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diversitytrash · 4 years

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Circles (Hisoka HxH)

Well hello there! hope you’re all doing okay during these hard times with this pandemic, I really hope you all feel safe and are healthy. This is a little something I was working on, the song really hitting all the right buttons to get me working enough to do a little something, hope is of your liking! I used this song as inspiration for this little something, got me in the mood enough since I got it playing on a loop for a while.

*Sidenotes*: I apologize in advance if this suck, really, please forgive me.

Warnings: Gloomy thoughts, language, abuse of substance, angst, Hisoka

Work count: 4.4k

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~We couldn’t turn around

Till we were upside down

I’ll be the bad guy now

But no, I ain’t too proud~

She could not truly explain the numb feeling in her chest. The way her blood flooded quicker whenever a certain jester came to her mind, how her eyes filled with tears at the memory of her begging, of her offering the impossible only to not feel neglected by her significant other.

But she never bothered to see his true colors, the way whenever she would open her heart to him, the teasing smile that adorned his lips, the mockery shining in his eyes, the little laughs whenever she truly thought he was paying attention.

~I couldn’t be there

Even when I try~

She was idiot enough to think that maybe; just maybe, inside his hollow chest there was still a little piece of his rotten heart that could at least respect her, but lying to herself is the best magic trick she learned over the time of her life she shared with Hisoka.

It was not the fact that she blinded herself out of love; she wanted to avoid the obvious; she wanted to ignore the way his eyes will linger in other girls as they walked down the street on cute little “dates” he would take her only to make sure she would not nag his head off for being such an asshole.

Y/n always was quick to give Hisoka a blind eye whenever he would come over to her apartment looking for shelter, with his clothes slightly awkward on contrary of how the jester always made sure to look presentable, how whenever he kissed her in his lips always lingered a stain of lipstick that it wasn’t hers . How through the collar of his shirt there were colored marks on his skin that she never left because Hisoka hated to be marked by her, claiming to not be property of anyone.

So the best she could do was make her heart and mind go numb; no longer bother to shed tears whenever the jester took from her every ounce of life and cherish, soft loving whispers falling from her lips and then fade away from her life for days, weeks, even months. How even a numb-feeling assassin will mock her, teasing her in little matters whenever Hisoka popped into their conversations.

How the troupe of thieves will look at her like she was the greatest joke they have heard so far; and some others with pure pity.

~You don’t believe it

We do this every time~

How y/n thought that the best way from getting rid of a nuisance was by bringing another one into her life, one that will make her feel her fingers loose, her eyes slightly heavy as soon the burning sensation left in her throat became so usual that it seemed she was drinking plain water.

Somehow the strong smell of liquor staining her breath and mind was not enough; so she added a new little trick to her nightly routine, her eyes now becoming puffy, and her mind so loud and wild that instead of feeling numb she felt like venturing the world while laying down at her couch.

The long black-haired assassin had had enough of seeing the most composed person in his life to crumble down over someone not worthy of her sorrow, so soon; he also became a constant in y/n’s melancholic nights, how he would hide her precious edibles and little stash until it was safe for him to throw it away, the liquor supply becoming more and more unavailable, soon enough she was back again sober enough to feel once again, now feeling the self-consciousness her new hobbies hide, but more like irritation over the black-eye assassin

“Funny how ever since you started to come here my buzz has been drying night by night Illumi” she snarled, her mood swings becoming more prominent, but Illumi kept on with his plan, it was a perfect plan in his eyes. Instead of destroying her potential and life over a self-destructive moron, Illumi decided to teach her that there were other ways for her to feel such as a broken heart

“Maybe you’re just taking more than usual and is no longer enough with the amount you are used to”

It was a little trick here and there. Enough for her to grow scared of the little ghost she was becoming, soon it was not only Illumi the one who visited her home often, but also a certain leader, his book never leaving his hand while he pretended to be there just to enjoy her favorite reading chair, which by pure coincidence was right in front of where she always drowned her regrets in.

To the added mix became more and more people until her home felt too crowded, too much noise, too much people for her to deal with after isolating herself from the world since the early months of that year.

It was a faithful night, the radio playing softly in the background as now she was no longer in the couch where she used to throw herself over, drink and weed in each hand while looking over her ceiling. Now she was seated over Chrollo’s claimed chair, moved over the balcony at the right of her living room as she looked over the stars, the cold night making her skin invade of goosebumps as the bitter memory of the night her life went down the drain came into her mind

It was a sunny day, awfully a bright, good sunny day. Good enough to make her get up early, no need of her alarm as the curtains of her bedroom window barely caught the light of the warm blooming sun.

It was a happy day; but inside her heart, like a sixth sense, there was an ugly monster crawling, having weeks growing and growing inside her little heart whenever Hisoka came to her mind.

But she decided to ignore the monster bubbling inside her mind, the nightmare shadow of second guessing her lover’s true intentions.

She decided to give Hisoka the benefit of a doubt and the little monster only kept growing and growing, every night that passed over the last 3 days since he announced he will be around town doing business smiling at her, in the middle of the night waking her up by the terrifying laugh it will bubble from the sharp-fanged mouth that had, the way whenever Hisoka’s name left her lips in a whimper it teased her, telling her just how worthless she was in the jester’s eyes.

So, today was a sunny bright day to go down town and do a few of her pending errands and calm the beast down, proving it that there was nothing to worry about, that Hisoka was a man of his word. And god how did she regret being so right.

~Seasons change and our love went cold~

She regretted getting so up in the morning and running a fresh shower now that she saw her lover walking with two ladies tangled by his sides as Hisoka kept a sensual pace all the way down to the motel.

She regretted using the little overall skirt that she adored with all her heart along with her favorite shirt as she waited outside the motel until late at night to find a lover covered in love bites and yet, one of the ladies by his side.

She hated that she did her makeup with so much effort, looking herself through the mirror and admiring herself, whispering to her own little ears just how beautiful she truly was; only to have Hisoka mock her in the middle of the street as the piercing dagger in the middle of her heart kept going deeper and deeper the more Hisoka spoke

~Feed the flame ‘cause we can’t let go~

“Oh kitten, how pathetic of you to truly believe I ever loved you. I don’t do love princess, I fuck who I lust for, and both of us know, it’s been a long while since I visited your little downtown”

But the most she hated, was the little steps she took joyful as she walked down the streets, treating herself to little desires as more than a coffee and a snack and looking for a gift for her lover thinking he truly loved her.

The fact of knowing the monster crawling inside her mind was right; how it laughed at her just like Hisoka and the beautiful lady by his side. The way the little monster became bigger and bigger When Hisoka spoke hurtful words in her direction

~I dare you to do something

I’m waiting on you again

So I don’t take the blame~

“No one of importance”

“How pathetic”

“I actually did you a favor’”

How the assassin she thought that had an ounce of empathy at least at one of her tip of his needles only laughed at her

~Run away, but we running in circles~

“Did you truly believe Hisoka would love someone like you?”

Once again she felt like a child, the scolded child her mother hated to see after punishing her for doing something wrong, how she would scold her for having a tear-stained face like she was victim when in fact it was her fault the punishment she got. How her mother will lock her inside her room for days on with no contact to the outer world because she decided to go downstairs when she was clearly busy.

~Run away. Run away. Run away~

And so, the urgent need of changing her home upside down invaded her body, anxious enough to move maybe a little too fast, making the assassin move quick enough to get her before her face smashed against the floor. The way her body tingled with excitement as her eyes once again sparked with the same mischief like before she dipped herself into the jester’s magic tricks

~Let go

I got a feeling that it’s time to let go~

Suddenly, the thought of her bed felt wrong, the way her room was coordinated felt unsettling and just thinking about how she would throw herself into it by the time she went to bed felt wrong

“What are you doing?” The assassin questioned, confused by her sudden burst of energy as she looked over him

“It’s spring Illumi! Spring!” She cheered, excitedly walking fast over her windows and opening them wide, the assassin once again feeling terrified by just how much emotion she handled in her body in such short periods of time

“Yes, it is Spring” he answered, y/n snorting before she turned around and her hands on her hips

“It’s spring cleaning Illumi. We’re cleaning!” To say that Illumi’s was more than excited of just leaving her on her own to do her own thoughtless actions was beyond tempting, but also, he was curious about what exactly she was meaning about this spoken Spring Cleaning that got her so excited.

And soon, as Illumi saw how she pulled empty boxes from her closet and she opened her drawers; only to notice how many pieces of her lengerie were thrown into them and so as certain cards and other little gifts, Illumi felt the need enough to call for second hands and try to help him to figure out just what she planned to do

~I say so

I knew this was doomed from the get go~

When a troupe arrived to the home, along with 4 declares enemies; Illumi felt more peaceful

“What the hell Zoldyck, you said this was an emergency, not a fucking hangout-“ but as soon as Nobunaga’s snark comments came and invade her home, they left as they saw her, her hair in a high pony tail and sweat lightly dripping from her forehead, a bright smile in her face, and boxes in both of her arms as she stood from the top of her stairs

“Oh, hey guys!” y/n spoke, excited to see her friends, the boxes in her arms being let go as both of them slammed against the floor, the sudden crash of something fragile inside either one or both alarming the entire party as she dusted her hands, looking proud

“Glad you see you all, but I’m a little busy at the moment as you can see” she pointed at the boxes, the bitter smell of the cologne a certain jester used invading their nostrils, Chrollo being quick to connect the loose ends as he smiled al little bit, but the rest of the troupe still confused

“Y/n… are those… Hisoka’s things?” Shalnark asked, taking his words with much care as to not fright the little dove in front of them while her smiled grew

~You thought that it was special, special~

“Yes!” She replied excited before turning around over her room, leaving them at the entrance hallway, but Shalnark had many questions in his mind, why was Hisoka’s cologne infesting the entire room to be specific, in a box she threw out of her arms like she was dealing with bad things like trash

“Why?” Pakunoda pushed, looking over the entrance of her bedroom as the excited young adult ripped the sheets from her mattress, throwing them over the floor before she looked back at them

“Spring cleaning! Didn’t Illumi tell you when he called? It’s spring cleaning” she answered, like trying to explain a child the obvious answer before she pulled the mattress from the wooden base, moving little by little until half of it was out of it

~But it was just the sex though, the sex though~

“So, you’re throwing things away?” Shizuku was the next to ask, confused as to why exactly he was called over before she smiled nodding her head

“Why are we throwing good things away?” Shalnark frowned, still not getting the point as she rolled her eyes

“Spring cleaning it’s the time of year where you get rid of shit you don’t longer need in your life” she answered, the words leaving her mouth smooth, too smooth for a woman with the broken heart to speak so freely

“And what’s the shit we’re getting rid off?” Phinks questioned, pushing the people from her door aside as he took his jacket off, rolling his shoulders as he pulled and twisted the sleeves of his shirt as much as he could to make it a muscle shirt

“Bad vibes shit” was all she answered, but it was enough for a few of them to know that finally; she was done with her little depressing episode over the jester once her heart loved unconditionally, the blood of a bitter year finally ending its tour in her soul and now; once again, being the quirking little spirit they once met.

Just like how boxes of gifts and clothes were thrown out, soon her entire bed followed, with the help of the male part of the troupe as the girls kept themselves busy over her living room and kitchen, looking for anything that reminded her of the jester.

But to everyone’s surprise, she was getting rid of everything

“Are you sure, 100% positive that this couch needs to leave along with the fucking plasma tv?”

“Spring cleaning Shalnark!”

And so, as the day went by, with the help of her friends, her home was now nothing but the entire emptiness of echoes and walls, no room reserves with anything, not a single chair, not a single table, not even a cup or a spoon

~And I still hear the echoes (the echoes)

I got a feeling that it’s time to let it go

Let it go~

She truly got rid of everything in her apartment, everything being left out in the street with a sign in big bold letters of FREE, TAKE WHATEVER YOU PLEASE, the way her heart hammered against her ribcages was exciting, almost teasing her to keep on, being barely noon, she still had plenty of time to keep moving forward

“She even got rid of the fucking stove. And the damn fridge” Feitan grumbled, looking over the empty kitchen

“What the hell, you threw out my fucking stove?” She snarled, her attention disappearing from the empty living room for a second as she looked over the men

“You said you get rid of everything!”

“Except the kitchen!"

“How were we going to know!”

“And where is my reading chair Chrollo?”

So on, the next three days were eventful enough for her to be moving up and down around town, the snark comments coming from the party of males who moved all the way down to the first floor of the building to retract her precious kitchen only to notify that her fridge was long gone, as she chew over the big bad boss, threatening his future bloodline if he didn’t return her precious chair, if he ever dare to have one.

Instead of plain cold white, her living room was not a soft, kissed pastel of baby grey, the way it contrasted all her new furniture bringing lightness to her heart, her kitchen now bright white and dark wooden floors, the midnight black dinner table contrasting lovely with her pearl china and silverware cutlery.

~Maybe you don’t understand what I’m through

It’s only me, what you got to loose?~

The smell of fresh paint invaded her senses as she moved along her home to open all the available windows, the purpose of change in her heart was big and evident enough for no one to question her decision and just how exactly she desired to view the world from now on. Just as changed came into her life in a material world, so they did in her loving. Her hair no longer at the competing length as Illumi’s. It now tickled her cheeks in soft little curls whenever she moved a little too quickly. Her wardrobe entirely changed, everything she ever owned either being thrown away or giving as hand-downs, since her clothing was all in a perfect shape and some pieces even brand new.

~Make up your mind, tell me, what are you gonna do?~

The little monster was no longer invading her nights and days, suddenly the gloomy days that invaded her morning were now the brightest, the excitement in her body enough to rub off even in the most odd of her companions, and once again, it was a sunny day.

She was wearing her favorite jean overall skirt, along with a white t-shirt underneath and her snickers making match with it.

The man she was clinging over in his ever odd green outfit

“Illumi please~ just one~” she cried, getting heavier and heavier over his arms as the little tick in his eye made presence, the little smirk in her lips going unnoticed by the assassin as he tried to push her away, only to have her grip her arms around his waist in quite and odd hug since he tried to rip her off his body

“If I say yes, will you let me go?�� the male grumbled, hating the idea of so much attention on him, but even worse the feeling in his chest whenever she hugged him

“If you tell me where Chrollo hid my most precious treasure, maybe”

~It’s only me, let it go~

But for her odd luck, back in the roof of a building, the little monster that once invaded her heart, was now a monster hunting the jester she once loved. And it felt horrible just how much it crawled in his mind even in days when he had promised to not think of her.

At first, it was the memory of the night she caught him red handed in his little adventures, but Hisoka payed her no mind, knowing deep in his heart, that in no longer than three days; she would be calling him on his cellphone, at least three times the first day and after the third time he did not answer; leaving him a voicemail asking him, pleading, begging, that if he had time in his hands to spare, she would be waiting for him at her apartment.

But the calls never came, Hisoka assumed she needed a little bit more of time for her to come around, after all, this was not like the other times many fights happened.

It was not a day where she smelled a perfume that was not hers in his clothes.

It was not the kisses stained that didn’t belong to her at his neck to jaw.

It wasn’t the false hope of maybe it being an odd coincidence.

~Seasons changed and our love went cold~

Soon the thought of her left his mind as quick as it arrived and he continued on to pursue his life as a single man, scoffing and mocking the memory of her being such an obedient pet for him; such a good little girl only for him. Turning into a sour note in his being.

As time passed, Hisoka saw less and less of her, it was almost as she became a ghost to hunt him along his days.

That’s when, after such teasing manners with the troupe he became part with started talking

“It was an odd weekend” it was all Shalnarkl spoke about those three days when there was nowhere in the current hideout, how all of the sudden they seemed busy, everyone but him

“Ask the boss, not me” avoiding his nosy interrogation, he was fed enough with vague excuses and wanted to know the truth

And, after a year where he was waiting for her to come around, the reality of his situation hit him so harsh, never did Hisoka imagined to feel his chest contrast in such a painful way

“Ah yes. We were busy helping y/n doing her spring cleaning, she got rid of something” that was the first time the little monster appear, hiding in the shadows of his mind, eyes bright and fangs out of its mouth, mouth drooling at the taste of Hisoka’s distress, specially at the witnessing eye he was glaring, daggers in his irises that killed Chrollo over a hundred times once he realized just where the phantom troupe leader was sitting

“And what was that something you helped my little ripe fruit that you got rid of Dauncho?” Chrollo could feel the uneasiness from Hisoka, it was palpable, like a wild caged animal trying to scent the room in order to feel safe, but much to his poor luck, Chorllo was not feeling sympathy enough in his heart and mind to share some with the clown in his troupe

“Well, you of course” and like a rabid dog, the monster bit Hisoka down deep in his insecurities, like a bucket of cold water in his overheated skin, goosebumps invading his skin as the realization of where he stood hit him at the back of his head

She got rid of everything that reminded her of him

~Feed the flame ‘cause we can’t let go~

The red eye monster no longer left Hisoka’s side, it had been nearly half a year since that realization became palpable in his life. The way his throat knotted when as soon as Chrollo finished giving his explanation he flew all the way down to her home. Only to find pieces of himself thrown like trash, he was not spoken lies to when Chorllo told him where exactly they went that long weekend, the rain heavy and hurtful over Hisoka’s shoulders as he saw the boxes of gifts he once bought his beloved, including gifts and things she bought for him. Everything away like they never meant anything, nothing to care about, to cherish, to love

Just like you did with her little heart

The monster mocked, laughing louder and louder every time Hisoka dared to deny the reality of his situation, how he in fact took her for granted. The one person he always crawled back whenever he was feeling down; in the need of company either by distraction or in the silent bliss of just having her in his arms.

Indeed Hisoka threw her heart to the trash before stepping on it over and over again a thousand times, but never did he expect for her to get rid of him in such a way

~Run away, but we’re running in circles~

Hisoka remembers the day she finally, shut her heart closed from him.

The tears that once ran down her porcelain skin, were now invading his eyes, feeling helpless and the monster crawled in his mind, feral and pushing him over the edge of mania further from the forbidden emotions he already felt.

The helplessness in her steps as she ran away from him not made his legs feel like jelly whenever he took a step forward, fighting against the monster inside his head, screaming at it in his mind that it was wrong and she will love him once again as soon as she sees him

The vile in his throat leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he saw just how happy she was.

She needed to feel miserable, just like him, he no longer had that little feeling in his heart, the excitement of going back into her arms like once the blue moon far away from now. But he felt numb, no longer did Hisoka had the desire of moving forward and leaving in the past.

He needed her to need him.

The knowing fact that she no longer felt miserable without him irked him, why was she so happy to get him out of her life?

Did he really deserve such treatment? Did he ruined her love for him enough to say he was no longer worth to have in her life, such as throwing everything away he even once touch like the worst of virus invaded said articles?

The monster inside his head finally won the final battle before leaving him; feeling as empty as ever, no purpose in life other than the desire of fulfillment; the need of feeling something; anything, to crash him like a gave to once again, learn how to ignore the emptiness in his body, the dark thought of being reminded he was left alone, no one needing him, everyone hating him. But why was he feeling like this?

Wasn’t this what he wanted all along? Stirring feeling inside people that made them feel confused, distress, sorrow; whenever they thought about him? Did is what he wanted all along, isn’t it true? He was bored with her, that was the excuse he used when he decided she was too loving for him.

After all; Hisoka loves to feel, but not much, just enough to know he caused an impact, and just like that; rip it away harsh enough to leave an ugly scar, the memory of him impregnated in their minds forever.

But it seemed like now; the ugly scar was not in her, but in his empty broken heart.

~Run away, Run away

Run away~

*Fin*

#hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka angst #hunter x hunter #hisoka hunter hunter #h x h hisoka #hisoka hunter x hunter #reader x hisoka #Hisoka hxh

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nikkyshows · 5 years

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Heart Trade

DISCLAIMER: reposted here to the new blog

So a while back I used an old caffeine challenge as a prompt and this is what came of it. I believe it was like #23 or something. First line and image prompts used (coffee shop).

I’m also like 93% sure that this only took like 45 minutes tops to write, with a bit of editing cause I had time. It was a productive session and fits in the hour mark that caffeine challenges are, even though this is an old one. It’s exactly 2k words which makes me happy.

Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but I think it works??? Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It all begins (ends) on a normal Tuesday. All the terrible, tragic things do. It had been a normal Wednesday night when your life first crashed around you, but that’s not a concern. Not now. Now, it’s a Tuesday evening and you’re waiting for him to come home. He’s late.

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

He comes home six minutes after the clock ticks 9. He’s three hours late and a part of you is surprised – you hadn’t been expecting him at all. He smiles sheepishly at you, still sitting at the dinner table with the plates still out. Your eyes search instinctively for lies, scanning the lines next to his eyes and the dimple in his smile.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

But you do and you don’t want to inspire suspicion, so you stand from the hard-backed chair you’ve been worrying in and fret over him. You push his jacket over his shoulders, onto the floor and you kiss him, pretending not to notice the peach-colored smudge on the curve of his throat.

Part of you expects this kiss to be different, for you to be able to taste infidelity on his tongue or sense guilt in the purse of his lips, but there’s none. He’s kissing you and it feels like any other kiss he’s given you before.

That stings a little, heart clenching in his suit pocket on the floor. Perhaps that was another sign, that he keeps your heart in a place where it is easily forgotten and left. But that’s how it goes. You don’t notice the red flags and warnings until it’s too late. It’s idiotic how that works.

The two of you head to the bedroom, both of your hearts laying carelessly on the lower floor. You have to lie when he sees the single tear slip down your cheek and your heart, discarded, bristles as you realize that you’re even in the lies you’ve told.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

Finger tracing the rim of your ceramic mug, you curse him for being late. There’s a difference between him giving you time to prepare and time to change your mind. You won’t, but your conviction wavers.

Then he walks in, smooth-gaited and as confident as the day you met him. Now, you think there’s a reason for that. He sits in the chair opposite yours and smiles as he takes a sip of coffee that he obviously doesn’t taste – it’s black and he takes his with sugar and a dash of hazelnut creamer. It’s another pointless test, but a part of you still hopes he’ll notice the rings you’ve been making him jump through.

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

The next morning you are praying that he won’t notice the change in your heart, the drop in temperature, but you are also hoping that he will. If he notices, he cares, but your phone sits silent in your pocket and his heart, still sitting on the table, blackens a little more.

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

That night, after he’s passed out in your bed, you take his heart and can feel his love pouring out. You lock it in a drawer in the kitchen and swear you won’t unlock it until the end, until your hearts break and your side of the closet is empty.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But the way his eyes widen as you place his heart on the table, you know he doesn’t. He hadn’t even realized that you’d left it sitting in a locked drawer for five months before that morning, like he didn’t realize you knew yours was in a drawer in his office and that the heart in his pocket wasn’t yours.

He never held your heart in his breast pocket. It’s stupid that he thinks you wouldn’t notice. You did. Maybe it’s because of experience, from the bubbly, waxen burns present on the heart you gave him, but you knew.

You know this just like you know last time was a mistake, this — this is too big to be an accident. This is a web of lies, both yours and his. Talking about nothing, your eyes linger on his soft hair and you wish it didn’t have to be this way, that love didn’t have to end in tragedy and shattered trust.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

You’ve been burned before, have felt the backlash of a Heart Trade gone wrong and you used to think that made you clever, but two weeks after the lying began, you’re still dancing with him, pretending nothing is wrong. The fire only made you dumb.

Last time, you didn’t know. You were oblivious and you were pardoned, but that only works once. This time, you know. You know, but you want what you didn’t get at first, you want the happily ever after you’re supposed to have. What if you can change it? What if you can undo what he did and bring him back?

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

He’s stunned, when he sees the splotches his lies and cheating have left. His shock appears genuine. He’s naïve, like most. No one knows the marks left on a heart caused by love lost until they’ve lived through it. His naitivity isn’t the flaw here, your knowing is.

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

The weight ages him, lines deepening as he begins to get the gist of where this meeting is going. He’s wrong. You haven’t told him everything. He knows you know he’s been lying, but he doesn’t know that you know who it’s been with, that you can only find one person who wears the shade of lipstick you’d found smudged on his neck that first day.

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You won’t tell him. November is a secret that dies in your grave. You lied then, too. You also bought the plot of graveyard you will be buried in, beside the old heart you’d left. You’re too emotional, too attached to what you’ve lost, too poetic in how you’ll die, but there’s a kind of romance in it. A Shakespearean tragedy known only to one.

You spill a little more, that you know the nature of his lies. You explain the way of the Heart Trade. He doesn’t notice the long pause between tellings. He confesses his lack of knowledge, that he thought you’d never know. You stonily inform him that you would have, even without his heart in your hand. You’ve been through this before, remember. The heart is simply a screaming, neon sign that you can’t ignore.

Smiling, you crack a joke or two (maybe three) about the flaws of a Heart Trade. You don’t tell him everything, keep some secrets to yourself. You don’t tell him that you were doomed from the start, that one can’t really commit to a Heart Trade if they’ve gone through one already. You can’t give your heart away twice. A part of yours — the old heart, unblemished and unburned, lays in a cherry coffin.

It’s not for the best, but you know it’s a lesson best learned from experience. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. He’d probably spout some nonsense about never loving you and that’s simply not true. The Trade wouldn’t have gone through if it was. You loved him too, at the start.

Wearily, unknowingly, he laughs along. You tell him you’re ending it here. You push his heart across the table and he sees the watercolor staining your fingers. That’s what happens when you break a deal, you explain. The other is left marked, tattooed in his failure to love only one.

Another unfair deal. You had done nothing, yet you’re the one that can never escape. Reddish-purple blotches and separate locked drawers will always haunt you and that’s okay. They can get in line. You have other demons, far bigger and scarier than neglected hearts, lies, and the shadow of a coffin engraved in your head.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

The shocked stupor you’d left him in with the unspoken promise of never seeing him again is another demon you’ll never outrun. Your things are already packed and gone from the house you shared. Packing had hurt and so had your meeting, but not all endings are bittersweet. Some are just bitter.

The chill makes you tug your sleeves down a little, covering some of the red splotch that runs down your wrists. You’d lied to him, sort of. The mark is as much on you as it is him. It appeared when you let him stray, when you let it bleed on your hands because damn you if you didn’t still love him.

But as you walk away from the crowded coffee shop where you broke your lover’s heart and left him reeling, you swear that you’ll never give your heart away again. You’ve lost twice. You won’t risk a third. (But things always come in threes, so maybe you will.)

This time, you swear you’ll keep your word. But a locked drawer is easy to unlock and holding his heart had made you feel better, like you weren’t about to lose him, like you hadn’t already lost him.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

@caffeinewitchcraft hope it’s okay that I did this and tagged you. Sorry if not, but I think this is a decent piece? I mean, I’m not too fond of parts of it, but as a whole, I think it’s pretty cool. Hope you liked it!!!

I think this is a pretty cool world. Maybe I’ll revisit it again one day, but its not a priority. The Soul Keeper world and Hero worlds have priority.

#my writing #prompt fill #writeblr #writers on tumblr #caffeine challenge #sorta #heart trade #love #heartbreak #breakup #tw cursing #heart trade world #im not a huge fan of how i gloss over and ignore their past #but at the same time #it kinda works?#idk #but I imagined that their old so had like a drunken one night stand #that was a mistake #and they came clean #made their apologizes and made up #but they died one night in a bad storm #with a bouquet of flowers or something addressed to 'my love' or smth #and they always wondered if it was for them or another fling they had #and no one knows about the cheating #so their heart was buried with him. an old ritual for only the purest most devoting of loves #their hearts never healed from that mistake #their lie was about forgiving their first so #they didnt #and that haunts them #sorry for rambling in the tags

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nikkywrites · 4 years

Text

Heart Trade

Summary: She shouldn’t have given her heart away. Not again.

Throwback to when I did a caffeine challenge for the fun of it. This is still something I like and am proud of. It’s still exactly 2k and that still makes me happy.

No edits. Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but it works. Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

Yay! So relieving having something that I didn’t need to edit at all. Still love the sadness of this.

#writeblr #writblr #writing #creative writing #heartbreak #caffeine challenge #sorta #nikkywritesstories #my writing #love #breakup #heart trade #no rambling in the tags this time haha #just imagine your own backstory i guess since i glossed over it #and probably wont come back #repost from my old blog

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embarrassingsmartphonegame · 5 years

Text

Anything (Chapter 5) - Nik Ryder x f!MC

Summary: After surviving an attempt on her life, she discovers there are worse fates than dying. And they’re all ice cold.

Warnings for this chapter: gun violence, swear words, and some fluff

Links to previous chapters: one // two // three // four

True to her word, Leah returned to Nik’s apartment a few hours later with more sleep under her belt than in the past three months. She smiled shyly as she walked into his apartment and noticed that he shaved his beard to his old neat stubble, and her stomach did a funny flip as he led her to his car. The two made disjointed small talk coupled with long bouts of silence; it was as if the events of the previous night hadn’t happened now that it was daylight and the two were more awake, more sober. And neither wanted to admit that they were surprised by the turn of events.

Leah still tried to wrap her head around the fact that not only did Nik not hate her after she suddenly left, but he was also willing to go with her to Lamrian on her wild goose chase to find herself. And Nik was still wary it was all a dream or a trick and that she wasn’t actually there with him, that he truly had lost her like he lost everyone else in his life. Both stole sneaky glances at the other as they drove Nik’s car and walked through the woods and eventually towards the vast, open fields to the cathedral guarding Lamrian quietly, still keeping a careful distance from each other.

“Soooo…” Leah began, keeping her eyes trained forward. “Anything weird happen at the Graveyard Shift while I was gone?”

“I mean...it’s always weird in this city,” Nik replied, his eyes also trained forward. “But Garrus and Krom are still going strong. Never seen either of ‘em that happy; it’s kinda cute but kinda gross.”

“Aww, that’s so great! They deserve each other!” Leah remembered that night she and Ivy convinced Krom to make a move since it was so painfully obvious they liked each other. “Is Ivy still making you hunt ghosts for her services?”

“Strangely enough, she hasn’t been accepting any requests lately,” Nik chuckled, shaking his head as he recalled the time Leah tagged along to hunt a ghost for Ivy. “I think she’s been busy with some research. Something about her New York vampire Internet friend’s friend dying and then turning into a vampire while being a Bloodkeeper, whatever that means. And I think trying out some human video games with that same friend.”

“Okay now that’s wild, complete bonkers. I hope that person’s okay; dying wasn’t exactly a walk in the park…” Leah shivered, all of a sudden feeling cold even in the late spring weather of Louisiana. She tried to block out the memories that plagued her for a good two months after she left New Orleans.

“I know I probably shouldn’t ask, but how did you cope after everything?” Nik asked, glancing at her to make sure she was okay. “I can’t even imagine what that was like for you. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“How did I cope? Well...I didn’t.” Leah laughed mirthlessly, a smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I think I already told you the majority of it: stuck with my boring office job, avoided my mom, tried to pass the time with hobbies but failed so I got drunk a lot and did a bunch of people and other bad stuff. But probably the worst thing I did was cut my own bangs at 4am.”

“...Seriously?”

“Yeah I was having a crisis.”

“Because you saw your best friend get attacked, were hunted down relentlessly by a genocidal monster, found out your dad’s a Fae lord, saw your dad die, and then you died?” Leah blinked as he listed it all out in one breath; had she really been talking about it that much?

“Well...okay yeah pretty much. But also because I turned 25.”

Nik paused, confused. “What does that have to do with anything? Is that seriously a crisis?”

“A mid- okay fine not really, quarter-life crisis.” Leah let out a small laugh as she hazily remembered her conversation with Kristin, shaking her head and putting her hands in her pockets. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I’m only a year younger than you, rook.”

“Then we’ll have a talk a year from now.”

Nik let a grin spread across his features. “That mean you’ll still be here a year from now?”

Leah shifted her eyes for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was the perfect mix of playful and sincere. “Maybe.”

The two paused as they reached their destination. The castle guarding Lamrian loomed over them, its broken windows staring down at Leah like judgment. Leah felt very small. She felt as if she was a specimen on a petri dish placed under a microscope, and the Fae just behind those magical doors were scrutinizing her every being.

Leah froze in fear, and she could feel the panic rising in her tight, tight chest. Nik noticed her expression and instinctively took one of her hands in his, giving it a small squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. And I’m with you every step of the way.”

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t get a hold of her emotions, no matter how hard she tried or what she told herself she needed to do. Tears sprung on the corners of her eyes and ran down her face freely, and big, gasping sobs escaped from her mouth. She wrenched her hand from his, turned her back to the castle, and started walking away. Leah was hunched over and her hands grasped each other as she walked with Nik following her.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Leah could only see red, and that red was directed at herself. “I really dragged you out here for nothing! Why can’t I fucking face them?!”

Nik stopped her by placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her around so they were face-to-face. “Rook...breathe.”

She shook her head, trying to will the tears away but failing and launching into an anxiety-fueled. “Ugh, this is pathetic and embarrassing. I never should’ve stepped foot in Lamrian and I keep dragging you into my problems. I drag everyone into my problems! Kristin’s probably still paying for an entire week of hospital bills, Vera had to face her mom, Cal had to go against his pack, you and Katherine risked your lives by hunting Thomas down...fuck! When this was all happening, I should’ve just ignored you and stood in an open field and let the Bloodwraith—”

She was cut off by him pulling her into his strong arms, squeezing her so tightly she had no choice but to stop talking. “Don’t. I mean it, rook. Goddammit.”

“Why do you keep helping me?” she sobbed into his shoulder. “All I do is drag you down.”

He rubbed her back tenderly. “Because I want to. I care so damn much about you, rook, you have no idea.”

Before Leah could respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind them. Nik instantly positioned his body in front of hers, his crossbow aimed at the voice before Leah could even blink. He put it down once they realized that it was the same Fae guarding Lamrian. His lips were set in a straight line and his eyes devoid of any emotion, a soldier on duty.

“Daughter of Lamrian,” he kneeled reverently as he spoke. “You have returned. Welcome. Let me lead the way.”

“Thank you. But unfortunately, I can’t come inside. It’s not the right time.” Leah steadied her breath. She appreciated the fact that he ignored her crimson red eyes and shaky voice. “But will you please relay a message for Lady Thalissa for me?”

“Anything you wish is my command.”

“Please tell her that Lord Elric loves her and will be waiting for her. And that I’m sorry for everything that happened and will one day return. Just...not today.”

He nodded and straightened up, preparing to relay the message. Leah stopped him. “And also...this is for the people of Lamrian: I’m sorry. I’m just sorry that they lost a leader and an heir because of me.”

The Fae guard nodded again, his lips in a thinner, harsher line; Leah could have sworn that his eyes displayed hints of anger and grief before they fell into the trained dutiful expression. She let him walk away, and when he was finally out of sight in the castle she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.

“You did the right thing, rook.”

“Then why do I still feel so shitty?”

The two began to walk back to Nik’s car and eventually reached the woods. “It’d be weird if you didn’t feel like shit. It’s a lot, and sometimes you feel like you’re never gonna get out of that tunnel. But you will. And I’m here.”

“Nik, I--” But Leah was cut off by Nik suddenly shouting and tackling her to the ground as a knife embedded itself to the tree right behind where their heads were seconds before.

“Son of a bitch…” Nik muttered, quickly dragging them both back to their feet. “Can’t catch a break for one day!”

“What the fuck was that?!” Leah ran with him through the woods, her hand attached to his.

“He’s back. Remember that shapeshifter I pissed off? He must’ve followed us.”

“That I did, Ryder,” a snide, mocking voice replied from behind a tree. A man dressed in all black stepped out of the shadows. “A little birdie over your shoulder as you paid attention to your little girlfriend here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mark, it was nothing personal. Grave robbing is a sick, sick thing to do!” Nik got into a fighting stance with his crossbow on his shoulder and Leah directly behind him.

“You just can’t appreciate the intricacies of a human bone broth soup!”

Leah grimaced in disgust and poked her head out to the side of Nik’s body. “Ugh, that’s what you were using it for? That’s messed up.”

Mark’s eyes flashed with rage, putting his hands in his pockets. “Just shut up, and you’re dying with him!”

“To hell with you!” Nik shot several arrows at him, and Mark rolled out of the way and back into the shadows. “Leah, stay out of the way!”

“I’m not letting you do this alone!” Leah stubbornly replied, running after him hunting down the shapeshifter. She channeled all of her energy into her palms, but to no avail. “Seriously, let me help!”

“You can help by keeping yourself safe!”

“He’s right; this ain’t a place for ya, missy.” Mark threw another knife from the shadows, and Nik deftly avoided it and more arrows. But Mark turned into a crow and flew above their heads to avoid the attack.

He landed on a tree and turned into a jaguar, and promptly lunged at the both of them from above. Leah managed to get out of the way but Nik punted him in the abdomen with a powerful kick. Mark landed a few feet away, groaning in pain and back in his human form. But within seconds he pulled a pistol out and started shooting at them. Nik and Leah ran in a zig-zag formation with the murderous shapeshifter hot on their heels.

“Arghhh!” With Leah a few feet ahead, Nik suddenly went down, clutching the side of his right thigh. He pulled his hand away for a moment to assess the damage, and Leah could see a linear laceration on his skin from where the bullet grazed his leg.

Leah watched in horror as the shapeshifter suddenly appeared above Nik, a heavy boot on his hand nearest to his crossbow and the gun aimed at his head. Mark grinned maliciously. “Nighty night, Nighthunter.”

“NOOO!” Leah shouted, sprinting towards the barrel of the gun and blindly pushing her hands out in front of her. All of a sudden two identical blasts of light bounded from the palms of her hands, both hitting Mark square in the face. The skin and nerves on her hands were burning, but she didn’t notice or care, adrenaline pumping through her vasculature. She could feel a power, a deep and great power bursting forth from her core. With a shriek, she sent more blasts towards Mark, the power boundless and suddenly at her disposal to do what she wanted. And all she could focus on was destroying Mark.

“Leah! Leah!” A seemingly far away voice called her name, but it didn’t register until she felt two arms wrap around her from behind. “Come back to me! Rook!”

Leah stopped blasting at her target, and a white haze that she didn’t even realize was present suddenly dissipated from her vision. She finally realized where she was, and that she was responsible for the pile of ashes on the ground where the shapeshifter once stood. Leah fell to her knees and Nik went down with her, refusing to let go.

“I...I did that,” Leah whispered, looking down at her trembling hands. “My powers...they’re back!”

“You saved my life, rook.” Nik held her with one arm as he pressed down on the wound on his leg. “That was...that was the most power I’ve ever seen from someone.”

Maybe it was the fact that their faces were suddenly so close to each other, or maybe it was the fact that they avoided certain death again. Maybe it was the silence gathering around them, warm and electric. Maybe it was the tenderness in his expression as he held her. Leah brought one hand up to his cheek and pressed their lips together softly, and they both sighed in relief as they kissed. A warm, gentle rain misted around the pair. Leah pulled away, and both sported giddy, shy smiles.

“Not how I expected today to go...but this is perfect...well, perfect for us.” Leah hauled him up and to his feet and tied her light jacket around his thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. “Best way I could help was staying out of the way, huh?”

Nik shook his head in disbelief as they walked. “You are the most bullheaded and impossible woman I’ve ever met. I would be dead now if it weren’t for you.”

“Nik…” Leah began seriously. She knew what she finally had to do. “What happened today...I want to be with you. As your partner, both personally and professionally.”

His eyes met hers, and he searched for any signs of hesitation only to find none. His face was completely relaxed for the first time since she met him, and it sent her heart fluttering. “Are you sure about this?”

“You’re a mess...and I’m a mess.” She shook her head, chuckling incredulously. “But that just might be why we’re perfect for each other. I’m in love with you, and I think I’ve always known it. Being your partner is what I want, if you’ll have me.”

“Goddammit, Leah…” He laughed with her before he spoke again, his voice vulnerable and sincere. “I love you too. I want you with me every second, from the moment I wake up to when I rest my head. I want you with me in the trenches, and then I want you with nothin’ at all between us.”

Every word lifted a heavy weight off her heart, and Leah beamed as she took Nik’s hand. “That’s all I want, too...partner.”

The now-official couple reached Nik’s car, but instead of getting in, Nik opened his trunk. Leah quirked an eyebrow. “Getting something?”

“You could say that,” Nik replied, stepping out from behind the car with his hands behind his back. “I’ve had this in here since the day you got out of the hospital, and I couldn’t bear to even look at it. Now that you’re back, though…”

“Are you...nervous?” Leah couldn’t help the teasing, amused tone in her question as she noticed his blush. She had to admit it was odd yet slightly satisfying seeing him squirm.

“...You left this.”

Nik held out her cherry red leather jacket, the same one he gave her on her first night in New Orleans. Leah ran her hands down the soft, worn leather, smiling softly. “You really kept this all this time?”

“Well...yeah.” Nik rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Maybe I hoped that you’d come back one day.”

“Well you were right, Mr. Nighthunter.” Leah put the jacket on, relishing in the familiarity of the cool leather and smell of the bayou. “How do I look?”

Nik smiled brightly. “Like it was made for you, Ms. Nighthunter.”

She sidled up to the driver’s side of the car mischievously. “Awesome, now get in.”

“Wait, what? Who said you were driving?”

“You got shot in the leg! I need to take you to the hospital!”

The pair continued to bicker the entire ride to the emergency room, and amidst the chaos Leah grinned; she wouldn’t have it any other way. Everything was different, but maybe it would be okay after all.

==============================================

A/N: Andddd after almost 4 months (!!!)...I’m back on this series with a real chapter. Thank you so much to whoever has stuck with reading every chapter; this is my first time actually writing a multi-chapter fic. There’s one chapter left before I move on to my next Nightbound series, which is pretty much a sequel to this story and the canon story. I hope you enjoyed this, and I welcome any and all comments!

Tagging: @furiouscloddonutpeanut @nighthunterkatherine @saivilo @samara-rani @god-save-the-keen @xxdangerouscapri15xx @inlovewithrebels

#nightbound #playchoices #choices: stories you play #nik ryder #nik x mc #nik ryder x mc #choices fanfiction #choices #pixelberry #playchoices fanfiction #nightbound nik #phoebe writes choices #(and finally updates this fic after 4 months lol)

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thedeadvexillologist · 7 years

Text

04/03/2017 - An Experiment

I spent today doing pretty productive things, I think. I got the apartment mostly cleaned, meaning that I’ve gotten all the surfaces wiped down, and everything that my ex-roommate left after they moved has been organized in a decidedly “not-roommate” manner. Found more interesting things than I thought I would, and I might decide to Craigslist some of them for a bit of pocket cash to work with, who knows. I’ll have to check the going rates of these things on eBay at some point in the near future, maybe some of them can be worth a few bucks. Beyond that, though, this marks a point in a project that’s gone on for about a month, though I had originally planned for it to only last a week. The apartment was supposed to be cleaned (i.e. pretty much in the state it is now) before I took my vacation to New Orleans back in early March. However, some stuff happened, some things got thrown into chaos, and, while I did get the bulk of the work done on time, I didn’t get all of it done, and I didn’t consider the project finished. It’s still not finished, I guess. There’s still a few microprojects that need to be done before the apartment is fully cleaned, the fridge and oven should be deep cleaned, and I need to reorganize the shelf in my room where I’ve thrown everything I might feasibly need if certain situations arise, like rent or an explosion or something. But the rooms themselves are clean, and more importantly, organized, so maybe now I won’t lose random shit in the chaos that used to be the apartment.

I also tried to do some research on grad school. I’m still not 100% convinced it’s a pipedream at this point, but it’s the closest thing to a direction I have to move in, and I haven’t actually given it a shot, so I guess technically the dream isn’t dead. I compiled lists of all the documents I’ll need for all the programs I’ve decided to research in the three colleges I want to shoot for so far: Iowa State, U Iowa, and UAB. However, I don’t think three schools is a wide enough net to cast, and I don’t think it’s a terribly good idea, or even possible to apply to multiple programs in the same university (or maybe it is, who knows). But the problem there is that I don’t really know what to look for in schools in other states. I’m so familiar with the schools in Alabama and Iowa that I can narrow down the biggest and most likely candidates fairly quickly, but I’m kinda lost when it comes to other states. Not to mention I don’t want to move too far away from family right now, if only because some members are getting on in years, and I don’t want to be impossibly far away in the event of another tragedy. So basically that means I’m not going to look for schools in the northeast or west coast, which limits most of the high-end, cutting-edge schools, which I doubt I’d get into anyway. The trouble is I don’t know how far away is too far. Also the prospect of leaving Iowa isn’t terribly appealing at the moment for several reasons, most of them being that I’d have to uproot and leave some of my closest friends for good. On the other hand, the prospect of living here forever doesn’t sit well with me either, and neither does it sit well with my closest friends. One of said friends almost left for Des Moines earlier this year. They were stopped only by a conglomeration of forces, but the fact of the matter is they’re still in town, and as far as I’m aware they’re going to stay here for a bit. I’m immensely glad for that, but at the same time it makes the idea of leaving all the more difficult. I guess while every cloud has a silver lining, the opposite must also be true, which would be a sobering thought if I had any alcohol in me tonight.

I spent too much time struggling with the matter of researching grad schools, so I took a walk to try and clear my head and get something moving in there. I walked a mile to the northeast in the light rain, then circled back, and while stuff got moving, it was all chaotic and jumbled, as walking thoughts tend to be. Useful for thinking of scenes of action and importance, not quite so much the milder connective tissue that I tend to have the most trouble with in my writing. And ultimately that was the goal, to try to get my brain into a mode suitable for writing. A couple of my closer friends make art, and they’re both very good at it, but they both practice every day. I like to call myself a writer, mostly because of the grand stories I’ve developed in my head, but they’re useless unless they get put onto paper, but sadly that’s where the problem is. Putting ideas onto paper is difficult, and it’s very rarely perfect like I want them to be, which leaves me disappointed in the end, feeling like I’ve wasted the energy I put into the work.

But like I said, I don’t practice as much as I should. I used to write a lot more, back before the issues of being an adult hadn’t quite sunk in yet, and I simply had more time and less worries than I do now. I also used to keep journals. Quick, emotional things that I used to put down my thoughts during the most turbulent times of my life. The longest lasted about five months I think, but in the end I would always calm down, not feel the need to vent in a journal format, and eventually the journal would end and at some point I would burn it. I think I’ve gone through three in this manner, though it’s been a very long while, and I may not remember the earlier ones as clearly as I do the more recent ones. Anyway, the point is that when I was journaling, I was also writing outside of the journal. Emotional stress makes for a good partner to the muse, I guess. But it’s not really a productive form of writing in and of itself, and I never really mourned the end of the journaling stints. But during my walk I figured that this kind of non-productive, aimless writing could be analogous to the artist’s doodle, which in and of itself is a form of practice. So I guess I decided that if I can’t find the energy to start or restart one of my projects, I’d find the energy to just aimlessly ramble on paper for a significant amount of time, and I guess I’d hope that that will lead to a more productive form of writing later on, when I get used to the art of stringing words together again.

The big difference here is that I’m not in the usual state of life that I am in normally when I journal, I think. I’m not in a particularly turbulent stage of life right now. Quite the contrary, I’d describe my position as tentatively stagnant. I have a direction I want to go in, but I’ve missed the train for this year, so I have to build up my resume and try again in another six months or so. In the meantime, I can’t really leave, and I’m not really doing anything other than treading water (badly). So I’ve tried to make goals that I can try to meet so that when or if these plans fall through, I’ll still have some sort of order, and some framework with which I can keep everything centralized while I figure out what to do. One of those goals was to get the apartment in a presentable state, another one was to get back to my writing hobby, so that I have something I can do during my day that isn’t chopping salads or languishing on Youtube. Maybe it’ll lead to some sort of therapeutic epiphany that will help me on in life, or some such bullshit.

I’m also making these long journal entries digital and public, which are two things I don’t often do. Partly this is because all of my writing is done through a word processor since my handwriting is crap at best, but partly because it’s more difficult for me to burn something that’s both digital and public. I guess the idea is that there’s going to be a record somewhere of this, and that hopefully it’ll be more difficult for me to ignore something if I see it every day. I honestly don’t know. It’s an experiment. An aimless writer’s doodle that I’m making public on a whim because I don’t really have a reason not to since blogging exists as a form of an online public journal anyway. As for the length, they’ll probably all be about this long. If you don’t like it, I can think of a few things that need sucking, and I’ll be happy to direct you towards them. I dunno what I’ll write about, but I doubt I’ll limit it beyond what I like, what I find interesting, and what I feel like writing about on any given day. Also I doubt these things will have any sort of regularity to them beyond “more.” Hopefully that’ll be enough.

#Tod's Aimless Writing Thing #yeah that's probably a good enough tag for it #hopefully I'll remember it

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ryanjtrimble · 8 years

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Why Drug Addicts Should Get High On The Pink Cloud

Reading time: 7 minutes

When a drug addict gets clean he experiences a whole new high. This is convenient, given that the addict’s primary reason for not getting clean is fear of sobriety, for sobriety means facing life alone, without some emotionally numbing, mind-altering agent. But should the addict be lucky and determined enough to get clean, should he persist and overcome his fear of sobriety, he gets lifted on something he never thought he would: life.

Sobriety, as it turns out, is a high all its own, and it’s more exhilarating than all the previous highs the junkie has experienced. Ask him, when he’s four weeks sober, and he’ll tell you—despite being jobless, spouseless, penniless, and half toothless without a dental plan—that this new high is better than the high that follows 50 CCs of heroin or a dime-sized crack rock. This new high, which results from regained sensitivity toward life, is commonly called the Pink Cloud.

In recovery culture the Pink Cloud is considered a blessing and a curse. It’s a nice ride, sure, but it’s also as wily and deceptive as ole Screwtape. Old-timers and freshmen of sober living all warn the newcomer: beware of the Pink Cloud.

Why? What are the effects of a Pink Cloud high?

Well, there is faith and determination. Optimism. Resolve. Budding self-confidence. Honest introspection. Increased sensitivity to beauty and ugliness. A willingness to take risks, the kind that propel a soul upward instead of spiral him downward. A desire to create, to learn, to work. These are some of the symptoms of the Pink Cloud, the side effects, if you will. And it is precisely these effects that the sapling of sober living is told to be wary of. Misplaced confidence, ultimately, is the danger of the Pink Cloud.

When I got clean after a ten-year affair with opiates and pills and cocaine, the Pink Cloud rolled in and while high as a kite I made several life-changing decisions. I decided, in the midst of having to find work and transportation and a dwelling for my family, that I would go to college and study philosophy, become a photographer and writer, and forge a career that aligned with my near-forgotten interests. Pipe dreams, these were, for a thirty-five-year-old with a makeshift high school diploma, criminal record, and proclivity for running from difficulty. That’s what I was told, anyway.

I attended AA and 12-Step meetings of various sorts in those days, and I repeatedly saw sponsors and old-timers reprove the freshly sober for wallowing in the Pink Cloud. They implied, with few words, that the Pink Cloud alters perceptions in the same way a tab of LSD does: it renders the world blissful. But, like LSD, the trip is to be survived, not sustained. “This isn’t reality,” went the narrative. “You’re fucking high, but you’re going to sober up soon. You’re wafting in a cloud of sugary cotton candy, floating in a plush pink Cadillac, looking down on the world through rose-colored aviators, and smiling as though your favorite deity has guaranteed you access to pearlescent gates. But this cloud will evaporate and you’ll fall hard should you not voluntarily climb off now. Don’t dream or dare, for life will cut you down. And because failure feels acute after riding the Pink Cloud, you’ll try to escape on the skirt of some intravenous poison, some tonic that promises transcendence, some cocktail of powders and pills. You’ll again pick up the bottle or needle. You’ll be right back where you were.”

I chose to ignore this story, and I stopped going to AA altogether. I didn’t care to hear messages of “Be responsible. Don’t ruffle feathers. Play it safe.” I’d heeded similar messages for far too long, and to my mind that’s what led to my addiction in the first place. Recovery, they say, is about learning to be honest with oneself. For me, honesty meant, and still means, ignoring messages that contradict that quiet tune of the heart.

So I chose, instead, to saddle the Pink Cloud and ride it. I determined to follow every inclination that came to me while high on it. And when I was low, which was often while navigating the aftermath of my riotous decade, I held tight those visions I had glimpsed while in the clouds, visions which said: you can become who you want to be, but you must go boldly.

The Pink Cloud narrative in AA encourages the opposite. It tells the addict to be timid and cautious, to view the world as a set of mousetraps. Bold or risky moves can set these traps off and ensnare the addict. Thus AA recommends that the addict find a safe and comfortable routine, so that he can focus on his recovery and avoid relapse.

But the safe and comfortable path is still fraught with danger. Most addicts possess at least one of two personality traits, both of which are linked to addictive behavior: sensation-seeking and impulsivity. Like any predilection, these must be expressed rather than subdued. The addict must learn, if he is to recover, that his dispositions are not character flaws, as the Pink Cloud narrative suggests, but rather are positive qualities, best loosed via healthy outlets. It is when a person attempts to subjugate himself, in an effort to comply with some outside narrative, that warts and boils spring from his soul—often in the form of addictions. The sensation-seeking addict, especially, must resist the urge to squeeze himself into a box that others have marked "safe."

I’m not arguing that AA and the 12 Steps are harmful or ineffective. I might not be alive had I not embraced Step 1. I am arguing, however, that the thoughts and feelings one has while on the Pink Cloud should not be discounted. Is it dangerous to act on impulses that arise while zipping around on a cumulonimbus ride? Absolutely. But fortune favors the bold, and nature loves courage. The greater danger lies in ignoring the soul, for it sings loudest and truest when, having been in hell, it breaks free.

So, am I still on the Cloud? It’s hard to say. It’s been five years since I climbed aboard. I got that degree in philosophy, my photography has hung in local galleries, and various publications have featured my writing. The pay has been negligible, but the journey is rewarding. I like to believe I’m still high, and I do my damnedest to act on the irrational impulses that spark while my head is in the clouds. But I also sometimes want to veer into oncoming traffic. I get irritable and discontent and depressed, and I want to numb myself when I do. Today, though, a bike ride and a beer suffice. And I'm not sure I see the last five years as progress. Mostly I feel like I'm wandering, always wondering where the fuck this road goes, loving the trip and loathing it too. But wafting in the Pink Cloud while in early recovery helped me to develop habits that carry me through, habits I don’t think I would have developed had I listened to the “Beware of the Pink Cloud” narrative. Had I internalized that fable I’d still be hopping telemarketing floors, looking for golden Glengarry leads, chasing greenbacks, never reflecting on my inevitable death. I wouldn’t have picked up creative hobbies that have no practical application, hobbies that tickle my neurons every time I indulge them. I wouldn’t have burdened myself with the stress of college while working full time and supporting a family, or acquired a love for books. I wouldn’t have dreamed of hiking and biking mountains after all those trips to the ER with crack-induced chest pain and jaw numbness. But I’ve done and continue to do these things, because, maybe, I’m on a Pink Cloud.

It comes down to this: If a person is bold enough to ignore those messages about the dangers of drugs and come out alive on the other side, then he or she is bold enough to ignore messages about the dangers of dreaming and taking risks. Let’s be honest—since that’s what recovery is about—an addict needs to get high. And he’s not going to do that by taking the middle road. Instead, he must saddle the Pink Cloud, or bareback it if necessary, and ride it wherever it takes him, sunset or storm.

#addiction #recovery #pink cloud

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