#ive had many a therapists try to help me with this and uh we managed almost all my most disabling ocd symptoms but my germaphobia is still

[bunnyb34r]

Bleugh gotta go shower before I can lay down to nap but dont have the energy/motivation to get up and do that

[myarmsaretoolong]

so apparently i had a brainwave for a scene from my ironhusbands/bio-dad/riri fic and felt the need to write it down so uh... here i guess

very much unfinished and just a first draft but idk i think it’s a decent go

When Tony was a young boy, he still believed in family. That fate could throw together a handful of people who loved each other to the point of idiocy, and who would always have each other’s backs.

He believed in family right up until he realised Howard cared more about some long dead Super-Soldier fantasy than his own wife and son. Howard would always talk about Steve, about what he achieved and how he gave his life to save the world. Usually in the same breath in which he berated Tony for accidentally short-circuiting the lab. Nothing Tony ever did was good enough for Howard. How could it be when Steve’s legacy hung over his head?

Then there was his mum. She tried, god knows she was a saint compared to Howard. She’d watch movies with Tony, tuck in him at night, cuddle him as he held back tears after Howard’s last screaming match. But so much of her energy was spent dealing with Howard that she had little to give to Tony. It wasn’t her fault, he didn’t blame her for it, but that didn’t make up for much.

No, it was Auntie Peggy and Jarvis who really raised Tony. He’d spend his holidays from boarding school at Jarvis and Ana’s when he could get away with it. Auntie Peggy would visit when between SHIELD missions as often as she could.

But they weren’t family, they were just people. A small part of him realised that he wouldn’t let them be his family, but that was something he’d unpack later. Save it for when he inevitably got himself a therapist. Or, more likely, when Pepper and Rhodey dragged him kicking and screaming to a therapist.

Pepper and Rhodey, they were some more people. And the Parker’s, too. Just a handful more people. His people, but just people.

Fact: the closest he’d ever felt to having a family was when he’d brought Rhodey to his house for Thanksgiving. Howard was away on business, and Rhodey’s parents were on a cruise - they were going to celebrate together when they got back. So the three of them cooked together, laughing and singing along to the radio, then ate as much as they could without throwing up.

Of course, Howard showed up early the next morning. It was meant to be a surprise, but he’s seen Rhodey sleeping on Tony’s floor and flipped out. Within an hour, the pair were on a plane heading back to MIT. That was the last time Tony let Rhodey near his parents.

Another fact: this moment is probably the second closest he’s felt to having a family.

Ben and Richard’s deep laughter mixed into one sound. Rhodey tried his best to hide a smirk behind his hand, and Mary didn’t try at all to hide her eye roll.

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He didn’t like being on the outside of the joke. “Am I a chef?”

“Absolutely not,” May grinned.

Ben and Richard howled louder, leaning on each other and wiping tears from their eyes.

Tony drummed his fingers on the post-it note stuck to his forehead. “Not an actor, not a sportsman, not a chef…Are you sure I’m even famous?”

“Definitely famous.”

“Can’t be if I haven’t heard of them,” Tony muttered. He plastered a scowl across his face and folded his arms.

Ben and Richard reached the point where their laughter turned into silent gasps for air, faces turning bright red. Maybe they’d had one too many to drink, but everyone else was just as tickled by the game. Happy even cracked an all too rare smile, though quickly wiped it away.

“I think I know this person far too well,” Mary grinned, one hand resting on her belly.

That’s what brought this group of people together, one night back in February that led to an unexpected pregnancy. At first, Tony has been terrified by the prospect of being a dad, but now… well he still was terrified, but also excited. A few weeks later, Mary met Richard, then Tony met Richard, then Tony met Richard’s brother and his wife May, then finally the Parker’s met all of Tony’s friends. And the rest, as they say, was history.

Pepper quirked an eyebrow, trying hard to keep a straight face. “I think we all know this person too well.”

Tony slumped back with a sigh. “I quit, it’s a stupid game anyway.”

“We all know you just hate losing, Tones,” Rhodey smirked. He gestured for everyone to quiet down, waiting patiently until Ben and Richard got themselves under control. “Guess some people and we’ll tell you if you’re hot or cold.”

“Okay,” Tony rubbed his hands together. “Um… Gandhi?”

In a split second everyone in the room, bar Tony, cackled with uncontrollable laughter. Rhodey clutched at his stomach and doubled over, Pepper hid her face in Mary’s shoulder, Happy and May giggled away in their own corner.

“Cold, cold,” Rhodey managed eventually. “Like Arctic cold.” His comment only sent another wave of laughter around the room.

“That’s it.” Tony ripped the post-it from his head and turned it over, reading the two words that adorned it. TONY STARK. “Oh for the love of- Really?”

Rhodey threw his head back. Come to think of it, that handwriting was definitely his.

“That’s right, Platypus, laugh it up. I can take it.” He screwed the paper into a little ball and threw it across the room, then sagged back into the sofa, defeated. Soon, though, the sound of his own voice joined in with the laughter. “I suppose it is a little funny, in a sadistic kind of way.”

The laughter stopped as abruptly as it started when Mary let out a little gasp of pain. All eyes in the room went to her.

“Just a kick,” she waved away their worry. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Richard quickly sobered up. “I think we’ve got a footballer on our hands,” he said with a goofy grin. Tony would have said it was sappy if he didn’t have a matching one of his own.

Though his baby was biologically Tony’s, Richard was just as much it’s father. The three of them had sat down and discussed how their co-parenting arrangement would work. Ironing out the details as the months wore on. Neither wanted the other to be cut off of the baby’s life, and they all got along plenty well enough for the unconventional parenting setup to be a problem.

Tony was glad for Richard’s input. He didn’t know how to be a father, had hardly had one himself. He had a whole list of what not to do, but the rest was a mystery to him. Which is exactly where Richard stepped in, helped fill the blanks and make difficult decisions - like what colour was best to paint the nursery and which buggy is the safest.

um yeah, that’s what ive got. this is partly just proof im still working on this, and partly me trying to get over my recent writers block on the aladdin au

let me know what you think?

[goodnightyoongi]

[Yoongi x fem!reader] pt3

genre: hurt/comfort/fluff

rating: gen

word count: 2,5k

summary: Yoongi and you are childhood friends, but you’re overcome by inability to take care of yourself or your life, lately. He’s right by your side to help you, and you recently discovered there might be something more than friendship between you.

warnings: implied depression, some self-critical thoughts, alcohol, drunken kissing. 

Can be read as standalone, but this fic is part of a chaptered series:  

Part I: Catalyze

Part II: Flicker

Part IV: Release

Your arms were awkwardly clutched around your midriff as you watched Yoongi rummage around the crowded corner shop, throwing thing after thing into the shopping basket without much consideration. 

The two of you were probably a peculiar sight right now. One of you looked ready to hurl any second, uncomfortable about being out in public again, and the other one resembled a small-time burglar with his snapback, dark sunglasses and hoodie pulled securely over his head.

“Just want to remain incognito, is all,” was the explanation he provided you earlier, after you giggled at the sight of him as he picked you up. “Fangirls tend to recognize me a lot...not in the mood for writing a gazillion autographs today.

Your initial reaction to that statement made you inwardly kick yourself. You actually felt a tiny ounce of what could only be described as jealousy when picturing him with all these fangirls – before a rational, inner voice reminded you that you were, firstly, being very silly, and secondly, about to head out with him in just a moment.

Oh, how shamelessly smitten you had become. It had already been a week since he surprised you by kissing you before taking you out for coffee, but there had been no second one yet, and this fact pushed you back into the pit of insecurity.

Maybe you were hoping for too much. You were a commoner, dealing with an array of different issues, and Yoongi was Yoongi. Famous, while you weren’t, and even your friendship couldn’t change this fact.

“Alright, we're almost set...just need to get the – hey, what's up? Are you okay?”

Yoongi had noticed the sickly green pallor of your face, and now his dark irises were regarding you with concern. You forced a strained smile, quickly unfurling your arms.

“Oh, yeah, sorry...I just...I'm not really used to being around people, is all...”

Once again, you cursed the way your voice sounded so frail. And you cursed the way everyday tasks such as shopping were so difficult all of a sudden. 

Shopping. It should be easy as pie, but no.

Yoongi was quick to calm you, sneaking an arm around your waist in a bid to chase away the anxiety. 

“You're good, hun. It's all good. We're almost done, just sit tight while I pay.”

Some thirty minutes later he swung the door to his apartment in Hannam open, and you scuttled inside, grateful to escape the ruckus of the busy streets of Seoul. Yoongi's gaze lingered on you, wandering to your behind as you bent down to untie your shoes, and this didn’t go unnoticed by you. You were flustered as you straightened out, and he smirked apologetically.

“Oh god, I’m sorry...I was staring, wasn't I...you just...you look really nice today, sweetie. Well you always do, but...” 

He paused, stepping closer, and your ears instantly heated up. You’d finally washed all your laundry, and the neat combination of light jeans and a loose white top apparently caught Yoongi's eyes.

“You're the most beautiful girl I know, you know that?”

“No I'm not –“

“Y/N...what did I tell you?”

Yoongi dug warning eyes into you, his arms tight over his chest. You yielded with a sigh. This guy wasn't about to allow one single chunk of self-critical narrative escape you anymore, that much was apparent by now.

“Sheesh, okay, okay...I'll accept the compliment...thanks.”

Yoongi looked satisfied, and a while later you were seated by the kitchen island with a glass of wine in your hand. You sipped it casually, trying your best to seem relaxed and unbothered.

Come on. Pull yourself together.

But you felt on edge, even though you'd been in this exact same scenario with Yoongi a million times before. 

Yoongi had discarded his hoodie, and you discreetly watched his t-shirt-covered back as he prepared dinner – just like you had a million times before. And your lower regions stirred just a little as you witnessed the muscles in his arms tense, veins getting more prominent as he cut up some vegetables – just like he had a million times before.

But now was different.

Now your feelings might be reciprocated. You still weren't entirely sure, though, but your sky was illuminated by a big fat maybe.

You cleared your throat, taking multiple distracting sips of wine to calm yourself.

“So um...you guys are just on a break now, then? No shows coming up or anything?”

Yoongi swung around, grabbing his own glass of whisky and stirring the liquid slightly. “Had some stuff scheduled, but I canceled it. I’m taking a few months off, we’ve been working so much this year...so yeah. Have all the time in the world to spend with you, sweetness.”

“BTS taking a break. That's a first. Are you sure the charts can handle that?”

“They’ll have to. I should have taken one earlier. You've been lacking from my life...way too much the past year.”

A blanket of melancholy settled over his face. You wondered what he was thinking. Was he, perhaps, thinking the same as you – that so many years had passed, that so many hidden feelings were harbored and never acted upon, and now the two of you were here. 

And maybe about to change that?

Yoongi blinked cryptically, before returning to his vegetables, and your heart performed a series of double somersaults. The bubble Yoongi created for the pair of you was safe, and you never wanted to step outside of it.

Never. 

Being in here was easy, here in Yoongi's lofty penthouse, tucked away from the real world with all its scary responsibilities.

Unfortunately, Yoongi decided to poke a hole in the protective layers of said bubble, just a moment later.

“Anyway, so...sorry to bring this up, but...have you given any more thought to return to school...to uni...soon?”

Yoongi's face fell when he saw you turn gloomy following the touchy subject. It had been avoided like the plague the past week, but of course you were aware, even though you just postponed it. 

Your mail was overflowing, flooded with reminders of overdue assignments and missed schedules, your phone full of unanswered calls from the guidance counselor. 

You didn’t avoid it by choice, but it had just...happened.

“I have,” you answered, gaze lowered. “Well...no I haven't...but, I know. I know I need to take care of it. I'll get kicked out soon unless I do, but...it just feels so overwhelming.”

Your tone was brittle as you hung your head in shame. The truth was you had made attempts to deal with it daily, but it was hard.

“Hey. Look at me,” Yoongi requested when he noticed your dejection. “It'll be okay. You can do it, just need to start small. But you should go see your school counselor you know, explain the situation, and uh…”

He paused a moment, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. You weren't sure you liked where this was going. You grabbed the glass of wine, chugging the rest of it in one go.

“...I think you should consider seeing a therapist. To talk about this, the struggles you're facing with your mental health and...everything.”

Yoongi's hand had sneakily crept into yours, and he sighed when you instantly ripped it away and pushed your chair back.

“I'm not crazy, okay, I don't need –”

“Y/N.” Yoongi's voice had a sharpness to it now, and it silenced you before you even had a chance to expand on that note. He continued, cautiously, with a hand brushing loose strands of hair out of your eyes as he moved closer.

“No one said that, pumpkin. It doesn't mean that. It doesn't mean you're crazy. But you might be...depressed. And there's help for you, ways to deal with it.”

“I'm not depressed,” you claimed, weakly. An uninvited tear clawed its way out, rolling down before you could prevent it. You angrily mopped your cheek dry, and Yoongi settled a hand on your neck, gently running it down your back.

“Y/N...I know it’s daunting. But you need to figure things out with uni, alright. I'll come with you, baby. You'll be okay. Don't worry about it, we'll handle it.”

You stared at the white marble of the kitchen island a moment, gratitude warming your chest because he said we. You managed a wordless nod, and Yoongi gathered you into a sideways-hug.

“Good. I'll give you a refill of wine, just a sec. Oh, and the stew should be ready soon.”

Yoongi was an excellent chef, but even despite this, eating wasn't the easiest for you, because your appetite had disappeared somewhere unknown the past few months. This fact was neither appreciated nor accepted by Yoongi.

“Come on, sweetheart. Need to eat,” he tutted from across the table, and you sighed, peering out the tall window. The sky was a periwinkle blue, a congregation of soft cotton clouds passing by in the distance, and the view was majestic from up here – it was perfect. You wish you could be too.

But Yoongi shushed you when unnecessary apologies started falling off your tongue, and somehow you managed. Half the plate, with the help of patient cajoling and encouraging nods.

Drinking wasn't hard, though, and Yoongi was the epitome of sweet and gentlemanly as he prepared fresh cocktails for you to sip on during the course of the meal. By the time you moved to the couch you had become charmingly flushed, slurring a little on your words as you thanked your host for dinner. 

“You seem a little tipsy, baby,” Yoongi observed, chuckling when you almost spilled your mojito down your chin as you attempted to take another sip. “Want to try a bit of whisky?”

“Oh, hell no. That shit is nasty.”

“It's an acquired taste. You're just too much of a kid still.”

You glanced at him, feeling your body gradually heating up to blazing temperatures. The comfortable buzz traveling through you thanks to the alcohol definitely didn’t help slow it down. Yoongi's lips looked so pink, so soft, his fingers so elegant and inviting when he raised the whiskey glass to his mouth.

You wanted those fingers to wrap around you.

Impulse overtook you, a coil of tightly packaged desire that spurred you into closing the distance between the two of you. The bitter taste of whiskey mingled with sour lime in your mouth as you pressed your lips against Yoongi's, and the kiss was sloppy, but tender. You half-expected him to jerk away, but he didn't – instead he wrapped arms around your waist, pulling you against himself with a possessiveness that made your downstairs regions scream at you to move this forward asap.

It had been ages since you’d been intimate with anyone. Ages. And this was your dream. Your longtime crush, your Yoongi.

Yoongi's hands were all over you, his fingers threading through your hair, his tongue finding its way into your mouth – but when your brain finally caught up, you ripped yourself away, catching your breath as Yoongi's inky eyes blinked at you in surprise.

“What's up?”

“I'm...shit, I'm sorry, Yoongi...I shouldn't have thrown myself at you like that, like what the hell...I don't know what I was thinking...”

You turned away from him, lowering your head into your hands. Once again you’d just assumed that he was game for whatever it was you wanted...and one kiss meant nothing. After all, Yoongi had acted totally blasé since then, like it never even happened.

A hand settled on your shoulder, tugging in a request for you to turn around.

“Yeah you should, dummy. Why apologize, huh? I want to kiss you.”

“Then why haven't you yet?” You straightened up, glaring at him. You knew you probably sounded accusatory and like a brat and you might regret this, but you couldn't help it.

“Why haven't you, since...last week? I mean...I thought you shared the same feelings as me but then you just didn't make a move and I figured –”

“I didn't want to rush you,” Yoongi bit you off, his eyes radiating sincerity mixed with regret. “I wanted it to be your call, and not just...eh, screw it. That was a mistake. I care about you so much, Y/N. I want to do everything right.”

His lips moved impossibly close again. The backdrop turned into smudged colors and vague contours as his warm breath pumped you full of life again, woke your body from its slumber, made you limbs tingly with need. And you could do little to stop it.

The room around swam around you when you parted from him, roughly pushing him onto his back and settling on top of him, your movements jerky and hasty. You eagerly kissed him, arching your back and grinding against his crotch and smirking when you noticed the blatant hard-on forming inside his jeans. 

“Wait, hold up, hun...wait a second.”

Yoongi had a firm palm on your chest suddenly, acting as a roadblock, and you couldn’t help but feel wounded as you came to a surprised halt.

“What's wrong? Don’t you want me?”

Yoongi shook his head, violently, his hand moving up to cradle your heated cheek. “God, Y/N. I want you. I want you okay, I want nothing more. But...you're drunk, and I'm not. I don't want to take advantage of you, I need you sober. Okay?”

“You're not taking advantage of me,” you stated grumpily, and Yoongi pushed himself onto his elbows, tilting his head sympathetically. He scrambled into sitting again, but you shied away, still reeling from the rejection when he attempted to haul you in.

“Y/N...baby...don't get any funny ideas. I want you. Your mind, your body. But you've been cooped up at home a long time, okay, alone...and this is still new. We have to go slow, i don’t want to hurt you.”

You grumbled something inaudible in response, refusing to look at him. He moved the curtain of hair away from your eyes, his voice honest and pleading when he spoke.

“Please, hun...don’t take it the wrong way. You’re beautiful, I mean you noticed what effect you had on me, but...I just want to treat you well, and I need you to be onboard and completely clear-headed...because you mean the world to me. Okay, pumpkin?”

“Fine...okay, fine” You relented with a huff, but it transformed into giggling when Yoongi dragged you into his arms, peppering your cheeks with kisses.

“Good. Want to watch a movie? What do you fancy?”

You cruelly picked out a horror flick even though you knew your couch company hated them with a passion, and Yoongi agreed with a sigh, stating “anything for you, hun.” He threw a blanket around you, wrapping it around you snugly and collecting you into his arms as the opening credits rolled on the TV screen.

Silence followed as the lame plotline took off, but you weren't focusing on it. You were trying your hardest to still your beating heart, rays of warmth shooting through you when Yoongi drew you closer in, breathing hot air into your hair as he burrowed his nose into it.

It took a while for you to muster the courage to phrase the question lingering on your tongue, but you finally managed it.

“So...do you want to...”

“Be your boyfriend?”

You were stunned. You actually had planned on asking if he wanted to go for a proper date, but this was much better. Yoongi gripped your chin, turning you towards himself with an affectionate smile.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend for quite some time,” he mumbled, before leaning in for a kiss that made you drunk. Drunker than all the alcohol you'd had during the course of the entire evening.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter IV: Funiculì, Funiculà

It’s been over a year and a half since the incident. To think that so much time passed and yet I find myself unable to say “a lot has changed since then.”

Still, as my therapist often told me, it was all a process.

That I had a therapist was, in of itself, a process. One which took much deliberation. Sensible or stubborn, I refused to seek help from my old place of work, and instead sought out a private therapist who would come visit every other week. There were other places I could have gone, I realize, but I was just too afraid to venture outside. Even with the idea of a brighter future ahead, I was just so afraid of the outside world and its potential to be cruel.

Our most recent session in particular was rather devastating (but each one was, just as it was devastating to have an earnest conversation with anyone) and left me drained afterward. It had went something like this:

“I thought things would be better from here on out,” I told her, who sat across from me on the sofa, and jotted notes down as I spoke. “Like, I was finally free – and I am, don’t get me wrong. But in spite of that, I’m still so scared that there are still people out there who mean to do me harm. Or that I may snap and cause them harm. I feel like such a mean person, but I don’t want to be.”

“There are scary people out there, for sure,” was her reply.

“That’s all? No ‘but’?”

She shook her head.

“But I don’t want to live in fear!” I protested.

“It’s normal to have such a response to the outside world, given what you’ve been through.”

“It’s just...I feel so weak, you know? I feel like I used to be so strong, but now I can hardly do anything. This was supposed to be the start of better things for me, but instead I’m finding it difficult.”

“It is difficult, and the start of better things often are.”

“But it feels like I’ve regressed, rather than moved forward.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I break down easily. I think about how I used to act and it appalls me. But at the same time, I miss aspects of who I was. How I could keep in all these feelings and keep a face of someone calm. I would do whatever I felt necessary in order to do the things I wanted in my life. But...I knew it was coming to an end, even then. I just couldn’t sustain myself that way. I was starting to give up. Even back then, I missed who I was before that: someone who could fight and say whatever was on her mind. I thought I accepted the idea that if I were to die the next day, I would be content, because there nothing else I could do.”

“But here you are. You’re still strong. You need to see that just because you’ve dealt with traumatic events in your life doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be this way.”

“Battles often aren’t without their scars.”

“I guess…” I looked away for a bit. The apartment really was small. There were so many thing I still didn’t feel ready for, yet I wanted to dive right into them. “Is there nothing I can do?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It may be difficult, but I think you can live a better life. You’ve already made so much progress, I hope you see that.”

My initial thought was to ask “such as?” Instead, I thought about what kind of progress that could be.

“Yeah. I moved into a new apartment. I still don’t feel like I can work a job, but I’ve started to cultivate some plants out on the back deck and I think I want to have an orchard eventually. This apartment is really just a first step. I want to live away from the city, have a garden in a remote area, growing my own fruits and vegetables. I’m not sure if, or when, it will happen, but at least I have someone who supports me.” I took a deep breath. “I managed to seek therapy. Talk to someone other than who I live with.”

“I’m glad you acknowledge that.”

“Yeah, I, I just don’t know,” my voice started to crack. Come on, hold back the waterworks for just five minutes. She’ll be gone soon. “I want to be able to go outside without being so afraid.”

“You don’t have to go into crowds, you know. Even just going to the back deck is something.”

“Yeah, but what if I need to, like, to get groceries or something?”

“Hmm…” She pondered, tapping the end of her pen against her chin. “Maybe you could start slow. Would it help if you held your wife’s hand and took a walk around? You don’t have to go very far.”

“Yeah, I think that could work. I’m afraid of crowds, but I think I could even visit her every now and then at the Saturday Market. She’d probably like that. I think I’d like that, too.”

“Oh yeah, you told me about that last time.”

“I’m the one who encouraged her to do so, since she’s always making things, anyway. It’s surprising, but enough people like what she does that we’re able to pay rent with the earnings.”

Why is it so surprising? You wouldn’t have encouraged her if you didn’t have confidence in her skills.

“That’s great. See? That’s a strong thing right there.”

“Mm,” I looked down. “I guess. It’s just hard. Like I’m learning to be the person I want to be.”

“Life is a constant learning process.”

There were other talks after that; back and forths about mindfulness and acknowledging each moment. By that time, however, I had already zoned most of it out and was just nodding along. I was too emotionally drained. She could tell as well, so we wrapped up our session, arranged a time for our next session, and I saw her off.

Then, I leaned my head back on the couch. One problem that never got brought up was a recent development: gaps in my memory have started to resurface. Things from long ago, and even things that by all accounts, I should’ve remembered. Like the early days with the one who I would end up spending the rest of my life with. Speaking of, I decided to text her:

Me: I’m done with my session jskjsksjksjskjskjs

Then I passed out.

I woke up to feel someone nudging me.

“Oh my! I thought you were keysmashing but turns out you fell asleep with your thumbs on your phone!”

I rubbed my eyes as I groaned. “Therapy is exhausting,” I informed her, my voice groggy.

“Uh, yeah? Everyone knows that.”

“How did I ever manage it?”

She shrugged. “Beats me. You were never that good at it.” “Hey!” I retorted.

“Well, okay, you were good at making people think you were good at it. You did what you thought would help with what little knowledge you had. Presentation counts for a lot, so your colleagues probably never thought to question it.”

“Why did you ever let me go through with it?”

“I think I said at the time that you didn’t have to, but you were pretty insistent.”

Sounds about right, given what I knew about myself.

“It’s not fair,” I grumbled. “I always end up crying during these sessions. I bet therapists never cry.”

“How much you got?” She took to a sly expression. “I bet they do. They probably wait after the session and then bawl their eyes out.”

We both laughed at that remark.

“So what’d you two talk about, anyway?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t really want to rehash it.”

“Okay, fine by me! But I’ll be around if you do.”

“...It was just about how I’m scared to go out in public and she suggested you come with me and we could hold hands.”

She gasped. “You just breached confidentiality! You have to go to jail now!”

“What?! No! That’s not how that works!” I protested. “It’s the therapist who can’t talk about the things said without express permission from the client! I volunteered that information to you!”

“Nope. Do not pass go. Sorry, babe. I don’t make the rules. I’ll miss you, but I promise to write.”

“Oh my god! You’re too much!” I burst into laughter.

“So, wanna try it?”

“Hm?” I looked at her.

“The handholding thing. Sounds fun.”

“We’ve held hands before. Practically all the time.”

“Yeah, but wanna do it...therapeutically?”

“Yeah. I think it would help.”

“And, y’know, if it helps, I could sit in on one of your sessions sometimes. Hold your hand while you tackle tough emotions.”

To that, I shook my head. “This is something I want to confront alone.”

“There you go again, bein’ all stubborn. That part of you’s never changed,” she wagged her finger.

“Well, if you want, you could sit in on me...in the bedroom…” I covered my hands over my face. “That was phrased weird. I can’t do suggestive talk.”

She rolled around the couch in hysterics, laughing it up.

“Will there be biting?” She asked, once she finally calmed down.

“Lovingly.”

“Yay!”

We walked together into the bedroom and curled up, our legs tangled in each other. She tittered, ran her fingers through my hair, and smiled. That she acted so giddy every time we would lay together made it so that I couldn’t help but smile as well. First, we started off by kissing, arms wrapped around each other, then we sat up; I watched as she unbuttoned her blouse, and I, in turn, slipped out of my shirt.

Everything was going well, with me giving her light pecks across her neck, down her chest. But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the scar on her shoulder and remembered the cause of her injury.

“I’m sorry,” I pulled away. The tears were already starting to work their way down even though I knew she didn’t think ill of the whole thing. “I don’t think I can continue.”

“Aw, it’s okay.”

Instead, I leaned in close, and she held me tight against her. The image would have been an odd one, had I the ability to see outside of myself. Although I was taller, often times I thought of her as the bigger person.

“Would you like to take a nap?” She asked.

“Not yet,” I muttered.

“Would you like me to take over and help you feel better?”

Weak, I nodded, then I leaned back and let her shower me in affection and pleasure. It felt wrong, selfish of me, not to reciprocate, but it was just like that: images of the past come to mind and sometimes they affected me, while other times I was able to take a more active role and exist in the moment.

At least there was no desire to be aggressive. No itch for greater and greater levels of intensity. Instead, I could take my time and let it come in its own time. There would be another opportunity to bring her pleasure later in the evening. For the time being, I found myself brought to a high, and then, as I reached my peak, I fell back. She kissed my cheek, then, snuggled up to each other, we both fell asleep.

Needless to say, there were still a few difficulties to overcome. It was all an adjustment process, I knew that. But I didn’t want to find myself so needy that I couldn’t do the most basic of things, like going outside in public, unless she was around.

So a few days later, I got up out of bed, after having slept in. She had already left earlier in the morning to go work at the Saturday Market. While home alone, I bathed, then slipped into a bath robe, made myself a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, and after, took to the couch and read a book.

Around noon, I began to grow restless. I knew that if I just waited a few hours, she would come back home, but that wasn’t it. I wanted to try going out on my own. After changing into a tie dye shirt and jeans and slipping on some shoes, I inched toward the door, my heart pounding all the while.

Once out, I started to feel more and more agitated. I wasn’t very far from home, but the thought that there were other people nearby already got to me.

“Not much further. I don’t need to go far,” I told myself under my breath. But each step, I thought to be more daring, and soon, I was near where the crowded streets began. Soon, the sea of others’ voices drowned out my own thoughts and both my mind and my heart were racing. I was about to turn back when one voice stood out among the others.

“How long does it take to do such a simple assignment? ‘Divide and conquer’, she said. Well, I’ve already taken care of my targets, so what’s taking her so long?” Came a low and icy voice, from someone who sounded rather annoyed.

Assignment? Divide and conquer? Targets? This isn’t good; I’m having irrational thoughts of what the implications of those words could mean.

I looked around to find whose voice that belonged to, and at last, I saw her: someone about as tall as I was in stature, with a thick red vest, who stood in the middle of the sidewalk, as if everyone around her didn’t exist. She shivered, was hunched over, and seemed to be typing at her phone.

Images of that incident flashed in my mind, but rather than run away and cower, I found myself approaching her, and then the words escaped from me:

“Rhea? Is that you?”

“Huh?” She turned around. It was more clear that it wasn’t her from up close: she had darker hair, almost blackened, but with a hint of red to it. “Do I know you?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else, but you couldn’t be her, since she died.”

“I see. That’s rather strange to come up to strangers and mistake them for dead people,” she remarked as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. Beside her were a couple of bags. “Do you do that often?”

“No, I –”

“Also, I’m Remora. Not whatever you just said.”

“Sorry. Really.”

She went back to her phone. “Seriously? She still hasn’t replied?”

“Um...may I ask what’s wrong?”

“Just my partner. We were going grocery shopping and we decided to split the list, but she’s taking forever. I’m considering just leaving without her.”

“Partner? As in couple?”

She glared, almost a scowl.

“No.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I considered walking away, since I had already troubled that Remora person enough, but I figured she was frustrated and I thought I could try to help diffuse the situation.

“Are you in a hurry?” I asked. “If not, maybe you could find something to do in the meantime.”

She looked around, her arms still huddled as she shivered, then returned her gaze to me. “No. None of these things are perishable. What would you suggest?”

Crap. I just put myself on the spot. Great.

“Well, you could, uh...sit at a park, maybe?”

“No.” She shot me down. “Hm…who are you, anyway?”

That took me by surprise, but I told her my name.

“I see. Do you want to get a drink?”

“Like, at a bar?”

“No, at the denist’s office,” she replied. Okay. I could tell when someone was being sarcastic.

She waited for a response, but when I didn’t know what to say, she spoke again: “yes, I meant a bar.”

“Maybe I should let my wife know first. I don’t know.”

“Do you need your wife’s permission to do everything?”

“It’s...It’s not like that!”

“Well, are you coming or what?” She tapped her heel.

“Y-Yes!” I didn’t know why, but I felt like I should accept the offer and hang out with her.

She started to walk off and I hurried behind, my eagerness to interact with someone other than the person I lived with outweighing my anxiousness of being out in public.

“Sorry again, by the way. You really did seem like her from a distance, you even talk and act a little like she did.”

“People don’t come back from the dead, Vesuvius.”

“Right! I know that!”

“Pick up the pace,” she instructed. I didn’t know what it was about her, but there was something there that itched at me, as if no matter how hard it was to think otherwise, it really did seem like I was face to face with Rhea with the key exception being that we were doing something so normal as going out drinking together. It both excited and terrified me.

At the bar, we next to each other at the counter. Few other occupants resided; it must have had to do with the time of day.

“Get me a cold one,” she told the bartender.

“A cold what?” He replied.

“I don’t know. Whiskey? Vodka? Does it matter? Something strong and cold.”

Just like you?

“What about you, missy?” He turned to me. That annoyed me. ‘Missy’.

“Miss is just fine,” I replied. “I’ll just have a pomegranate martini.”

“My bad, miss.”

“Good. You’re sticking up for yourself,” she commented.

That took me by surprise. I turned to her. “I try my best. People scare me, but I still need to assert myself.”

“It might irritate other people, but that shouldn’t matter,” it sounded like she was agreeing with me. “Others can deal with it, if it’s what matters to you, you should speak up about it.”

“Um, thank you?”

“Just stating facts.”

Well, in that case, I prefer Ves.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Oh. Then why didn’t you tell me that was your name?”

“Vesuvius is my name, it’s just that I like Ves more.”

“All right, then. Ves it is.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugged. “I’m just here to kill time. I can spare a few courtesies.”

Right, and I was just there because I mistook her for someone who used to want me dead and who I, in turn, caused her death. But yeah, let’s just say we were both killing time and I wasn’t nervous as all hell.

I turned to her and noticed her arms crossed as she rubbed her hands against her upper arms while her back was hunched over. Her back was hunched over and I watched her take labored breaths.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

“It’s the atmosphere,” she replied, brisk and low in her tone.

“You were shivering when we were outside, too.”

“I’m not used to the climate, that’s all. I live up north.”

So that’s what it was. For a second, I thought…Ah. Here I was, sitting next to someone I had just met and all I could think about was someone I barely knew for three days before said person died. To think that the time we met was so short, but I found myself so affected by her. Not to mention, how we were enemies.

“What? Why are you crying?” She sounded genuinely surprised. I reached for a napkin to wipe my eyes with.

“Sorry, I...sometimes I cry when I get sad,” I tried to explain.

“Isn’t that normal for most people?” She gave a perplexed look.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” I replied with a soft laugh. “I’m just not used to it.”

“I see. Why is that?”

I shrugged, then tried to explain.

“Much of my life was spent on edge. Either fighting, running, or hiding. After a while, it started to weigh on me. So I kept my emotions hidden and laid low. My pain, my rage, I just held it down and instead carried a calm demeanor.”

Our drinks arrived. Hers, a glass of whiskey (not just a shot glass, either, a rather tall glass) and my pomegranate martini. I took my finger to the rim of my glass and licked the sugar off of it.

“Mm. Yeah. That’s no good. Holding in emotions is unhealthy,” she replied after downing her drink.

“What about you?”

“I don’t have many emotions to begin with. Not much to hold in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Doesn’t bother me.”

“Maybe so. Sorry, you seem okay, but I still can’t help but think of this other person. I guess I’m still not over her.”

“What was she to you? An ex or something?”

“Not exactly. She tried to kill me.”

“Huh? What was her reason?”

“Well, she was hired to do so and she said I was a threat to humanity. Truth is, I could see her reasoning, being that I was pretty sick at the time and it was affecting people around me.”

“You’re better now, though, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

There were many things that filled my mind then. The events of those fateful few days – how I attempted several means to give myself a better life, but they ended up only making things worse for me. Then, I found myself saying:

“I know we were enemies, but it seemed like she was just as exhausted of fighting as I was. Even if circumstances led us to being opposed to each other, I really wish I could have gotten to know her better. Maybe I could have helped her somehow.”

She took another swig of her drink, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve and set the glass down.

“Sounds like it was for the best. Everyone has their own ideas of a ‘happy ending’. Sounds like that was hers.”

I wanted to say how it was she died, but I knew it would have been incriminating. Especially in a public place.

“I take it you killed her, huh?”

“Wait, what?” I blinked.

“If you two were enemies and she’s dead, that’s how I imagine things went down.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to. I just think she wanted me to. At least it seems that way.”

Remora looked like she was about to speak up again, but then we both heard her phone buzz. She pulled it out from her pocket.

“Oh. Great. It’s her.”

“Your partner?”

“Hold on.” She began texting. I could hear her say under her breath what she was typing. “You do not need a sombrero. That is not why we’re here.”

Cue a few seconds later, she jolted, as if she was getting pissed off.

“No. You don’t need a set of neon green throwing knives, either. What’s taking you so long?” Then she glared at me. “See what I have to deal with?”

The phone buzzed again, and again, she recited what she was typing.

“How is that relevant?”

Puzzled, I leaned over. She must have noticed, so showed me the conversation. The first thing I noticed was the contact name, which simply said ‘Pest’:

Pest: Someone’s selling sombreros! I want one!

Me: You do not need a sombrero. That is not why we’re here.

Pest: Send me money so I can buy some neon green throwing knives! I need them to look badass! ;_;

Me: No. You don’t need a set of neon green throwing knives, either. What’s taking you so long?

Pest: I just realized that my name is so close to ‘dementia’! I need to change my name! D:

Me: How is that relevant?

Pest: YOU MAY AS WELL PUT EBONY DARKNESS IN FRONT OF MY NAME AKSJKSJFSKJF ;_;

I blinked. That sure was something.

“I can see how your guys’ personalities clash.”

She shook her head. “Too high energy for me.”

“Hey, I’m married to someone who’s high energy.”

“Married couples annoy me.”

I looked down at my drink. Still hadn’t even given it a sip. Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for it. Shame, too. It probably tasted great.

“Hey,” she poked me. “Give me your address.”

“Why?”

“So I can tell her to meet me there.”

“Oh. Uh, I guess that’s fine. She’s not dangerous, is she?”

Remora laughed. “She’s only a danger to herself.”

“That’s a relief.”

I wrote down my address on a napkin and passed it to her. Remora went ahead and texted it to her, then she ordered another drink.

“We’re not gonna head over there?” I asked.

“Knowing her, it’s gonna take another hour before she shows up.”

“Oh, well in that case…” My thoughts drifted once again to Rhea. “Can I try something out?”

“What?”

“Can I pretend it’s Rhea sitting next to me? I know it sounds weird, but I think it would help me move on.”

“Sure, if you think it’ll help.”

“Thank you,” I cleared my throat. “Okay, here goes…”

I thought of the right words to say, as if I was having a conversation with someone I could never have. How would I address them? I figured starting with their name was a good starting point.

“Rhea,” I began.

“Yeah? What is it?” Remora replied.

“What?” I paused.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to pretend to be her or not.”

“You can respond if you want. I’d mostly like it if you listened.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“It just pains me to know that there’s so much about you I’ll never know. Like what life must have been like for you. I know you gave off the impression of a cold and merciless mercenary, but for whatever reason, you showed me mercy. Even though I killed your partner, Douglas Fir. I still wish I hadn’t done that to him, even knowing how he terrorized my home, I’m still disgusted at myself for that.”

“Eh, he had it coming,” she replied.

“What?”

“Oh. Nothing. He just sounds like a sleazy guy. Carry on.”

“Now that I think of it, it wasn’t that you simply showed me mercy. You offered me a choice I could not accept. When I refused the first time, you tried to stop at nothing to kill me. When that didn’t work, you decided to try to talk with me and see if you reach a different solution. I don’t really understand why. You could have killed me while I was recovering. I wish I could have known what it was.”

She didn’t respond that time. I continued.

“You knew about me through files written on me. Could deduce my personality just through a few sentence descriptions. But I, even from what little I saw of you, still didn’t really know you. I knew you had a condition. It fascinated me, truth be told. Thoughts like ‘I wonder what it is that made you this way’. Even if I knew, I don’t think I could have helped you, as much as it pains me to say. Whether it was a physical or mental condition, I don’t think I would have known what to do. Whether or not there really was a cure, it didn’t seem like something I could have figured out.”

“Why should I feel sympathetic when our roles were more antagonistic? I cannot say. Maybe I saw us as kindred spirits, in spite of our roles. To me, it looked like you were in pain, just as I was. It may have been expressed differently, but I still sensed a pain, a certain tiredness in you. I think that’s what affected me so deeply about your death.”

“I wonder...did you really mean it when you said I was a disappointment? I know, such a strange thing to dwell on.”

She took another drink. “If you want my opinion, the only person you should worry about disappointing is yourself.”

“Well, I’m rather remorseful of how I used to act.”

“Hmm...Remorseful...Gah! I should’ve changed my last name, too! I just couldn’t come up with a pun, so I decided to leave my last name as is!”

“...What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Remora waved her hand away. “Just frustrated. I could’ve worked with that! I only chose this name because I saw a remora at an aquarium and they seemed interesting.”

“Wait, is Remora not your real name?”

“It is. I just had a previous name. I liked to work with name puns. Giving myself this name, it felt like a sense of freedom for me.”

“My birth name was Etna,” I told her in an attempt to relate.

“Yeah, but your name is Ves. Just as mine is Remora. We don’t need to worry about past names.”

“Yeah, but what about past actions? Experiences?”

“You said you acted with the intention of being happier. Well, are you happier now?”

I had to stop and think. Was I? In a way, I had made myself unhappy. But through that, I was able to experience what I had been missing for so long, so in that sense, I found it worth it.

“Yes. It’s taken me a while to get there and it’s still a long journey, but I’m in a much better place now. It’s just been a slow process.”

“Good. That’s all you need to worry about. Is making sure you keep moving forward and realize that the journey has been worth it.”

“What about you?”

“Eh. Same. It’s an adjustment, but I’m open to it.”

“That’s good. I’m glad for you.”

“Why? You just met me.”

“I don’t know. I just feel like I’ve known you already.”

She pointed at my glass. “You haven’t finished your drink.”

“Oh. Lemme do that right now,” I held up the glass and downed it in one big gulp.

“Isn’t that the wrong kind of drink to be chugging down?”

My head was already starting to feel funny. “Yes. I. Think I’m ready to go home.”

“Oh, bother,” she held her palm to her forehead and shook her head. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I should be fine.”

Besides the fact that I felt like I was going to collapse on the sidewalk.

“Here, let me walk you home. That’s where I’m meeting my partner, anyway.” She slipped a hundred dollar bill on the counter, then stood up.

Before I could object, she carried me on her shoulders as I felt myself start to get drowsy.

While we walked home, through my sleepy voice, I continued to try to strike conversation with her.

“Do you and this person live together?” I asked.

“If you’re referring to the grocery partner, no. We just happen to work at the same place and the manager asked us to go shopping here.”

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

“I work at a restaurant. I never thought I’d see myself doing that kind of work, but it’s better than my old job.”

“What was your old job?”

“I killed people.”

Ah, for whatever reason, that didn’t sound so bad. Probably because I was just hazy enough that I didn’t think much of it.

“I used to work as a therapist, myself. But I think I did more harm than good. It’s a real shame. I think I’ve done better for both mine and others’ mental health since I quit,” I droned on.

“Sometimes you just gotta say ‘fuck work’,” she replied.

“Yeah,” I agreed, then smiled. “Fuck work.

We arrived, and she let go. I managed to stand on my own. Already, I felt more clear.

“Say, would you like to meet my wife?” I asked, rather on a whim.

Remora looked around, then shrugged. “Sure. She’s still not here yet.”

I went up to the door, unsure if she had come home yet. I could have texted her, but I figured if she didn’t show up after I knocked, I’d have my answer. After my knock, she came up right away.

“Oh hey, look at you! You’re outside on your own!”

I nodded, a bright smile upon my face. “Actually, I ran into someone.”

“Oh? Who?” She leaned her head over. After she gasped, she turned back to me. “Is that the weird stalker lady?”

“No, but the resemblance is uncanny,” I whispered. “She’s friendly. Her name is Remora.”

“Oh!” She shoved past me and ran out to see Remora up close. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Why?” Remora asked in response.

“Because if Ves says you’re friendly, you must be friendly!”

“You’re cute,” Remora stated. It could have been interpreted in a sarcastic manner, and yet it came out so plain as to be nothing more than a general statement.

“Thanks! So are you! So is Ves!”

Remora looked like she was about to get a word in, but before she could, someone came running up with a backpack on and a shopping bag in their hand. I focused on the figure, she was someone small, didn’t even look five feet tall. Her hair, dark green and wavy. Plus, she wore a sombrero over her hair. The creature didn’t notice my wife and I, and instead focused on Remora.

“Found you! And look! I got it! There was a dollar on the ground and I was able to get it! Still missing the throwing knives, though…” She looked down at the ground, as if she suffered a great loss.

“Good for you. Did you get the groceries?”

“Of course! They’re in my backpack! What have you been up to?”

Remora pointed her thumb toward me.

The girl (pardon me for referring to her as “creature” just a bit ago) looked over and gasped. “I was too late! You seduced them both!”

“What are you talking about?” Remora asked.

“Or...maybe it was those two who did the seducing!”

“I’m lost.”

Me too. Did I know her? Did she know Juniper and I?

She took off the sombrero and set it on the ground, then reached into the shopping bag and pulled out a blonde wig, then placed it on her head. The wig in question had pigtails. With furious motions, she pointed at my wife, then herself, then looked up at Remora and opened her mouth, but didn’t make a sound, just had it open wide as if she would have yelled had she made a sound. But as she looked at Remora, she continued to point at the woman beside me.

“What is she doing?” Remora asked Juniper and I.

We both shrugged.

“I think it’s called pantomiming?” Juniper suggested. “I’ll be honest, though: I was never that good at charades.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I admitted.

The girl looked furious, took off the wig, then undid the pigtails and tried to straighten up the wig. Then, she took out a pair of glasses from her pocket, put them on, and then put the wig back on. This time, she chose to point at me, just as furious.

Her finger, at first at me, then back at the one beside me, then she faced her thumb at herself.

“Is she your guys’ daughter?” Remora asked my wife and I.

We both shook our heads.

She tore the wig from off of her head, threw it on the ground and stomped on it.

“I can’t believe you guys!” She yelled at last, as I assume she had been holding it in. “That’s my cousin!” She faced Remora, then pointed once again at my wife. “Juniper Bark!”

Wait. Something dawned on me. But before I could say it, Juniper spoke up instead.

“Oh, I remember you! From the wedding, right? Demetria!”

“Bingo. And I came to stop you!”

“From what?”

“From stealing Remora! I saw her first!”

Juniper clapped. “Good job!”

Demetria blinked. “Oh. Thanks. I mean, I’m not actually into her. I just think she’s cool. Yeah. That’s all.”

What was with her demeanor? At one point she really was high-energy, like the impression of her I got from Remora suggested, but now she seemed stunned.

“Uh, well, anyway,” She looked away, embarrassed. Of her previous actions? Hard to say. “Juniper, your brother’s still a doctor, right?”

“In a sense!”

“Is he here? Can I talk to him?”

Juniper shook her head. “He lives at the same apartment he did before, Vespiquen and I just moved to a new one. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to ask him what the condition was when you see this tall, strong lady and your whole personality changes and all you can think about is being in her strong arms and how hot she is. I was wondering if he could diagnose me.”

Juniper put her hand over her mouth and had a devilish grin on her face. “Ohoho, I can tell you that right now.”

“What? You can?”

“Mhm. I’m afraid it’s terminal.”

“What?!”

“Yup! And there’s no cure!”

“That’s horrible!” Demetria cried out.

I nudged Juniper and gave her a glare.

“Oh, all right,” Juniper relented. “I diagnose you with gay.”

“I can’t believe you! You had me in quite a shock! I’m going to remember this!”

Although the focus had been on Demetria, I shifted my attention back to Remora, to which a scowl was forming on her face.

“Ves.”

Startled, I asked, “what is it?”

“Does the name ‘Clara Waters’ mean anything to you?”

I took a minute to think about it, but then it came.

“Actually, yes. That was one of the names Rhea had used.”

“Figured as much,” the last syllable on her breath had a tinge of a snarl to it.

“Which city was it that she died in?” Was the next question from her.

“This one. Why?” She seemed to be piecing something together.

“I see.”

“Is there something that I’m missing, here?” Demetria looked at all three of us.

“Demetria,” Remora growled.

“Eep! Was It something I did? I’ll behave!”

“Can you wait for me at the airport?”

There was a definite anger to her voice, though it didn’t sound like it was directed at Demetria, but someplace else.

“Oh. Yeah. I can do that.” Demetria picked up both the bag with the wig as well as the bag of groceries that Remora had carried just a bit ago. “Um, see you later?”

Remora nodded.

I opened my mouth, curiosity or concern having overtaken me. “What is this about?”

“I’m about to find out. It was nice to meet you. Now I must meet a corpse.”

“Huh?”

“This was never about grocery shopping and the fact that I didn’t figure it out sooner disgusts me.”

That didn’t clear anything up for me, but what was clear was that she was about to take off.

“Um, before you go…”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to be friends?”

“Why?”

“I think it’s what Rhea would have wanted.”

It felt rather manipulative of me; a dirty trick. Even if that was the case, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her that the reason was that I saw it as a second chance for me. To befriend someone so similar to Rhea.

“What does this person’s wishes have to do with me?”

Oh no. Her words sounded hostile. But then, she let out a sigh.

“All right. Fine. I’ll put your number in my phone.”

“Ooh!” Juniper jumped up. “Me too!”

“Ladies, one at a time.”

After she entered our names into her contacts, we waved goodbye to her. It was somewhat of a relief to see her off, just as it was to meet her in the first place.

“So, that was interesting, huh?” Juniper observed.

“Mhm. Didn’t expect to run into Demetria, either. I thought she was pursuing her Master’s degree. Maybe she graduated already.”

“Oh! I didn’t even think about that!”

Juniper locked her fingers within mine, and the two of us went back into our apartment. The day had turned out to be quite overwhelming, though a large portion of it was a good kind of overwhelming.

Once we were both on the couch and curled up next to each other, I pieced something together of my own.

“Remora really was Rhea.”

“Huh?” Juniper looked up at me.

“Well, not the one that we knew. If I had to guess, I’d say it was similar to how I met another you once.”

Though such a thing wasn’t something I expected to encounter ever again. Still, there was no doubt in my mind; Even if I had deduced without total confirmation, since I believed I had an answer as to why I thought of Rhea so much around Remora, I also believed that was all the more reason to treat her as if she were someone new.

[beehylandarchive]

excerpts from VIOLET BEACH

listen here

i.

And then the same nothingness, same smell of salt, same breeze, but–

I was still standing. And we were in this space, this–this purple nothingness, no ground, no sky, no nothing, that’s a double negative, you get what I mean, and–I was still standing–more floating, which was–not as pleasant as you’d expect? But not unpleasant, either. And this woman, she looked at me,  dead in the eyes, and–

And she said–

[beat, uncomfortable]

What did she say?

[laughs]

It’s–it’s in my head, like. Tip of my tongue. I wrote it down, but it’s–it’s another individual letters making out a word I know but can’t–type situation.

ii.

I try not to have crushes, because they’re dumb, and they keep my eyes off the prize, which is to say, y’know. College. My art.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that feelings are pointless and that we’d be way better off without them, y’know? Especially when those feelings are for really dreamy girls who manage to look, like, at least 70 percent like she’s into girls, even though this is Corielli, so, like, she could be the straightest girl on earth, and also she’s weirdly nice, like—nicer than most people. And it’s kind of annoying how nice she is, like, she—she’s nice to everybody. Even to people who don’t deserve it.

But. Anyways. She’s super hot and I’m kinda sorta in love with her. Whatever. Rant over. I’ll edit that out.

So. Ghosts and mystery and intrigue. Woo.

Y’know, maybe Mae’s caught up in this mystery, actually, cuz—well, she only showed up after all that happened. Maybe she’s, like—maybe she’s a ghost. That’s the nightmare, honestly, being in love with a ghost. Like, second only to her being straight? Worst case scenario.

I could write a solid one act about being in love with a ghost and, like, protag comes to accept that she’s dead and is willing to make this work, but ghost girl’s like, “Oh, too bad, don’t like girls. Sorry, honey!” And that’s the plot twist. Sad ending. A tragicomedy for everyone.

iii.

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a Mulder or a Dale Cooper or a Ripley or any given Rick Moranis character, and now–now I’m none of those. But this sorta thing, it gives me a chance, y’know? It–these are my monsters of the week, this is my search for the sister, this is me living out what was never written for me, y’know? It’s–I’m in this goddamn narrative, and even if this isn’t a narrative, I’m gonna make it one. Because why not! I–I’m working on self-love everyday, like Doc Claremont said. She’s my therapist. You know. Gotta get those life skills in place. Constantly improving. Letting myself be myself. Hell yeah.

So here’s the plot, so far, then. Seven outcasts–we’re all pretty outcast, I’d argue–stand alone on a beach, and, bam, flash of light, and bam, the world is dying, and then, darkness. Lost-style eye-zoom in, right, Michael Bay spin, and then we’re back on the beach. And then we get a coherent plot about time loops, and nothing else, because it is two-thousand-and-eighteen. And there are interwoven character webs, and interesting enough flashbacks, and–

And it makes sense. And it’s well-written, and it’s well drawn, and it has a really good cult fanbase that–you know. You get the gist.

iv.

But there’s something about the beach. Something so isolated from the rest of the world, y’know? Not–not, like, when you’re at Ocean City in the middle of August, no, I mean–when you’re alone, and it’s maybe forty degrees out, middle of January, and you’re–maybe you’re listening to some acoustic cover of your favorite 2004 pop song, as is my wont, and–you just feel something. And it’s tugging at you, like, maybe the beach itself is the siren song from folklore. Maybe the beach is telling you to go–to go home, even if you and the beach have different definitions of the word. My definition is–uh. The house. With Elaine and Douglas and the hammock and the fireplace and the messy bedroom and the–the wholeness of it all. And the beach’s definition is the ocean, and the abyss, and what have you.

Except–no. That’s bland high-school level faux-existentialism, and I’m better than that. I promise you. I’m better than that.

But there’s something about the beach. Y’know? Just–just. There’s something. And I think it’s important to all of this, I–Look. Listen. Maybe I was homesick and I didn’t even know it before I came back. I think that’s the thing. I think it’s just delayed homesickness and exhaustion.

v.

Anyway. I’m currently recording from, because they have a mic and I do not, Angie and Teresa’s dorm, within the bathroom of which Angie is currently pacing, not saying anything, which is exactly the opposite of what she usually does, so, uh, we know something bad’s happened regardless of previous context. Just to. Set the scene, kinda. Some good visuals, and what have you, we gotta keep this as cinematic as possible. Also, this room’s walls are gray and have, like, emo music posters everywhere, so–let’s erase that and pretend it’s yellow with paintings on it. Maybe some faded pink or bright red accents. And I’m in the center of the shot. And this mic is old-fashioned Yeah, you got it. Right there.

Just got a typo-filled text about how these posters are not of emo bands, and, Angie, it’s good to know that that’s your top priority right now? Just sayin’. We agreed no guest stars, too, so, uh, get out of my recording. Dude. No texting. You can keep–pacing, and, uh, writing in dry-erase on your mirror, but. Get out of my recording.

vi.

So, here’s the thing about boarding school murders—cuz that’s where my brain keeps going, with this, because that’s the closest thing I have to mystery hunting in the past. Because I did help, yeah. I—I didn’t have many friends, okay, I was new, I was shy, I didn’t do sports or anything, like—I needed friends, and I had this opportunity, so. I stole a video camera from my film class and I helped make a documentary. Look. They can’t get me for it now, I have a masters. So.

We would sneak out into the woods out by the dorms and we’d just—we’d film recreations of the murder. A student killed her—well, we figured out that it was just her friend, but my roommate thought it might have been either an athletic rival or a romantic partner–which I shut down fast, like, look, I am all about gay people doing things, unless they are murder.

And we’d do this every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night, around three AM. I didn’t sleep much at age sixteen. I don’t sleep much at age twenty-five, even, but, like—I get more, now. So that’s really good. But irrelevant. And my roommate, whose name was Janice Potter, she was from Georgia and she hated that about herself, and—like, sure, cool, whatever, one Tuesday night, when I was busy building sets for the musical, she went out by herself, with the camera, and—I was walking back to the dorm, and I saw her lying in the woods with a broken leg. And I—I brought her to the infirmary, said she fell while taking pictures of the set build for the newspaper. She wasn’t even in newspaper, we—we barely had a newspaper. But the nurses didn’t care, they just needed to tell her mother something.

vii.

I don’t want any of you to be alone. I don’t think there’s anything worse than that, I–I’m glad we have each other, the seven of us. I love you guys. That’s–that’s what I want to say. And I love these stupid–these tapes. I’m gonna make more of ‘em. I hope you guys do too.

Uh.

I love you, I guess. I hate the stigma around that phrase, like, I love you, and I love bad coffee, and I love my guitar, and I love–I love cartoons on Sunday mornings, y’know? That we ti’vo’d as a joke and now we’re watching them not as a joke. Cuz they’re comforting and they’re nice and they’re good and we’re those obnoxious Facebook teens like, share if you remember the good ol’ days.

I love a lot of things, is what I mean, but I love you the most. I guess. Again, corny. But true. And whatever.

I–I’m gonna miss this mystery hunting. So.

Why stop, I guess? Why, when we’re–we said we’d stop when we learned what,but what if we stopped when we learn how and why and what to do next.

[eeveelutionsforequality]

@mod vape, do you have any tips for dealing with hypersexuality or addiction? bc uh. getting off hurts. idk if it’s specifically because ive been doing it so goddamn much or because of the fucking legion of medical problems i have, but it’s DEFINITELY making my abdominal pain worse and i dont know how to stop gjdfjhk.

Well, firstly, go to the doctor about that pain - there are injuries, illnesses, sexual dysfunctions, and all sorts of things from that could be causing a pain like that (it could be a pulled muscle, a cyst, maybe you aggravated a pre-existing health issue, etc), and it's best to rule out anything too dangerous as soon as you can, and to treat anything treatable. Even if it is tied to or caused by overdoing sex/masturbation, just mitigating that habit isn't guaranteed to fix it.

I was getting some pretty bad pain from even small dildos/vibrators, and I decided to go to the doctor in case it was something dangerous - thankfully, it turned out to just be a sexual dysfunction (basically spasms and tightening of the muscles in the vagina, in my case caused by trauma). I was supposed to get therapy for it, but I never went because I was having another therapy at the time and my carer was like "But what if they cancel each other out!?" and I was like "That's not how it works..." Sometimes it acts up but I think I've got it mostly under control. I've also had to go to the doctor for sprained/strained wrists more times than I would like to admit... I used to be like "Oh I played my guitar for too long" or "Oh I think I leant on my walking stick for too long" and now I'm just like "Wanker's cramp".

Trust me and my plethora of injuries when I say that doctors are professionals, they went to medical school, they see genitalia on a daily basis, they've seen eyes and ears and giant sores full of puss... it's really rare to get a doctor that will look down upon or judge you for that. Sure you'll get the odd "You should masturbate less", "Here's a big speech about the risks of STDs and pregnancy", "Have you told your therapist about this", but it's more of an "I'm contractually obliged to impart medical advice" than an "I think you're gross" 99% of the time.

Secondly, I do have tips, but I'm still hella bad at dealing with my own issues - I still smoke more than I want to, drink til I puke, sleep with strangers, lose days to laying in bed alone, have an aching pain in my wrists, etc. Obviously I don't have all of the answers, so I can't promise that they'll be the best tips in the world - it's worth doing some more research of your own, and it might be worth talking to your doctor/therapist if you can't manage it on your own.

You haven't given much detail about how specifically it affects you or what the addiction is to (sexual stuff in general, masturbation, casual sex, porn, etc), so I'm going to try to cover as much as I can (like dealing with sexual thoughts about people in your life, limiting the number of times you masturbate, etc) and I hope that at least some of what I say is useful to you.

Okay, so the first tip I have is: try not to slip into the mentality that cold turkey is the only way to go if it's not what you want - thinking "I can't have this. I'm not allowed this." can increase cravings. Thinking "I'm allowed this later... if I stay motivated not to do it now and if I only do it in moderation, and it's gonna be great." can make waiting out those cravings a lot easier, provided you have the self-control to not slip back into a bad habit after once.

Ways to avoid slipping back into bad habits include: having time (or number of the thing) limits for when and how long you are allowed, having something to do afterwards that takes your mind off it (for example "once I've done it once, I have to get up, take out the rubbish, email my boss, read that global warming article, and get ready for bed"), other rewards/punishments (put a book you really want in your Amazon basket then click "save for later", if at the end of the fortnight you've accomplished your goal then buy the book, if you fail the fortnight resets and you have to wait two more weeks - set smaller goals with smaller rewards, and larger goals with larger rewards), keeping and going over a diary so that you can see what worked and what didn't, if there's a pattern to failures, progress even if you're not meeting goals (at which point try to make the upcoming goals a little easier since you're expecting too much of yourself), and so on.

Secondly, and it's the most generic tip ever but it's SUPER important for addictions because they can damage your pre-frontal cortex... healthy diet, exercise, meditation, mental exercises, getting some sun, and other daily tasks are super important.

You need to get into the habit of something like reading or pottery or drawing for at least half an hour to an hour every day - turn off your internet, games, distractions, and maintain concentration on what you're doing. This helps repair the effects that addictions can have on your pre-frontal cortex and dopamine receptors by activating the parts of your brain that work towards maintained motivation and focus for smaller or distant rewards, which in turn will help your brain work normally again, which in turn will increase motivation and willpower.

Cooking more difficult meals will have similar benefits and a healthy diet improves your overall health. Exercise does the same even more effectively than either, and it has the added bonus of energizing you, increasing your focus on other tasks that you do afterwards, various health benefits, lifting your mood, and helping you be tired by the end of the day so that you'll be able to sleep easier - insomnia is a really dangerous trigger for any addiction, but especially a masturbation or sex addiction, because you're in an environment that is associated with that behaviour and the behaviour makes it easier to sleep afterwards, so you've every reason to start doing it if you find yourself unable to sleep.

Which brings me on to another reason why keeping a diary is especially important - you need to isolate your triggers. Establish what happened immediately before the behaviour, what you were thinking, and what potentially led to the behaviour. Then you can work towards either avoiding those triggers, lessening them, being mindful of them, or training yourself to exhibit a different behaviour in response to them - for example, if having a shower triggers you to masturbate, try singing in the shower instead, training your brain to react to showers with the urge to sing instead of the urge to masturbate.

You might also want to try sleeping meds, so that you can take them, read until they start to kick in, and then immediately go to bed and try to sleep - that way there's less of a gap between going to bed and falling asleep where something could happen.

Routine can also be really helpful for some people - you're supposed to fall asleep between about 10pm and 1am for optimal sleep, and you're supposed to wake up between 6 and 8 hours later. Get out of bed as soon as you wake up to avoid lethargy, and either exercise or go for a short walk, or do something that starts your brain and body working for the day. After that, prepare breakfast, don't watch TV or distract yourself while you eat. Continue the day with a routine that works for you, and you could set a time at which you will masturbate (or maybe a date you're allowed to go to the club and pull... how you work in routine if you have a long-term sexual partner is something you would need to talk to them about) that doesn't interfere with your routine.

Avoid bars, pubs, clubs, tinder, grindr, and anything else that can be a trigger for that or makes quick hook-ups easy - I know that I can go to the pub near me (because there'll be nobody there for that, it's an "old people come here to watch football" pub), and that I can go to a pub or bar with friends if I'm having a good day, but making sure that my flat wasn't within walking distance of a club and deleting dating apps was really helpful to me (it meant that even if the temptation was there the effort required to act on it was too much and took too long, so I'd catch myself).

I also log off any tumblr that I'm following people on that post NSFW, porn, sexual stuff or anime stuff if necessary - just like how I log off any tumblrs where I follow political blogs if I'm getting overwhelmed by that. But it is still good to have a tumblr for NSFW stuff, to have somewhere that you can express certain things, reblog things, feel less alone, enjoy things that you enjoy - don't demonize the side of you that likes sex, don't lock it in a cell in the back of your head, just tell it that it can't control you.

I'm also working on not putting myself in as many situations that can make me feel like I'm being too flirty or as many situations that cause too many uncomfortable or sexual thoughts at a time when they're stressing me - like, I don't come online as much when I'm drunk now, I don't have as many sleepovers, and I don't tend to maintain physical contact for as long (like, I don't hold hands as often as I used to), for example.

That said, you can't live out your life hiding from people who your brain might think something sexual about - isolating yourself is unhealthy. Humans are social creatures and social interaction is good for us, talking to people about our problems is good for us, distractions and fun are good for us. I find structured social plans make things easier - so, I like plans like "lets cook together then eat the awesome meal", "lets go see a movie", "lets go to the town center and taste hot chocolate from as many cafés as we can before I puke", "lets go to the fair" and things like that (that said, agoraphobia is awful and ruins like 90% of my social interaction). Keep people in your life who you're comfortable with and who make you happy.

Remember that what you're thinking or mental images that pop into your head aren't evil, it doesn't mean that you have a crush on them, that you actually want to do sexual things with them, that you can't be their friend, or anything like that... they're just thoughts. You didn't choose them. Just let them pass.

Your surroundings and triggers are incredibly important things to stay on top of though, be that to mitigate stress in social situations, or to prevent you from engaging in more sex/masturbation than you want to or than is safe for you to.

Don't spend your day in the same place that you masturbate - even if you don't live alone you can avoid being in bed when you're in your room, you could get a sofa, beanbag, comfy chair, gigantic cushion, or other comfortable place to sit in your bedroom so that you don't have to be in your bed, and put that in a part of your room with different posters/decoration to those around your bed.

Lots of things can become associated with certain behaviours in your brain, from sitting in a certain place to feeling a certain emotion. Try to avoid being too exposed to those things at times when you don't intend to be doing something sexual, and replace them with other things that make you happy, keep you distracted, and aid in training concentration and willpower (maths games, board games, card games, puzzles, reading, cooking, exercise, drawing, writing, etc).

Even things like separating any porn or sexual pictures in your phone into a hidden folder instead of having it pop up when you go to look for pictures, or keeping magazines or the pornhub bookmark out of sight, can really help with lessening the regularity with which things pop into your head.

Finally, and I've hinted at it throughout this, mindfulness and meditation are things that many addicts find incredibly helpful. It's really worth doing some googling, watching some YouTube videos, and learning those techniques (and it's good to be doing research in general into ways to help addictions or hypersexuality disorders, because there are quite a few schools of thought and there are probably a lot of things that I've missed).

Meditation, like reading and exercise, helps train your mind into maintaining focus, not reacting to distractions and urges, relaxing, letting thoughts pass by, and being less hectic and loud - it also has health benefits, can help you sleep, can help you take time from your busy schedule to yourself (an urge that may have been previously feeding the addictions instead, as they can be linked to a need for control), and can help you work through thoughts or anxieties.

Mindfulness helps in various ways too - for example, smokers found that being mindful (observing, essentially) helped them quit because it led to them paying more attention to how bad the cigarette tasted, and it also allowed them to non-judgmentally observe the cravings that they felt, observe why they were feeling those cravings, and allow them to pass by. It's about letting your thoughts exist, letting things exist, acknowledging them, but not letting them control you.

You can study mindfulness for yourself - research it online, read one of the many books about it, watch YouTube videos, etc - or you can go to the doctor and ask for a therapy that teaches mindfulness (I found learning about it in my own time more helpful, and have had more success with that, but I think that was mostly related to not having a great therapist - plus, online gives me more opportunities to look into the how and why, to see how other people do it, to look deeper into it, to take as long as I need, while therapy was just an elderly lady snapping at me for using my phone and telling me to imagine that my thoughts are clouds and distracting me constantly).

So yeah...

Step 1: Go to the doctors for that pain, it's probably something minor but it's better safe than sorry.

Step 2: Do more research, Mod Vape doesn't know everything.

Step 3: Keep a diary and try to isolate what things are triggering you, what you're feeling beforehand, and be mindful of what you're thinking, what you're feeling, and what you're gaining/losing from the experience.

Step 4: Try to keep yourself away from things that trigger you, but also remember that you don't have to entirely abstain from valuable things - you can train new reactions as responses to those things, you can work on self-control, and so on.

Step 5: Work on your routine, diet, exercise, habits, and hobbies, so that you can improve your willpower, motivation, and health.

Step 6: Research and practice meditation and mindfulness.

Step 7: Set and work towards small goals, rewarding yourself for successes and keeping track of your progress.

Step 8: If you can't control the addiction or behaviour, if the thoughts are becoming difficult to live with, if these problems continue to cause you distress, there is no shame in seeking professional help. You don't have to do this alone.

Remember that chemical imbalances and other neurological issues can cause such things - if you can't manage it alone, that could be a warning sign that something serious or physiological is going on. Not being able to quit doesn't necessarily mean that somebody's "not trying hard enough", and instead of beating yourself up talk to somebody who can do blood tests, scans, or whatever else is necessary to make sure that you're okay and that you overcome your struggles.

~ Vape