshin asked if you loved the fox and when you replied with a small nod. He smiled at you and gave you his blessing. You couldn’t help but ran up to Kenshin and gave him the biggest bear hug thanking him. The second part of the agreement was that the two of you were to attend a farewell banquet for you that night.

The next morning you were off with Mitsu to start your new life together. The Oda forces welcomed you with opened arms. Finally, someone to keep their resident kitsune in check. Mitsu loved you so much and spent every second of everyday showering you with affection. He would always be there for you, especially when you were feeling anxious or insecure. He would wrap you up in his warm arms while soothingly stroking your silky hair. He would whisper words of reassurance in your ears to help ease the anxiety. Your favourite place in the world would be in is his arms. You love how Mitsu even respects your alone time, giving you some space when he sees that you need some time to recharge on his own

The two of you can often be found spending time together, whether it is just the two silently sitting in his room, enjoying each other presence or time spent cuddled in each other’s arms. One thing is for sure, and that is you are truly happy with the sweet kitsune and that you had found your new home

Other potential matches.................... Kenshin

Hope, you enjoyed it, love! 💕@tsuki-no-usagiii

#matchups #ikesen matchup #match ups #akechi mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #mitsuhide matchup #submission

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projectemancipation · 4 years

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Thee Project Emancipation

Original entry drafted on January 22, 2014. On April 29, 2020, most of these patterns and insecurities still stand, sadly:

Personally, I've struggled with relationships; mainly with males. Whether it's just a friend, a potential lover, or even family members. I've had trouble just being comfortable around them. I fear that they have alternative motives outside of just conversing. When in reality that's not always the case. I get nervous and anxious & im tired of doing that. like i dont want to be traumatized for a lifetime. i just want to be normal and live comfortably. talk to who i want to without fearing they will try to attack or touch me. so i am going to vow to myself that I will think clean. View the males in my life are actually around because they care about me. I will stop being so nervous around them. i vow to stop living with fear in my heart.

Also, I will not use sex or my body to get closer to a potential lover. Since sex was introduced to me in such a forceful manner, I always feel like i need to be aggressive. someone needs to be dominant, if not, then I dominate. smh then i feel crazy for doing so. or for even having sex before properly knowing my partner. don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with having sex with whomever, but i know i'm not emotionally stable to have sex with whomever, whenever. my heart wants to just love. being that my brother and i aren;t that close, nor my father and i just haven't had that "loving" relationship with any male. which i feel like i really miss. i just feel soooo fucking broken and my pieces are all scattered all over the world. but i believe in myself that i can piece it together. it'll take time, but with the help of you all and myself, i can make it through. so can you! now join me on freeing ourselves. share how you'll free yourself. free yourself from concealing your story. free yourself from depression. free yourself from sexual dependency. it's okay to be vulnerable. you have to air the wound for it to heal.

. I haven't even freed myself but one day at a time right? I just want you, the one who is reading this, that you ARE NOT ALONE and THIS CAN BE CONQUERED! I We are not our past & we deserve to live. So trust in yourself just a little & let go. you are stronger than you think.

-project emancipation

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veridium · 6 years

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A Little Life Update: WOO, Plot Twists.

Hello, everyone. It’s me, your friendly neighborhood femme gremlin. I know I have been here with my wild self this whole time but I feel it only fair that I give a little update on life and why I am the way that I am at the moment.

As a lot of you know, a week ago my ferret passed away (somewhat) unexpectedly. It was very upsetting to me and rocked everything off-kilter. That same day, as if that wasn’t enough, I was told that I had my first grad school acceptance to University of Chicago for a Masters program. Days prior to that my brother also underwent back surgery which had my entire family on edge for 24 hours. I was overwhelmed, scattered, and pretty emotionally exhausted.

I spent this past week (spring break) finally allowing myself to take time off of work and re-center. I took time off of major responsibilities and instead let myself kind of meander and do what felt good to do. Admittedly, that involved a lot of reclusive behavior, depression napping, and lack of communication. I had a lot of people checking on me and asking things of me and it was easily overwhelming to pay attention to, so I do as I tend to when I am grieving/stressed out, and I become reticent.

I have had a lot of decisions to make with regards to my future and the next year or so of my life. I finally had what I thought I always wanted: a chance to go to grad school, to move away to someplace new and exciting, and chase my long-held dreams. Sure, it would come with a $60,000+ price tag, put me in more debt, and come with a degree I hadn’t originally envisioned for myself, but hey! Life is like that, right?

Despite the downs and low points I have had time to contemplate my next steps with more clarity than I would have surrounded by voices and in the pit of work, school, etc. which I am thankful for. I got to breathe and ask myself what really felt right inside my heart, and what I need from this year in order to heal, improve, and be a better version of myself.

So, it is with a mindful and conscientious heart and mind, that I have decided I will remain here for another year to work, save money, and re-apply to graduate programs in the winter for 2020. I will be taking a higher-paying, full-time position on campus in the summer after my current position’s contract runs out in May -- one which will enable me to properly save, prepare, and choose my future rather than going with what I can conjure up as a lifeline. Indeed, living here is not my most fantastical option; Maker knows I have dreamed and dreamed of finally leaving this one-horse town behind. But, I have so much to be thankful for here in the stability I have cultivated: I have a roof over my head, bills paid, my animals are housed and fed, and I have a space of my own in this world where I belong. It’s not my happy ending place, but it’s a place, and that means a lot to me as someone who grew up experiencing housing, food, and familial insecurity.

In the fall, I will be applying to majority Masters programs (something I didn’t do this first round because I was feeling ambitious and ready to be a full-time scholar). At this moment, I am seriously contemplating getting my Masters in writing/editing/publishing, and seeing where my career prospects go from there. I have even thought about testing the waters of eventually becoming a writer for television, games, etc. but that is a far away (though happy) ambition. For now, my focus will be working my ass off, finding programs that will fit me, and getting my life together in a concise and healthy fashion. I’m tired of reeling/surviving, I’m ready to take back control and thrive for once. No more flying by the seat of my pants, or depending on people, romantic partners, etc. to be my safe harbors so that I don’t have to take on challenges head-on. I’m ready to take this bittersweet plot twist and turn it into radical change and growth.

Thank you to everyone who has hung on with me throughout this rollercoaster ride of a year. I know I’ve been quite open and vocal about my journey, but, it’s a whole different thing to be vocal and have vocal support in return. I am incredibly grateful for having such a widespread and feisty community here to share with me in these misadventures called adulthood. I will admit: I am scared, worried, intimidated, and anxious. But I am also relieved to know I can call my shots and make the tough decisions that must be made. It is an ironic empowerment to look your dreams you thought you needed dead in the eye, say no, actually, I know what is best for me right now and it’s not you, and forge a different path. But I’m doing it. So, love and light to all. Let’s do this thing.

Also, thank you to all my commission clients for being patient this week with me. I have been working on my projects a little, but have been trying to take as much time for myself as possible. I will be returning to my works full-steam ahead next week, and hopefully finishing most if not all of them by the end of it/beginning of the following week. Much love!

#personal #long post #life update #blog psa #adulting #grad school #work #not DA

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fonix-girl · 6 years

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One of my bosses is one of those gen x’s who rants about the lack of communication in the newer generations and how were all additcted to our phones and that’s the root of all the evil and how it’s rude to be on the phone when you’re checking out instead of making conversation with the clerk and like, I’m so done. But this is one of my bosses and she already is kinda iffy on liking me so imma go off here.

She gets irritated when my fellow work studies and I are on our phones at work. Keep in mind that unless we have a project and if we’re keeping up with the book shelving and refilling the paper in the printers, no other boss cares what we do behind the front desk as long as we promptly stop whenever someone comes up to check out a book or something, or they need help. She has no problem with me reading a physical book in my hands, but if I’m reading a book on my phone it’s apparently a problem. I see no difference, but she does apparently.

She went on a tear recently about how people don’t know how to communicate in person anymore. Really? Are you kidding me? Yea, I have a few friends where I’m at rn. But guess what. As a college kid most of my close friends are scattered across the country (if not the world), and the friends I have here have different schedules. I can comminicate in person just fine. I’m not much of one for small talk outside of work obligations, but I don’t see a purpose in chatting idly with strangers outside of my job? Sure I’ll say hi to a clerk if I’m making a purchase but I don’t need to make conversation.

She gets so frustrated when people walk around with earbuds in. “They don’t notice if someone’s talking to them!” “It’s rude!” Well if they’ve got earbuds in that usually signifies they don’t want to talk and don’t need help? I mean, I only put one earbud in myself usually, even at home, purely for safety reasons (I’m a girl, gotta be careful walking around alone), but I don’t usually want to talk to people when I’m going places? If a friend wants to get my attention they can wave or tap my arm, and I’m all theirs attention wise. But otherwise, I don’t think it’s rude to not want to uncessarily talk to strangers or people you don’t know very well, I think it’s more rude to expect strangers to talk to you, personally.

I’m very tired of these sorts of tears she goes on. I’m generally tired as a college student taking 21 credit hours and working 20 hour weeks. (Not to mention that I’ve had insomnia since seventh grade so exhaustion is like my permanent state of being.) But this woman’s insistence on small talk before I leave at the end of my shift kills me. My other two bosses (another gen x who’s generally done with everything and everyone at any given moment, and a millennial who I very much enjoy talking to) and fellow work studies try to avoid her when they leave because if she catches any of us as we’re leaving she’ll pull us into conversation.

On that note, I think she’s at least started to get the hint when it comes to me that by the time I’m getting ready to leave I don’t want to talk to anyone (mon and tues I leave at 6, thurs at 7). Because not that she realizes it, but it’s been a long day/week for me, and I’m an ambivert with a social battery that is drained at the end of the day. I’ve spent time at work helping people. I’ve been going to classes. I DONT WANT TO TALK AS IM TRYING TO GO HOME AND EAT SO I CAN SHOWER AND SLEEP THANKS. I’m not being super rude, I’m just trying to end my day.

On the note of the small talk that this boss loves and critizes people in general for not doing because like I said I hate small talk. Yes, I do it constantly st work. I do it with my polite customer service smile. And I do it because I get paid to and that’s fine. But screw small talk. If I’m not getting paid to do it I don’t wanna do it. It might just be an INFJ thing or whatever, but it’s so vapid and useless and a waste of valuable time. Also, why would I smile at random strangers? I’ve been raised being told I have to be careful with strangers, particularly men. I’m a girl who (despite knowing how to kill someone in various ways, it’s surprising easy!) doesn’t want to get into unnecessary altercations. I don’t want random people approaching me (not including work things) and talking to me? That’s not safe my dude. How do you think some serial killer lure their vics? I’ve had to many friends (male and female alike) who’ve been harassed and are to anxious to polite to tell someone to get the heck away and leave me alone—I’m not going to put myself in any of those situations if I can help it. Sure maybe it seems rude but I care more about the safety and well-being of me and mine than I do about a stranger (children being the acception, as I am a mom friend and children don’t deserve to suffer).

Idk. I don’t have much else at the moment. I’m really just frustrated with her attitude. I’m not “shy” or “anti-social” or “bad at communicating” like she tends to heavily imply. I’m selectively social and find small talk incredibly useless and a waste of time. I’m a writer. A really good public speaker. A mom friend who can generally figure out what a hurting or upset friend needs hear. I can craft pages and pages of commincation, and I have no problem carrying on meaningful conversations. I’m just a true neutral who prefers her own because they’re the ones I like. I don’t believe in the obligation to be super polite to everyone no matter what. I won’t be mean or anything unless they provoke it, but I don’t see the need to talk to strangers unless I’m getting paid or I need to actually talk to them about something. And I wish these older people who do nothing but criticize all change and younger generations would LISTEN and PONDER about why things have changed instead of saying we’re rude and anti-social. This isn’t the 50s. That picture perfect isn’t the ideal for everyone and most of us don’t want that (I mean the anti-depressant useage was higher then than any other time in American history, I friggin wonder why!). Just…don’t be so judgy. I don’t generally assume things about people (and if I do they’re shallow assumptions that are capable of changing if I gain new info and need to change) so I’m politely asking for others to do the same.

Also just leave me be when I’m trying to go home, Diane. Seriously. (And I know she’ll never see this because she doesn’t even know what tumblr is, and even if my millennial boss sees this (which she won’t she’s in totally different tumblr circles) she won’t rat me out.)

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thewayshefeels1 · 6 years

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June 2016

Hi. I don’t know where to begin… I got to my car & saw your letter. My heart stopped & I didn’t know what to expect. It’s crazy because I dreamt of you the night before. I don’t remember too well, but you said you hated me & I was a bitch... I woke up in a bad mood. The past few weeks have been a roller coaster I wouldn’t want to ride again. I was anxious to open it, as if there were a bomb inside. I was afraid what it might say, something like my dream? That you think I’m heartless? Thanks for taking time to write me. I would handwrite too but it would take 14659 hours & be 10 pages long so I figured typing is more efficient. It’s no exaggeration when I say you’ve been on my mind every hour since I last saw you. Possibly since I became your girlfriend & before that too. It means a lot that you poured your heart out to me; I know how vulnerable you must feel & I can’t imagine what it took since when we met you had this wall up. Now’s my turn, and I know this laptop is going to be coated with tears by the time I’m done.

A lot can happen in 6 months but I never expected this. Honestly, I tried to stop thinking of you but no matter how much time goes by or what I do, there’s always moments when I see, smell or hear something that takes me back. I’m aware forgetting you is impossible. I don’t want to have to get over you. I tell you that you don’t want my problems & you say it’s not for me to decide. It’s messy; love for me is like heaven but hell too. How can the same thing make you feel so alive & dead at the same time? I’m either a sunny day with a breath of fresh air or a thunderstorm and when it rains it pours. (I tried to stay your sun). I still see a spark in you; the potential you had to light me on fire… it drew me to you, what I fell for. When we’d laugh about dumb shit, the way you breathe when you sleep & I’d listen to your heartbeat. Your love for ghetto music & random disco tracks. I sprung out of bed the day after you kissed me. But getting out of bed is nearly impossible now. I know you want answers, but so do I. Something you said frequently during our relationship was that I made you [do] this & that etc. I can’t help how you interpret things but I mean it when I say I never meant to be anything other than loving. I was never good at saying goodbye. I remember our first kiss, the stars were out. It felt like I was flying. I hoped to never leave your side. Most days I act just fine, but I can't handle it at night. You gave me some of my best memories. (BTW this is going to be scattered, my thoughts are all over the place.)

It’s frightening when someone brings so much happiness to your life because any second they can take it away. It was never my intention to leave. The last thing I wanted was for it to be this way. We’re opposite: you’re collected & I’m off the wall. You’re a walker, I’m a runner. All I do is run; run away before I am left. That way, if you were to go first I wouldn’t be left a fool. But I’m still here, empty. It never serves me in the end. Fear makes you do odd things. Now I can’t even listen to my favorite songs because it’s too painful. I don’t know why you feel like a ghost. There’s countless nights when I’m desperate to call & hear your voice. I’m lonely & need you to reassure me everything is ok. I want to tell you I miss you but I won’t. I’ll throw my phone, turn it off & cry myself to sleep. It’s excruciating. I feel like I’m in rehab, getting off a drug. I hope you know my feelings are still there. I feel safe when I’m wrapped in your arms & they became a home to me. But even the best homes get damaged sometimes. A week after I saw you last, I had a seizure. My doctor says its stress or the onset of narcolepsy. I’m nauseous every day and feel like I have the health of a 75 year old. I’ve been trying to not let shit get the best of me as I wait to go to treatment. My insurance had to be taken care of to get into an inpatient facility. It’s an E.D & PTSD program. I had to be medically cleared with my doctor & finish paperwork for the financial officer to ensure my LOA went through. I should be gone by next week. I pray your family is well. Give everyone a hug & pet your cats for me lol. I sense I’ve lost myself; I try to focus on making others happy & forgot I’m supposed to be happy too. You know you’re attached to someone when you’ve gotten so used to talking on a daily basis but when you don’t it’s like part of you is gone. I thought I was prepared but it still hurts. Relationships are funny, I don’t want to be depressing [no really] but it’s like you get to know every detail just to forget it all when you stop. You had me so mesmerized but I was in pain a lot more than I led on. I don’t know how I can give you what you want if I can’t give it to myself. This doesn’t mean I don’t love you, I’ve just learned sometimes that’s not enough. I really wanted it to be you god damn it, I did.

I see the best in you and will always be around. No one really knows what forever means & we don’t see what's real until it's gone. I hate looking outside my window to not see you waiting in my driveway. It’s funny how time flies... 6 months feels like a lifetime ago. I loved when I’d look at you… I've never stared so intently. I tried to cherish you. I've loved and I have been hurt but you were like every hope I’d ever had. This is far from easy, as much as it may look. I’m a hot mess. You entertain my thoughts like a fantasy. It’s torture because you’re within reach but seem untouchable. When I’m in my car and drive past spots we’ve gone they look so dark. Back then I wasn’t afraid of anything, with you I was impenetrable. But real life always has to sink in. One night I drove home from work & was a complete wreck. You know that feeling, like your hearts been snatched out your chest. I didn’t go inside. I was just sobbing in my car, looking at the stars, my head on the steering wheel. I drove to the dead end street “our spot” It was the second or 3rd night I met you and we were driving around. You told me about a girl who was your friend you were in love with. You said she friend zoned you and that was one of the only girls you loved. I remember thinking “she is so lucky, how could she do that?” Life is nothing but irony.

I lit up with you; I felt myself come to life and blossom. You stole my heart and I never thought I’d have yours. I found something in my journal the other day… “it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by him.” It’s a line from a movie. I wrote that down when we first started seeing each other. Heartbreak is never a privilege. Some may think so, because you got a chance to know the person in the first place. I question if anybody is ever really yours or if it’s just your turn? From the start I tried to seem positive because that’s what I was told to do. I wanted you to like me and felt being my pessimistic self wasn’t good. I told myself you were the perfect one to risk it for. It’s Wednesday now and I’ve been working on this for a few days. I asked Dina what I should say, and she told me not to answer. I’ve realized the last few weeks I need to stop listening to what everybody tells me to do and listen to myself. I’ve ignored my gut for so long I forgot I have a voice. Every night when the sunsets I think of you. I went outside and laid on the ground the other night and stared at the moon amongst the stars. I was thinking about you and the fact that we share the same view. Nights are the worst. It comes rushing in waves, ready to pull me under. Sometimes I feel stupid I let you get so close to me. I know I’m hard to love. Some days I’m all smiles and affection while others all I want to do is lie in bed, silent. It is hard to refer to you as my ex. Friends is better than nothing right? But what does friends mean? I can’t believe I am revealing so much of this to you. I try to never let anyone in. I told mom I don’t think I could go the rest of my life without you. And now our forever turned into times to remember. You’re like a drug I can’t break free from. Love is addicting, that’s why I try to never let it win, I always lose control. I doubt you’ll ever realize the impact you had. You repeatedly said I never told you anything, but a lot of people keep their feelings to themselves because they’re tired of pouring their hearts out to the wrong person.

I have to fall in love with myself but don’t know how to. All I know is I can’t rely on another for my happiness. I can’t depend on somebody else’s acceptance for my own. As of right now there’s a record in my head saying I don’t need love, I don’t want love, I am unlovable. I will reject love when it comes because there is no such thing. I cannot trust, it is not safe. I don’t want to fake a smile, I don’t want you to either. I don’t want you to feel as if you’re responsible for me. This doesn’t mean I couldn’t stick it out longer, I’m just not that tough. My mom told me I should’ve been straight up from the start. I’ve never been good at that. How can I trust another when I don’t trust myself? I am terrified of my own voice. I wish you could hear everything I’m afraid to say. I’ll start with this… I was severely confused; you lit me up or left me aching. Half the time what we had was incredible, I was so comfortable around you. Butterflies, slow motion, electricity. Then there were times you said you loved me but the next second it was like you couldn’t stand me. I apologized for things I wasn’t sorry for. You insinuated I let you down & I didn’t feel “cut out” I just felt I couldn’t please you. Even typing this makes me nervous. Like my heart speeds up and I should never say this aloud. Were all just looking for someone who cares enough to try, right? Someone who remembers the little things. I never meant to play games, God knows life is hard enough already. You declared I will simply move on & “throw away everything” as if it’s so easy for me. No. If anything that destroys me more. It’s like fighting against the current. I see you everywhere, like a spirit haunting me. Your smile is sketched on the back on my eyelids and I can’t erase it. I’ve had all these feelings extracted and I don’t know what to do with them. They make me uncomfortable. Crazy how there are billions of people in this world and one can do that to you (all it takes is one). It’s not as if I’m walking away with a sigh of relief and you’re the only one suffering. And everyone with their unhelpful, mundane advice “there’s plenty of fish in the sea, just move on.” They don’t know. I hate the thought that people are replaceable. Is there a way to master the art of falling? Love can be as fatal as falling off a mountain. In psychology, there are 6 love styles & my type is self-sacrificing, compassionate and has trouble receiving. I will often choose suffering in order to comply with others needs. The advantage is generosity, but the disadvantage is it can induce feelings of guilt and resentment and the obvious potential to be taken advantage of. I thought I already knew what it was like to be broken but, no. Did I mention I hate goodbyes? They are so painful, might as well be hit by a bus. If anyone knows anything about me, they know I’d rather be in a coma than lose somebody. Grief is excruciating, you feel so helpless. Certainly our hearts shatter and things tear us in two, but will they end us? I wish I was strong like you, you must get it from your mom. Once I stop searching for a home in others and come home to myself, maybe I’ll be able to accept true intimacy, instead of rejecting and hiding from it it. My pretending to be “ok” game is strong as hell. My feelings for you were real… I loved being in your presence. I could sit next to you and that would be enough. I can’t say if I fell for you the first night or from the moment I saw you, all I know is remembering being across you and realizing somehow nothing else mattered when I was with you. You were a story I so desperately wanted to read. I was devastated at the thought of you getting tired of me. But people never stay and there’s nothing you can do about it. Yet now you’re asking me to. How do we manage? It hurts. It didn’t feel real at first but once it did it was suffocating. You have to let feelings pass and go through you. Why am I feeling abandoned when I’m the one who left? All I have lost left a profound cavern in my soul nothing can fill. I want you to know that sometimes people are sad and they don’t know why. We don’t necessarily need a reason to be. I am exhausted. I wake up tired like I’m drowning in a black wave. Depression isn’t a bad day and it’s not always brought on by a situation. You can have a great life but there’s emptiness in your heart. Look at celebrities who commit suicide, it’s real. Sometimes it’s the things you can’t see that are the most real. Mental disorders don’t care if your parents are together or if you have a home. The brain is an organ. Mental illness is a sick brain. Telling someone you’re not really sick or it’s all in your head is like telling someone with asthma “it’s not real, it’s all in your lungs”.

Pretending not to love you is heart wrenching. Someone said people will leave your life and you can’t fall apart every time it happens. I see the best in you, I just have to figure out who I am, and seed out the person I create to please others. I hope you can try to understand & I will try to understand your absence. Whether you reply in fury, or I never hear from you again, I will try to be ok with it because love can get hard and hurt sometimes. Promise me if you love someone you’ll tell them. Even if you’re afraid or it seems stupid, please just say it. Words have so much power and sometimes it’s the things we don’t hear that have the most impact. Silence is dangerous and it kills me to say this because I don’t want to picture it, but l I should. If a girl comes along and she is everything you want, I hope she gives you what I couldn’t. I hope her heart swells like mine and its wonderful, like a flower blossoming. She won’t want the excitement & sensations to stop because she’s afraid there’s a dead end like me. I hope it continues and the honeymoon period doesn’t end so fast like you said ours did. She’ll be precious and see the sparkle in your eye I wish I could bottle up. Her flame won't dim like mine because you’re the fire to keep her warm. I’m a brick wall on the brink of crumbling. You won’t have to worry about how many guys want her because you’ll believe it when she says she only wants you. Shell taste like violets; then you can forget the taste of me and not hurt anymore. I pray she has kindness in her eyes and a huge place in her heart for your family. I hope your mom loves her and Michelle & her become best friends (I hope she likes cats too). I hope she treats you good and you treat her better. I hope your love feels right. When you let people see the darkest corners of your soul, what makes you lonely and why you cry at night, it's paralyzing because they can judge you; they can run and not turn back. My mind is like a dictionary no one comprehends, of agony and heartache. I just want to hold your hand… I miss that. But I also miss myself. And when you look at me I either feel I’m on top of the world or the bottom of the sea.

Don’t you dare think for one second I’m pushing you away because I don’t love you. I’m sorry if this is sending mixed messages, I just care too much to let you think I can live without you so easily. I’m constantly torn between if you want it go for it and if it’s meant to be it will. Maybe I knew from the start I couldn’t keep you, but I tried anyway, boy did I try. It’s a tragedy when someone you know becomes someone you knew; you walk around not knowing what’s happening in each other’s lives. We’re just strangers with a past, expected to carry on like nothing ever happened. They tell me to move on, as if I can make memories evaporate from my mind. I promise I’m trying to be okay with this. Maybe change is a good thing but it kills me. I know it’s necessary and the only guarantee in life but I try to avoid it, which rarely works out. Thank you for letting me have moments where I could be myself; I didn’t have to try to be perfect and you still accepted me. I don’t know how to live without you but I guess I just will and it gets a little easier each day. The reality of me not mattering to you is like slowly withering, but I can’t be selfish and want it both ways. It hurts when you have someone in your heart but you can’t have them in your arms and I wish feelings left when people do. Know that I love you with every fucked up, broken piece of my heart. I wish you nothing but health & happiness wherever you go. I need to give myself the love I never knew. We can’t break each other and call it love because loving someone is not the same as being too scared to be alone. I don’t want you to have to fill the empty parts of me. 1+1=2 but 1+.5 only equals 1 ½. People cannot make up for what we think we lack. Idk why we believe people will complete us when they can only complement. They say “if you are not enough for yourself you will never be enough for someone else”. If I’ve learned anything from you it’s that how you love yourself is how you teach others to love you. And if I’ve taught you anything, I hope it’s that to be soft isn’t weak, it is strong. It’s part of the human experience to experience emotion, do not be afraid. I hope you can fall in love with your solitude in the meantime as well.

Love, Lauren

#loveletter #loveletters #letter #diary #journal #breakups #breakup

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triumphorce · 6 years

Text

under umbras of bundles of stars,

canopies of leaves & branches that shatter-scatter sky image held indirect

as a gleam in eyes

as conscious lay in fabricated gardens watching memories, & desires in dream form

from across highway covered by

blue-white,

yellow,

& orange lights

sound of tires, mufflers, sirens,

amidst a higher sense

attuned to

muffled far cries muffled while crossing empty lands

filled with chilling wind howls, stealing hope,

which

kickstarts the power on survival mode..

ups& downs

drown the cries further,

that

war, warn, or cheer..

or just sing..

maybe

a hymn made by souls for souls under same umbra to set free to lead to wonder & beauty beyond the surface of senses directly to free to seek love loss between me and me

buried beneath road of longest journey to reach

turn feet all around

all about a world I have no idea about

just mad ideas about Kept in journals i turn over

to all but from in front of views not yet exploited by value of which is, views are power, & are the will in word- to-page transaction

self diminished to substantiate

entries from entrails, not shown to be conquered

win or lose is how I never saw things.

win or win, only optionss, only progress..

yet..,always over complicating;

marathon sprints from start to finish

as I choose, If i choose, to continue to choose to overlook slopes in existence, where hides I, in ruins, digging for recognition

contribute to a mind overloading with what I know I owe society, &me,

burden of see-through beast, I see illusions of future thru,mistaken as truth, play victim, get stressed or believe I'm down on luck ,in dumps of depression and slum of beliefs,

in a slump with headphones on temple and music up, reminisce about the golden olden, me and broseph, SSB, PSO, kanto, johto, cartoon cartoons, many one saturday morning’s, plenty cinnamon toast, fruity pebbles, so many card games at Books-a-million

but when I open eyes from trance

I'm forever face to face with today is today

not then not later...

just

changes who changed how I changed regret and anger to compensate for blaming everybody but me

now I stare afraid at dilemmas mass effect decisions

daily in-and-out-terventions

to keep from falling back into resentment.. spite blinding shelves of subconscious-self- disappointed perpetuating judgment of others binding progression, tying tongue, boiling blood because old habits die hard and I continue fucking up, up raging rapids w/o a paddle, almost 3 decades of failing infinite (according to projections) feel I missed and am missing out on so much, so much world, so many words coiled inside, waiting to explode,

all the time, just like everybody.. everything mind sets sights on turns to target issue how unfortunate for aforementioned coordinates, for anyone close enough for me to put in poems' , important enough to torment conscious over, used to be everybody, used to be nobody, used to be just some people, now its just me and i dont know him

attempts to speak, to learn again, to teach me about me to learn to teach myself, to set example for ambition directed toward a better version, better verses, better reimbursement of time given tryna be an extrovert, free from bitter, free from bitch asses, set internal standards to never get fucked with again, fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, i only fucks with a journal & question everyone, everything, every word, every whisper, shit ima tell my children every day, breakfast lunch dinner, do your best and fuck the rest, get it, get lit off enlightenment, fuck rest, save roosting for death, dont look at me, looknat the sky, seize the day in everyway brain permits, dont reach for others' and if anyone tries to take yours, that means they dont fundamentally respect life, so always permeate passion, ignore distractions keeping you from creating, test limits, test intentions, challenge imperfections with wisdom, know that perfect is just cosmetics, but i remain quiet.. remain tied up being alone, wondering.. whether I'm right to do any god damn thing 'cause if I don't do it right.. was I right to think I could, wrong to think I understood

am i wrong not to try?

what of what's sacrificed ?

how do i keep count

how did I end up here in standby...

standing squeamish & deer eyed in light of opportunities rising in horizon of night skies, to step in to obtain warmth, maintain from days before, to do something, do the one thing, but when will I be ready will eyes be ready to comprehend right or wrong

only me, here. only us, on planet.

only who's responsible? how is who is affected by, afflicted by? when is too late? when is just right, always too soon to tell and.. if I don't do it now, then why expect change..

why, why, why

'cause I expect anything at all

anger toward unmanned vehicles imminent to collide with mine

driven mad up eighty-five degree angled walls during rush hour, sun beaming heat into ride, where i travel on path, thru battlefield of past where fallen intentions decompose to ignorance and wisdom sprouts in the mean time.. I'm in between times, feelin down, down down down down by the way

a trail thru fears past dead ends, rotting trees, looks like fallout hit

a past I try an' forget..

but remember out of reluctance

to accidentally revisit regret,

stand next to biggest fears, see if facing them uproots soul

rolls ideas in head, non-stop

like trolls troll under bridges

to which billy goat gruff temper charges like crono's katana on zenan crossing,

lodes of odes to oaths, lightning loaded, aimed at negative minded sapiens bioshocks via rhythm and syntax, cryo cascades of ideas, locked away in moleskine or computer files to put to rest the rest of an inside in arrest to judgment, in side quest of public playthrough, i feel im on public display, static complaining in front of pretty much strangers modes of awareness to mental problems i exploit to people who might not think im crazy, who might like what i write, might like to write about the same thing, might see giants in those same nodes i stand near, i hear crisp crackles filling an awkward air as i stare at words on sheets that i might tear, might let collect dust, or share prolly might be quiet, only sound is poetic drafts that fill in under open windows, I open slowly, cool rush, goosebumps, awake aware always, even when mind is a crinkled, crumbled candy wrapper still just construct wrinkles in time via hairs stand, ovation, and encores to

helping to cross over doubts, screams of slander, stop it all, right now, shed truth in another light, fed through veins like pen's ink to go over and correct vision of pinheads vane turnin art, free thought to cash and competition, trade purpose blow for blow with obstacles in the name of the next step, over opponents, trade nervous for nerves robust to withstand standing up to stretch and spread chest to stand up for work where time invested is braided circulation goin in circles, time wasted pet peeve number 1

a nowhere never felt before but something seems familiar.. overlooked, under yards, under pressure of bone leverage, give life a lift thru cracks of a collapsing effort stretched behind chest and ribs

a heart glows in

hot coal hues hearth warmth under carbon sheets

till blood boils till steam coils from pores to kill the cold along roads

sun or none

no light above, isn't lack of..

(look inside)

----

harsh heat of reality hot enough to feel cold

make me go ghost in dark times..

friction strong enough to spark moist..

continue until i sear nerves disembody fromm pain till im felt by meta-form of others

heartfelt arcs between soul and soul-mind 2 mind

light releases thru iris folds spectacle in spectacles----

spectrum wheel of emotions spins &spins to understand self an urge that intensifies the more i live life as well as I can Improve every day, no excuse, don't ignore the corners, get behind my ears,every nook and cranny in creative muse-um, uhm, duh, raised on books, nintendo, animation,& wishbone, outside, only myself as playdate, use every square inch as play-scape under every hair in head, a mind uses face and body as way to create 4 fourever& vice versa to escape who ever & know I can do whenever, wherever

wherever i go, a voice in mind goes

that keeps on talkin , keeps me talkin tellin me I've talk--, wrote enough hoped enough to last a lifetime, but that's not enough

and I still got a lifetime

to either solidify or fuck it up

gradually let go of

to concentrate on life's finest moments i build to build form in appreciation, saying get up, enjoy the sun rays breaching clouds just before dawn; gett off yo butt and do what you know what you taught you to do when you were at multiple low points and you promised you, you'd never fall to end, even if you fall again, again, and again, never stall in the middle of takeoff stop in middle of road, cant press play if you lost remote, might as well get up and do it, crawl, run or walk away when the times calls to brawl dark-inner energy only honorable mentions defend health during dishonorable discharge of nega, into rivers, into blue sky.. bordered by white clouds and linear silver

a safe place, work space, desk clerk sifting day to day thru file cabinets memories in memos in notebook; written relativity explaining how I see, what I think say what i want like im eight, glad i spent so much time with words and space-bars, to escape judgment, hatred,

anxious surrounded by bad vibes

above an Earth, below expectations; over a self under surveillance by approval from inside, crazy dimensions, On the fence between people and myself I close eyes, ride waves of nostalgia once more..

see plenty light to traverse pathways, walk fer hours, walk like back in younger days, playin, runnin, completely captivated immersed in games played, tv, roller blades, monopoly, scary stories, trampolines

&10thousand songs later, 10million thoughts later, here I am doing what I made me to.

can't wait for the next chance

supplied energy through lines to hidden gracelands.

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seafoamchild · 2 years

Text

it feels like everything is falling apart but maybe for the best. i've outgrown so many of my friends. i feel i'm always the one reaching out to people and it isn't reciprocated. i've questioned the value of many of my friendships and a lot of them do not feel fulfilling. and i know that's okay. but i feel like i'm so lost and alone again. like i don't have a community here. i know a lot of people but i feel detached from all of them. what is friendship supposed to feel like at this point? i'm not sure. my circle has dwindled down to so few people and sometimes i wish i had a group of best friends like they do in the TV shows. does that happen in real life? i feel like my friends are so scattered.

and once again romantic relationships are not working out for me. i've already had two failed attempts this year. i feel proud of myself for ending them both when they needed to end instead of trying to hang on. but it's still painful to try and move on when you've shared so many moments with someone you care about. honestly things were going so much better when i wasn't dating anyone for almost three years. but i crave a close connection. i want to feel wanted. i want to feel attracted to someone. i want to feel cared for. i know that no one is going to be completely perfect for me, but everyone i've had so far has had some glaring incompatibility issue with me that i can't ignore. like with both austin and luke my body knew it was wrong, so much so that i felt sick with anxiety until i finally cut off the relationship. so i think it's not a matter of working through problems, it's just that i keep finding people who are fundamentally wrong for me somehow. and it feels like i'll never find someone who is right, because i've felt that same anxiety sickness with every single person i've dated. it sucks.

and i don't have a job. i'm trying. i've put a lot of hours into making myself marketable. and i'm applying to places and trying to network. i wish something could happen overnight but i know it won't. i feel so anxious waiting around for someone, anyone, to get back to me. i don't know what to expect. will it take a week? a month? three months? am i doing everything wrong? am i a joke of a job candidate? everyone keeps telling me it will be fine and i'll have no trouble and i'm so valuable and i have so much to offer, but i'm having a tough time believing any of that because i feel SO stuck and alone and isolated and useless and stagnant and detached. i feel like i could disappear tomorrow and it wouldn't matter because i don't belong anywhere.

i don't even have the desire to travel or do random fun shit anymore. i want security and routine. i want to feel like i'm a part of something else. going on trips won't make me happy at this point, i don't think. up until now i have been so terrified of getting a "real job" because i was so against the idea of giving up my independence and freedom. but i feel different now. i want to wake up in the morning with somewhere to be. i don't want to feel so alone. right now i kind of feel like i want to die and be done with this. because i've been here before - in limbo, unsure of everything, feeling so far behind everyone else my age, like i'm too late and i haven't grown professionally and i haven't found a solid friend group and i haven't found a place of belonging in any sense and i just continue to flit from one place to the next. it's exhausting and destabilizing and frankly excruciating at times and i'm so tired of feeling this way over and over again. my anxiety has been so bad all year and it's debilitating and when i tried going on meds, i literally wanted to kill myself from being so depressed so i don't really want to try more meds in case something like that happens again.

i know this will pass and hopefully i'll read this in a few months and be able to see how far i've come. but everything feels so hard right now and i keep trying and trying and can't seem to catch a break. this whole year has seriously been so painful. i was in a relationship with someone i was insanely attracted to but hated the way he treated me. and then i was in a relationship with someone who treated me so wonderfully but i wasn't attracted to him. and my car got stolen and i dropped my phone off a roller coaster and i fell off my bike and scratched a brand new lexus and then the owner of the lexus tried to get me to pay two thousand dollars to fix his fucking car. and i had to deal with recurring UTIs again and i've been to so many doctors and no one can seem to give me any solutions and i feel like i'll just keep getting UTIs forever and they're so painful and people who don't have this issue can't understand how painful and frustrating they are and how frustrating it is to not get answers. and i got ghosted by the company i was an intern for and then i got a side gig and got ghosted again. i just want something to go right for me. like please

#journal

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sindearlyconnormurphy · 7 years

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Dead Man Walking [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: Dead Man Walking Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen Requested: Yes! I had two different requests for this one Summary: You and Connor Murphy aren’t friends, but you do have a business plan worked out. You give him the money, Connor gives you the weed, and you make a day of it. Connor’s a little pent up tonight (and a little black and blue from an incident he won’t tell you about), but you’ve got a proposition. Warnings: Connor’s potty mouth | physical abuse | Mentions of depression | a really poor way to treat people with depression | a really poor understanding of mental health from both sides | drugs | heavy kissing | First person reader | not proof read | confident Connor Murphy A/N: sorry this took so long! Hopefully everyone likes it! Fair warning again (stated above) heavy physical abuse and mental abuse–I don’t believe some of the things I have Connor and the reader say below, I just believe realistically it’s how their characters would respond. Thanks so much for 1100 followers! Thanks so much for all the love and support from everyone! Hope you like this♡ More notes at the end

To say Connor Murphy was a friend would be a lie.

From: CM 9:36 pm U home?

I was glad my parents didn’t ask whose number it was that showed up all over our phone bill, and that they never questioned cryptic whispers I sometimes gave into my phone when he called late, answering despite the fact my parents were just across the table.

He was brief. He was curt. He didn’t talk too much, so there was no worry of my parents overhearing. Not that they’d care.

I stared at my phone screen for longer than probably necessary–I knew Connor, and if I didn’t respond quickly, he’d give up and reschedule for whenever he felt like it. Still, the familiar jolt of anxiety bolted through me all the same.

I was in my room, spread across my bed in one of my uncle’s hand-me-down sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts my mother didn’t like me wearing when I had guests over. She wasn’t here to change that, though.

To: CM 9:41 pm ya. U have my bio book?

Plot twist: “bio book” did not actually mean bio book, in case you haven’t caught on yet.

From: CM 9:41 pm Yeah

To: CM 9:42 pm Come over

He sent a quick confirmation, letting me know he was walking over, making anxious for a few reasons, the head of which being him walking around in that hoodie in my neighborhood wouldn’t go over too well, and the last thing we needed was the cops barging in. I texted him to use the back door.

I brushed through my hair, frowning at the fact there was no time to do my makeup. It was Saturday, and I hadn’t bothered to put any on today anyway, but it didn’t make me any less uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure Connor had ever seen me without makeup on. I scrubbed the toner on my cheeks a little too harshly.

Connor and I had a deal–a system we’d developed late Sophomore year, when highschool hadn’t lived up to any of the expectations we’d had for it. I didn’t really know Connor–sure, he lived two streets over and we went to the same elementary school, but it didn’t change the fact that I was a fairly popular person, by no means at the top of the food chain, but still involved, and Connor, well.

Connor was the stoner. The first in our class. He didn’t even hang out with the other stoners, he just sat at the edge of the lunch room at the end of the table where the anime club sat by himself, staring. It had been pretty safe to say our lives wouldn’t cross, ever.

If we hadn’t made a deal.

I still don’t know why I did it, and part of me wished I never had, because now we couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop giving him money and he wouldn’t stop coming over with joints and we’d smoke and shit talk and fuck if I didn’t like it.

We didn’t talk at school. We didn’t talk once the joint fizzled out and we both fell asleep, Connor leaving wordlessly at some point around three am, walking anywhere but home.

I knew the feeling.

I warmed up the Nintendo, sitting in the floor–I’d already drug all the blankets from my bed (Connor never sat on the bed, ever. It made him uncomfortable, I think) onto the floor in front of the television, piled it with ample snacks. Connor ate like a bird.

I was already sleepy. I wished I’d told him to just go home, let him take his joint and leave–that was our deal. I’d pay for the weed (his parents had cut him off long ago) and he’d keep half of it, and deliver the other half to me. Sometimes we smoked together, sometimes we didn’t. My parents were gone for the week, and he knew that. Everyone knew that. He wanted to hang.

I didn’t mind, not one bit.

Connor let himself in, surprising me by entering my bedroom unannounced, shutting the door behind him and locking it. From my position stretched across the nest of blankets on the floor, Connor looked like a giant. He paused in the doorway, his face expressionless as he took in the sight of my setup. He would’ve been funny, standing in my pink bedroom, his backdrop a Jonas Brothers poster and a mountain of teddy bears. Would’ve been funny, if he didn’t look like shit. The purple bruising under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose was concerning, but I knew better than to bring it up. His lips were puckered tightly, almost like a sardonic duck face. I held out a package of twizzlers.

“You lock the front door?”

He nodded. “Back door.”

“Hm,” I agreed, letting him slide out a single red twine and pop it between his teeth as he fumbled in the back pocket of his jeans, his lithe fingers twisted as he threw a bag at me.

“Just one?” I said, a little upset. I’d given him more than enough for two.

“Prices hiked,” he said, digging around again and handing me a crumpled wad of twenties, which scattered on the hello kitty blanket we were sitting on. Connor folded himself neatly beside me, careful not to take up too much room or to tower too close.

“Keep it,” I told him, pulling the blunt from the bag. “Use it for next time. Or spend it, I don’t care.”

“No,” he grumbled, voice void of inflection, eyes staring ahead at the tv screen. “Not the deal. Wanna smoke.”

“Hulk smash,” I agreed sagely, earning a glare from him. “No, got it, not in the mood.” I sighed.

“It’s so annoying to pass a blunt back and forth,” I groaned, lighting anyway and taking the first drag. Calm thoughts, calm thoughts were the key to a good trip. Being anxious to start just made you paranoid. Connor’s lithe fingers brushed mine as he stole it from me, placing it between his own lips.

“Your fingers are freezing.” I pushed the blankets toward him, building a small nest around your legs. “And take your jeans off if you wanna get comfy.”

He didn’t, his loss.

I flopped back against the nest, feeling my hair fan out around me, and sighed. I didn’t really wanna smoke tonight–it was already late, I was already tired. Connor made me uncomfortable to the nth degree, I definitely couldn’t fall asleep with him here.

When I glanced back at him, his expression was unreadable thanks to his downcast curls and the cloud of smoke that had begun to twist around him. He held out the blunt to me.

“You’re quiet,” I noticed, taking the blunt and inhaling, watching the patterns the smoke made as it curled in on itself over and over.

He shrugged, his shoulder catching his curls and dragging them back a little to reveal a bit more of his face to me. The pinpoint freckles across his cheeks seemed paler under the outline of the bruise, just across the edge. I bit down on my tongue to keep from asking. His lips were pouted, as if he was upset.

Connor wasn’t usually like this–stoic, sure, but calmer. I wondered for half a moment if he’d gotten mugged on his way here. The blossoming bruise, still obviously new, the apples of his cheeks slightly swollen–I doubted he’d simply run into a wall.

We weren’t friends, so I didn’t ask.

“Don’t have much to say,” he muttered. “Not much to talk about.”

I just hummed, stealing another drag and handing him another twizzler. “Wanna play MarioKart before this stuff kicks in?”

I might’ve imagined the corner of his mouth ticking up from where his lips were wrapped around the licorice, but regardless he muttered, “Sure.”

—-

It took less than fifteen minutes for the weed to hit us full force. Connor had destroyed me at the game, so we’d abandoned it in lieu for muted cartoons neither of us were watching.

We were stretched across the nest of blankets, me facing him where he stared listlessly at the ceiling–at some point he’d forgotten to pass blunt, letting it hang limply between his lips. I nudged him with my knee as a reminder.

“Your fucking lipgloss is all over this thing,” he groaned bitterly, wiping his hand on his knee before lowering it back to the blanket. He’d taken off his shoes at some point, and his socks had Courage the Cowardly Dog on them. I pretended not to notice–even when I thought they were pretty cool.

“It’s chapstick,” I said, rolling up onto my elbow to get a better look at him, the smoke trailing across the plains of his hoodie like fog.

“It’s got glitter on it,” he shot back, still staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want that shit on my mouth. My dad would have a fucking field day.”

I just laughed, and let his eyes roll over to glare at me. There were one or two sparkles at the corner of his mouth, I saw, but nothing that couldn’t be wiped off. I wondered briefly where his parents thought he was.

“No more for you then, I guess,” I giggled, rolling into a sitting position and taking another drag. His eyebrows furrowed comically, his slim body rolling up.

“Nuh-uh, no fair. Without me you’d have no weed.”

“Could say the same for you,” I sighed, leaning my head against the foot of my bed and staring at him. His hair was away from his face now–once calm, I supposed, he’d forgotten all about the blemish on his face. He wasn’t hunched or hiding anymore, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up to reveal his bare forearms. He smiled, startling me–it wasn’t much, just a quirk of his lip, but it was pretty nonetheless. He looked like the thumbnail for a Charli music video.

“I’d find another way to get the money–you’re just the easiest.”

I gasped, mock offended, earning a smile with teeth from him. He ducked his head to his chest, his hair eclipsing the smile.

“Connor Murphy thinks I’m easy!” I cried in mock horror, slamming my palm dramatically against my forehead. “Oh God, my reputation is ruined.”

“If I so much as mentioned your name at school, your reputation would be ruined,” Connor chuckled darkly. “They’d kick you out of student council until you pled ‘charity case’.”

I smiled, deciding not to call him on out on the self deprecating jokes lest he return to his catatonic state. I was just pleased he’d begun to forget about whatever had made hum enter so sullen.

I snorted. “Yeah, they’d believe that for sure. Instead of, ya know, the obvious.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile fading slowly. “What’s the obvious?” He asked grimly, suddenly angry. I forced a laugh to diffuse the tension.

“You know,” I said awkwardly. “You’re a boy. I’m a girl.”

He stared blankly at me, and despite the fact I knew he fully understood what I was getting at, I also knew he wanted to hear me say it.

“Can I make it anymore obvious?” I crooned in a poor monotone, nudging his knee with my own. He licked his lips, coming away with a thin smile.

“What? People would think you’re slumming with the loner?”

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt anyone would call it slumming–girls like bad boys, Connor.”

I watched his slate eyes widen, his whole face expand as he barked a laugh, startling me to press back against the bed as he crumpled with laughter. It was shocking, and I let out another anxious laugh to echo him–I’d never seen Connor with so much expression on his face. He’d smiled so wide I could’ve seen his tonsils, and he was still bent over, his face hovering over my lap as he choked for air between heavy stomp of laughter, which sounded more akin to wheezing than any laugh track I’d ever heard. In the back of my head, it sort of reminded me of that one SpongeBob episode where they describe Squidward’s laugh box as “shriveled and unused”.

God, Connor was such a Squidward. I’d tell him after this.

“Is that what you think I am?” He practically giggled, his wide and manic eyes rushing up to meet mine. “A bad boy?”

I shifted uncomfortably, realizing the question had become about me. He’d been laughing at me. I felt my whole expression fall and shatter in my lap. “I mean–yeah? What, haven’t you read a YA novel? Hoodie, drugs, sarcastic and witty jokes, plus your looks–you’re the recipe for a good bad boy trope. You’re probably mushy on the inside. I bet you write poetry.”

Connor’s thin eyebrows shot into his hairline, his face still amused. “My looks?”

Flushing, I started down at my bare knees, which had turned pink–I suddenly felt too hot. I don’t remember weed usually doing that.

“God, Connor, don’t make me say it,” I grumbled, going to take a drag, surprised when he reached out to catch my wrist to prevent me. He was too close–I could see every freckle against his brusied cheek, the violent purple seeming almost pink around the edges. He was smiling softly, eyebrows raised. “You’re cute,” I admitted softly, relieved to see him laugh it off and let me go, rolling again onto his back. He pulled a teddy bear from the pile and held it front of him, smiling down at it.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he snorted.

“Oh, fuck you, Murphy.”

“Buy me a drink first."

"Ugh!” I groaned, falling face first beside him onto the nest, feeling the plush blankets brush against my cheeks. I had a headache coming on–there was always something about weed that left me prone to sensory overload. “It’s too bright. Turn off the lights.”

“Got it.”

It felt immensely better after Connor hit the switch and engulfed us in darkness, the only light coming from the television and dying the room a soft blue hue, and the flush that had felt like an awful itch across my skin fell away.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Connor hold out the blunt to me. I hadn’t realized he’d taken it. I thanked him and took a long drag.

“You’re quiet,” he said in a gruff voice, more sardonic than thoughtful. I snorted.

“You’re one to talk.”

He chuckled–it twisted my stomach in a decent way to see him in a such a pleasant mood. Sneaking a look at him, I realized it suited him well, that crooked smile he sported, revealing a bloody crack in his lip to match the blossoming bruise across his face.

“You wanna talk about that?” I murmured, pointing to him with a knuckle and then tracing my own cheek. He quirked an eyebrow, as if he didn’t understand. He’d forgotten, I realized. I sat up to face him, blunt still dangling between my lips, and traced the underside of the bruise with my thumb. He pulled away quickly, as if it had hurt.

“No. I don’t. We were talking about you.”

“Were we?” I asked, genuinely trying to remember. The best and worst thing about pot was the pleasant fog it left your brain in.

“Yes,” he groaned forcefully. “We were. You were talking about your parents.”

“I was?” That sounded false. I knew it was a bad idea to have Connor over when I was so tired and suggestible–it made us both open to conversations I didn’t want to have.

It was always scary. It wasn’t like we hadn’t had deep talks before, but that just meant it was that much harder to ignore him at school. Ignore him when he lashed out in class and keep quiet when my friend Josh talked shit behind his back. It was harder.

Because when we listened, it meant we cared.

“Yes,” he sighed again. “Do you need to sleep or something? I’ll finish the blunt.”

“Nope,” I said, smacking his hand away and keeping the blunt. “This one’s mine. You only get secondhand smoke. Sorry.”

He glared at me. “You’re funny.”

“You complained! Complaining means no blunt. You can shotgun filter-feed, a la Spongebob.”

He laughed, his hair swishing lightly around his shoulders. He looked nice.

The weed was definitely making me suggestible.

“Um, yeah, that’d get me super high,” he replied dryly, picking at his nails, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes.

“Not from over there,” I sighed, leaning against the foot of the bed and blowing smoke in his direction, watching his hair fall over his shoulders, and his eyelids slide down as if he’d suddenly become drowsy. As painful as the bruise looked, it also gave him a sort of dreamy aesthetic that made me feel sort of disgustingly protective.

“That your way of asking me to scoot closer?” He sighed, sliding a bit closer across the nest of blankets so his thigh was flush with mine, making me suck in a sharp breath.

“This is out of character for you, Murphy,” I breathed, trying and failing to sound braver than I felt. My foggy brain was flashing warning lights over and over, why this was an awful idea. Pro: my parents would hate it. Con: this was Connor Murphy. Pro: he’s cute. Con: he’s Connor Murphy.

“Don’t wanna get anymore glitter on my lips,” he grinned like a shark, his smile blinding in the cyan light from the television.

“Think that’s gonna happen regardless,” I muttered nervously, daring to make eye contact with him and finding that he was smirking sharp enough to knock the air out of me. Oh God, it was gonna happen.

“You can use your hand, dumbass.”

I nearly screamed, jumping back and cracking my head against the bed frame, staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You haven’t shotgunned before?”

Oh.

I felt myself deflate, leaning forward again, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Of course Connor Murphy wouldn’t kiss me. Connor Murphy didn’t like me. We were barely friends. I just paid for his weed.

“No, actually,” I grumbled, looking sheepishly up at him. “I haven’t.”

“You’re such a goody two shoes,” he chuckled, taking the blunt from me, and replaced it between my lips a little tighter. “I’ll show you.”

He stole my hand from my knee and rolled it into a fist. “Keep this tight. Take the drag, then blow into this, okay?”

I did as he said, holding the smoke in my lungs and bringing the fist to my mouth, only halfway surprised when he surged forward to press his lips against the opposite side of my fist, the smoke escaping quicker from my mouth than it should’ve. I flushed deeply at his annoyed gaze.

“I got like, none of that.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “You just surprised me.”

He rolled his eyes, pushing his hair back out of his face frustratedly. He didn’t have a hair tie on his wrist–I should probably offer him mine, but he was still too close, and I could smell him past the scent of the pot. I was warm again.

“Tighter,” he grunted, slapping my fist and reattaching his lips to the other side, his nose brushing my knuckles, his eyelids closed softly like he was kissing me. My stomach flipped, and I quickly blew the smoke through, and his face was so close I could feel his bangs brush my face.

“Missed again,” he grumbled, softly, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He tapped the pad of my thumb with his index finger. “See this space. It’s always gonna be open here. My mouth isn’t that big, and you pulling away isn’t helping.”

He was right–there was a large gap between my pinky and the pad of my thumb, simply because of the direction my fingers curled. Too much smoke was getting out. Connor’s high was starting to wear off, I could tell he was getting frustrated.

I leaned back against the bed, taking another drag.

“If you’re gonna complain, literally just take a hit from the source and deal with the glitter, and next time buy two blunts–”

He waited until the smoke had started to curl out of my mouth before he surged forward, taking hold of my jaw between his lithe fingers, making me yelp before drawing his own face close.

I thought he was trying to kiss me, so I sealed my lips tight, but his hands worked my jaw open, and I realized quickly as he positioned his mouth over mine, his lips barely brushing my own, that he was simply inhaling sharply, eyes closed.

He leaned away slowly, leaving me still gasping for fresh air that the room was now void of, leaning back onto the palms of his hands and tilting his head back so that the pale column of his throat was silhouetted in front of the tv’s blue light, eyes still closed blissfully as he got his first successful hit in an hour.

“Thanks,” he whispered, his voice gravelly and sending a jolt through my stomach.

“Warn me next time!” I growled, wiping my mouth dramatically despite the fact his eyes were still closed. The blunt had burnt out, fallen amidst the pastel blankets. Connor’s hands were gripping one of my teddy bears tightly in his lap, smiling down at it with a smirk.

“You thought I was gonna kiss you,” he chuckled, playing with a paw.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You were gonna let me kiss you,” he said, almost surprised, still not looking at me, but at the little bear. “Me. Connor fucking Murphy. The quarterback would have a field day. Aren’t you in the running for study body president or something?”

“I get it, it’s funny. You’re such a ladies man, I’m sure,” I spat, knowing it was gonna strike a nerve. His head snapped up, making my stomach lurch, his slate eyes connecting with mine in a glare.

“You know, it’s not like I don’t hear them try to convince you to have parties here,” he began so slowly that I had to look away. He could see me. He could see too much, his angry eyes bloodshot. “Your parents are never fucking home. Trust me, there are loads of boys who’d love to get their rocks off with you in this Hello Kitty hell hole,” he gestured around to the room, throwing the teddy bear back onto the pile, making me flinch. I heard him suck in a breath. His voice was so soft, I was shaking.

“You lie. You tell them you’re gonna study, or you’re gonna binge watch some stupid fucking rom com all your girlfriends are obsessed with, and then you fucking call me every fucking weekend. What’s the point? Your soccer star buddies couldn’t share some of their pot? Why me?”

“Because,” I screeched, pulling my knees tight and ducking my face into them, my hair falling like a curtain around me to eclipse him from sight.

“Because I don’t wanna owe them anything and I don’t wanna sit around with them and talk about what the theme for homecoming is going to be and whatever boring crap we always talk about till my brain melts and falls out of my ears. Because, maybe, one day my parents are gonna come home early and seeing Josh isn’t as alarming as seeing you because, to them, you’d look like the kind of boy who eats girls like me for lunch and maybe they’d scared instead of thinking I’m just fooling around.

Because, for five fucking minutes, with you, I don’t have to pretend that I’m perfect and I’m fine. I don’t have to deal with anything or anyone. I wanna forget, Connor,” I gasped, realizing now that I was crying in front of Connor Murphy, who would never let me live this down, and never talk to me again.

I knotted my hands in my hair and pulled, desperate to feel something else than lonely. “I need you to help me forget, Connor. I’m sorry.”

The silence was deafening, embarrassing. I felt juvenile, stupid. I felt stupid for trusting Connor with that information, knowing he’d sell me out for a paperclip.

This relationship we’d had–whatever it was–was over now.

I sat up, covering my face with my hands, surprised to still hear him breathing.

“You can go now,” I said, my voice only slightly more level.

“You just asked me to help you,” he muttered.

I pulled my hands away, surprised to find him close again, his face staring down at where my hands had moved into my lap. At some point he’d shed his hoodie, leaving him in an undershirt it looked like he’d outgrown in middle school. Rail thin, pale, freckles across his shoulders. There were bruises on his biceps, one, two, three, four, lined up like fingerprints. I swallowed.

“You want your parents to lose their shit and care about you?” He asked, not so much a question as a bargain opening. “Me too. You’re just gonna have to get more ostentatious with it.”

“That’s a big word, Mr. Murphy.”

“I have a word of the day calendar,” he replied dryly, looking up at me with pleading eyes. “You wanna forget? Me too. You wanna piss of your parents? Me too.”

My eyebrows lowered, and I couldn’t help but lean closer to him, placing my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. I felt dizzy. All of this had to be the pot talking.

“What are you suggesting?”

He didn’t ask. He didn’t know how. He didn’t have to.

He reached forward, placing his fingertips along the edge of my jaw, his eyes deadly serious, almost concerned. Maybe scared.

He hadn’t done this before.

I shut my eyes, gasping when I felt his nose brush against my cheek. His mouth was soft, closed, pressing chastely against mine for a long moment before pulling away and repeating the action. I could taste the blood on his lip, which was odd, but I let it happen.

“Yeah?” He asked softly, out of breath.

I nodded, reaching forward to push myself to my knees, my fingers knotting into his white shirt.

“Yeah,” I breathed back, letting myself fall against him, pleased and breathless tat he caught me, his hands ghostingly tenderly over my waist as he kissed me deeply, working my mouth open with quick, sloppy kisses. He wasn’t a great kisser, but he definitely made up for it in enthusiasm. I giggled against him, earning a grunt of protest from him, his hands yanking hard at my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.

“What?” He hissed.

“I’m not gonna break,” I promised, reaching my arms around his neck to tangle my hands in his hair, watching his eyelids flutter close, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks. “Really. Go nuts. Leave a hickey or something, that’d really jazz my dad.”

“Please don’t mention your dad again,” Connor grumbled, leaning forward to press his face against the column of my throat, letting out a groan. “It’s kinda killing the mood.”

“Just suck on my neck, Murphy.”

“Fine.”

He did, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant–he had the decency to occasionally pause to press kisses against my clavicle, the neck of my hoodie eclipsing most of his access. He didn’t try to take it off, and I was mostly grateful (albeit a little disappointed). His hands were tight fists against the small of my back, pressing me as close as I could get, until I pulled him away from my chest and back to my face, kissing him roughly with my hands still knotted in his hair, my thumbs keeping a solid pressure on his jaw until he yelped, pulling back.

His eyes were shut tight, his whole face pinched as he scrambled back from me, sliding me off of his lap. Red faced, I watched the tears slide through the cracks as he scrubbed at them.

The bruise. I’d pressed too hard.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, sorry–just–fuck, still new, we can keep–fuck, I know, I killed the mood, I’m sorry–”

“Hey,” I crooned softly, crawling across the nest to place my hand on his shoulder, rubbing softly, shushing him. “It’s okay. Calm down. I’m sorry I hit your bruise.”

“It’s fine,” he said, scrubbing frustratedly at his face with too much force, wetness still leaking from his eyes. “I fucked up, Christ, sorry, I can do better–”

“Enough for now, okay?” I said, leaning him back against the nest, settling him against the pillow. “We can try again when you’re calmer, okay? I’m not kissing you. You’re upset.”

“I’m fucking upset because I ruined the fucking mood–”

“No, you didn’t Connor,” I sighed, squeezing his hand where he hung between us, watching him become pink in the face with anger. “It’s really okay. Please tell me about the bruise, if you wanna.”

“I don’t. I’m already a fuck up, I don’t need you thinking I’m an asshole.”

“I know your an asshole,” I chuckled.

“I’m going home–”

“Please don’t!” I gasped, lunging forward to pin him down, holding tight to his hands. “Just–if you wanna talk, I’m here. It’s not healthy to bottle things up.”

“Who says I bottle things up?”

I didn’t want say the obvious–that he didn’t have any friends. I just blinked down at him, staring softly.

Connor Murphy was collateral damage. He was a mess. His hair was frizzed, curling around his face, unkempt and soft, like a child’s. His bloodshot eyes were wild, darting everywhere but my face as if he thought he could make an escape at any moment. His lips were pouted, puffy from kissing and cracked from being too dry, with little specks of silver glitter at the corners, almost like freckles.

He was messy. He was shaking. He wasn’t a good person. He’d never get me into an Ivy League school and standing beside him would never mean I could be Prom Queen, and still….

“I could be your friend, if you wanted me to, Connor,” I said quietly, squeezing his hands, feeling him relax beneath me.

“Friends talk to each other at school.”

I smiled back. “Yeah. They do. I would, if you want. And sit with you at lunch. And we could go to movies, if you like those–”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he said softly, pulling his hands away and starting to stand.

“Please, don’t leave,” I pleaded softly, looking up at him from where he towered over me. I knew I must’ve looked silly sitting in a nest of pink pillows and pastel blankets and worn teddy bears, staring up at him with bloodshot eyes, holding out my hand for him to take. “Connor, I want to be your friend. We could even hang at your place–not even to do drugs! Yousaid you wanted to make your parents mad. I can do that–”

“No,” he growled, turning to glare at me with blazing eyes. “You can’t. My parents would fucking love you. I can tell you exactly how it would go, too. They’d constantly bug you about it until we’d have to pretend to date just to get them off our fucking backs, and they’d–they’d think you could fix me like that’s how that fucking works–and, fuck, my dad would probably tell you to get the fuck out of dodge before I hurt you and you can’t leave. That’s exactly what would happen.

So, no, sweetheart, we can’t be fucking friends. I’ll buy your pot, I’ll see you next weekend, we’ll smoke up and I can leave a fucking used condom in your kitchen sink if you want me to that badly–but I don’t need you to pity me, okay? Fuck off.”

I rose to my feet, catching the arm of his hoodie so he couldn’t tug it on properly. “Connor, please stay. Don’t leave angry, you’re gonna get yourself in trouble–”

His fist connected with my stomach, sending me back into the wall, and I choking for a moment as the wind was knocked out of me, sending me sliding to the floor.

I was crying–it hadn’t hurt that bad, just the shock of it, Connor still standing over me, screaming something incoherent to my still ringing ears while I sobbed.

“–wanna know how I got the bruise? I fucking hit my mom. She didn’t even do anything in just–she wouldn’t fucking stop talking about what we should do this weekend and 'you need to get out of the house you need to do something you need sunshine’ like everything is a magic fucking bandaid and her fucking voice–so I went to hit her in the fucking face, my own fucking mom–and my dad just fuckin’,” his voice died off momentarily, and I realized through my shock that he was crying. “My dad just fucking wailed on me. Hit me right between the eyes like four times, blam blam blam blam! Tried to send me to my room. So I left. Don’t think I’m going back for a few days.”

Had it been ten minutes ago, I’d have told him to stay. I would’ve offered the bed. I would’ve sat beside him at lunch and taken him to Prom.

But Connor Murphy was collateral damage, meant only to be seen as a red flag by my parents. He had no place in my life, no place in my future.

I couldn’t fix Connor Murphy. Nobody could.

“Get out,” I whispered, voice breaking, hardly audible. He did.

—-

I washed the sheets. I threw away the joint. I washed my face in the mirror, put a bandage over the rather artistic purple bruising on my neck. I crawled into bed, throwing the offending teddy bear underneath, only to be found a year down the line while I packed for college.

My whole body felt sore, like I’d just gone through a car crash and walked home. It was the shock, I knew.

I pulled out my phone.

To: CM 3:56 am same time next weekend?

It took less than a minute for him to reply.

From: CM 3:56 am I love hittin the books with u

A/N: Hey! I wanted to address the fact that, yeah, Connor is definitely a little OOC here (i.e. being more confident and open in the beginning, not very paranoid and not very scared) and I’d like to explain that as (not only being needed for the fic to work) but I imagine his walk over to your place is very a la Dead Girl Walking from Heathers–he’s just gotten in a fight with his parents, he doesn’t think he’s going back home and he doesn’t have much to lose. Sorry for the not so happy ending (which the one of the requests called for :/ sorry guys). Regardless, hoped you liked it? Lemme know? Thanks ♡

#connor murphy #connor murphy x reader #deh #dear evan hansen #evan hansen #mike faist #ben platt #cynthia murphy #larry murphy #zoe murphy #Connor writes the milk

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