#trying to avoid it so she does not have a relapse which drags through every life possible

[derelictsouls]

@indulgentia ♥

[thestuckylibrary]

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diurnaldays said:

I can't seem to find this one stucky soulmate AU that interwove fictionalized historical documents and academic papers into the narrative as a form of worldbuilding? And a scene early into the fic depicted Steve talking to a priest about a grieving ritual he could undertake now that he'd lost his soulmate (Bucky). There was also a major plot point where Steve used his soulmate bond to help the Winter Soldier recover his memories and become Bucky again.

princessniitza and Anon sent in The Ties That Bind by Odsbodkins (complete | 26,609 | E )

Anon 1 said:

Hello, I can’t seem to find a stucky fic where in post-WS, Bucky can’t figure out why Steve seems to be avoiding him or being strained around him, only for him to suddenly remember breaking Steve’s heart the night before he shipped out so Steve wouldn’t be left missing him and possibly never moving on. After confronting Steve with this they make up and its happy! I really remember loving it but I can’t find it for the life of me! Hope I have enough detail!

dolphinqueen10 sent in Remember Me by prisma134 (oneshot | 18,040 | M)

Anon 2 said:

Hi I’m looking for that fic after TWS where at Steve’s house/appt Bucky has relapses into the Soldier, but every time Steve sees it happening he acts like he isn’t a threat. He changes his body language to relaxed, he doesn’t go defensive, etc. Eventually Bucky realizes what is happening but it works anyway??

dolphinqueen10 sent in No Such Thing as Fighting Dirty by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 3,878 | T)

dreamsbeyondlife said: (dubcon/noncon)

Hey, do you guys know the fic where Bucky asks Steve for things by having sex with him? Bucky thinks Steve is his handler and that they have to have sex so he can get "rewards".

possibleplatypus sent in Uberrima Fidei* by asocialconstruct (oneshot | 3,075 | E) *rape/noncon, htp

capnstverogrs said:

hi! im looking for a fic where after steve’s mom dies, who works as a nurse, erskine adopts steve and he tried to go through med school but just wanted to do art? and so he does medical illustrations but then his boss peggy makes him go deal with the house erskine left steve when he died which he doesnt address until 4 years later or something

abarbaricyalp sent in Through The Woods by alby_mangroves, recalibrates (complete | 64,082 | E)

Anon 3 said:

Hey! I've lost a fic and I'd appreciate any help in finding it. It was a oneshot smut piece, from Bucky's pov. Steve is lying on a couch and acts all indifferent while Bucky basically gets off on top of him? It's only an act and he's actually turned on as well, which is revealed after Bucky's orgasm. It had definitely post-serum Steve, and I'm fairly certain it happened in avengers' tower, but it might also have been modern au piece.

possibleplatypus sent in raise the flag by mcwho (oneshot | 957 | M)

Anon 4 said: (infidelity)

Hi! I’m looking for a fic where Bucky and Steve are getting married, but Steve meets Peggy when he is taking dance classes for the wedding and she’s the instructor, and he starts having feelings for her. Stucky ending though. And I think I remember Steve not having the serum and it all being set in an alternate 1930s universe where gay people could get married. And I think Bucky’s family owned a furniture shop?? And Steve’s mum was dying. Hope you can help, cause I have tried everything :(

Anon 5 said:

Hi! I have been searching for a Stucky fic I read a while ago (can't remember if it was here or Ao3) but one of them is a struggling artist, and they meet when their art is blown into the road and the wealthier one helps them pick it up and they start a sugar daddy type relationship. If you could find it, it would be amazing!

Anon 6 said:

hi! I'm looking for a fic that's post winter soldier and at one point Steve and Bucky are in one of Bucky's old safehouses and Steve wears pearls he found there while they have sex I'm sorry this is so vague thx for the hard work

Anon 7 said:

hey! I'm looking for a wrong number fic where steve accidentally calls bucky for advice on how to flirt with the cute guy at the bar but it ends up being him?

bennettmp339 and dolphinqueen10 sent in Slide To Answer by relenafanel (series, complete | 13,064 | T)

Anon 8 said:

Thank you for this amazing resource! I’m looking for an AU fic in which a WinterSoldier Bucky is on a mission & meets up with a teenage BlackWidow Natasha whom he trained & she’s trying to impress him but also angry & rebellious. I remember she surprises him by climbing into his car & he comments on her choice of clothing; a bright puffer jacket that clashes with her hair.

Anon 9 said:

This is a very specific ask, but earlier today I started reading a oneshot in which Bucky was suffering from PTSD and something happens that triggers the winter soldier memories. I had literally only just started and I accidentally closed my browser. Could you please help me find it? I think it had something to do with some song too. Thank you so much.

Anon 10 said:

Hi there, a while ago I read a fic where Cap!Steve becomes a really good cook when he wakes up in the 21st century bc all the food is new and all the Avengers are really surprised that he likes to cook. I think he visits a restaurant in koreatown nyc a lot? Hopefully you can find it, thanks!

princessniitza sent in The Way to a Man's Heart by Niitza, whatthefoucault (oneshot | 43,837 | T)

shadow-of-a-whisper said:

I'm looking for the Stucky fic where Winter Soldier breaks into a woman's apartment to wait for Steve to show up. She was the owner of the truck Steve and Nat "borrowed" to go to Camp Leahigh, which was presumably blown to smithereens. WS knows Steve will visit her to try to pay for the truck. When he does show up, she tries to warn him. There's a dramatic angsty reunion where nobody gets hurt.

Anon 11 said:

hey sorry, i have two fics in mind that i can’t for the life of me find. there was this one fic where steve gets eaten by rats, that’s all i can remember sorry. and the other was one where steve used to go to a bunch of gay bars and stuff and i think he had a drag queen friend named marlene? i’m p sure him and rohdey dated for a lil but and i think it had pepper/tony/rohdey

awolfnamedaliac and Anon sent in the Kept Boy* by moonythejedi394, Neutralchaos (WIP | 203,653 | E) *rape/noncon, sex work, heed the tags

[luckyfirerabbit]

Jaune Doe Pt 4

(quick and messy, but it is what it is)

"There you go," Velvet says with soft satisfaction, "all cleaned up."

"Th-thank you." Jaune exhales carefully. His body buzzes with irritation at all the touching he had to endure for the last fifteen minutes, but knew it was necessary. In the back of his still tender head he can't wait until he can wash himself again.

"Would you like a shave as well? You're looking a little scruffy,"

"N-no." his ribs clutch, wary.

"You're sure? It only takes me a few minutes."

"No, thank you." he repeats, the words cutting, the most force he's ever used.

Velvet seems to take it in stride, her sweet demeanor unwavering. "All right, then I'll let you rest a while. I'll be back in an hour or two to see if you feel up to eating, okay? But feel free to hit the button if you need me sooner."

"Thank you." his own tone has softened again, and when the nurse leave he feels a pang of guilt. I didn't need to talk to her like that. But I-

"Hello, again,"

He hadn't heard the little knock on his half open door, which startled him a little -enough to make his cardiotach jump- but the unease is short lived. "Oh, hi, Pyrrha."

"Good morning," She's wearing her usual sweet and easy smile, "can I come in?"

A part of him wants to say no, an anxious reflex, but he tries to push it down. "Sure."

She gives him a nod of gratitude and slips inside, just barely squeezing through the space between the door and the wall. "How are you doing today? Feel up to talking a little?"

"Not feeling my best," he admits as he watches her closely, watches her move to the one chair in the room and sit down. "Just got a bath."

"I guess I can understand how that can be stressful. Being dependent never sat well with me either." she lilts her head. "But you're looking better, if that helps."

"Thanks." He rolls his eyes a little. "You're a little late today, everything all right?" Because this was the fourth time she had visited, and the three days prior to this she had come around the exact same time.

Pyrrha blinks at him. "Oh? Oh yeah, I guess so. Traffic was crazy, there was a wreck on the four-lane, I was late getting Diana to school and everything."

"Diana?"

"My daughter." she smiles again, fondly. "You want to see her picture?"

"Um, sure." he laughs with a little puff of air. Jaune feels himself flinch when she stands up faster than expected, but doesn't let the anxiety show as Pyrrha approaches with scroll in hand. He has to blink to focus properly, the screen a little bright. "Cute kid, she's got your eyes."

"She does."

"I guess she takes more after her dad, though?"

"Oh, no," Pyrrha takes the scroll back long enough to swipe her thumb across the screen. "More her grandmother."

Jaune's eyebrows reach upward when he processes the next picture. "Wow, yeah, I see it now."

"Yeah," Pyrrha laughs. "I think, deep down, her dad hates that she doesn't look more like him." And that laugh ends with a sort of tired sigh. "That she looks so much like mom was just insult to injury."

Jaune frowns gently. "Sounds like a jerk."

"You'd be right." She chuckles again. "It's why we split, among other things." and she doesn't miss how his frowns morphs into something briefly sympathetic.

But out of sympathy comes curiosity mixed with a cockeyed smile. "You know, not to be rude, but you're being awfully friendly."

Pyrrha feels heat in her cheeks and prays it isn't visible. "What do you mean?"

"You're showing pictures of your kid, telling me about your ex...these aren't things you typically share with an addict. What if I have a relapse when I get out of here? Might go after that jerk when I'm on a bender,"

For a moment she isn't sure if he's joking, even when he gives a little laugh. Maybe it was the delivery, or maybe she wasn't ready for the gallows humor. "I-I, well, um,"

She's so cute. He thinks, then recovers with "I'm kidding."

"I hoped so." she giggles uneasily, relieved. "I'm sorry, I was reading too much in to that. Besides...I don't think you're really an addict."

"Oh yeah?" he dares. "How do you figure?"

"I mean," Pyrrha eases back a couple steps, asking with her eyes if she can perch on the edge of the foot of the bed. She continues once he gives her leave to sit. "There's a lot in your file that says you are, but there's more that says you're not. And I don't think you're the type."

He chuffs.

"But if you are, I think there's enough room to guess that it wasn't by choice."

There's a long strain of quiet between them for a time, several minutes, and the whole time Pyrrha watches him. His eyes were no longer fixed on her, and refused to meet her own for the remainder of her time with him today. She doesn't know what he's thinking or feeling because it doesn't translate to his face, but there's something in his eyes that she can see even though he's avoiding her. For a moment it's almost like he isn't there, his body might have still been in that bed, but his mind was somewhere else.

"Y-you're right." he mumbles. "I...it was...I don't know what they gave me, but it was a lot, and it was for a while. I think...that's probably the only reason I survived that fall."

"You remember?"

"Yeah." and the reply is raspy, his throat tight. "Kind of. But...by then they'd kept me on something every day...I think I built up a tolerance, kept my head clear enough to get to that window, but I was still too high to feel the fall. Even if I wasn't," he puts his hands over his face and rubs his eyes, "I had to get out."

Pyrrha feels herself deflate, her heart clutching and pulling her downward. "Can...can I ask you something?"

He keeps his face hidden a little longer before lowering his hands, dragging them down to his chin before tipping his head back against the pillow. "Sure."

"Who's they?"

"No names. No one used names." he answers quickly but quietly. "Just titles. He was the Butcher. Don't know why...safe to say I didn't want to find out."

Gods above, who would? "Can I ask you something else? Last one, I promise."

"...Okay."

"Is the Butcher the one that put those marks on your back?"

Jaune lifts his head on one quick moment, his features tight with a puzzled sort of scowl. "What are you...marks on my..." then his expression seemed to unwind, all the tension on his face translating to his hands as they slowly fist in the blanket across his stomach. His eyes widen, seem far away again, but, this time, Pyrrha can clearly see what he's feeling. He's terrified. "Please go."

Pyrrha stands up, seeming startled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-,"

"Please."

"Okay," she immediately starts to back away, unable to turn her back to him for a reason she can't really define until she bumps the wall near the door. "I'm sorry." she repeats, and then she's gone.

He's remembering something that had once been hidden behind his brain's natural defenses keeping him together and a steady supply of too much opiates in his blood over the course of several weeks. It's the trauma that got him hooked in the first place, a memory of pain so great he had wished it killed him. And it's strong, a razor sharp wave that makes his pulse shoot into the rafters, high enough to set off the silent alarm that will have Velvet rushing to his room not even a minute after Pyrrha had left. He can't hear her questions over the static in his head and the blood pounding in his ears as memories cascade behind screwed shut lids. Jaune panics when she touches him, trying to pull his clenched fists away from his face, jerking away, with a bark of both defiance and pain at the jolt in his ribs. He almost musters up the guts to fight her, a second away from throwing a fist in a desperate attempt to keep her hands off him, but then she warns him about calling security and that meanness in him just dies.

Velvet is as gentle as always, talking him through it and trying to sooth him as best she can though he never stops shaking. When his vitals don't stabilize she'll help him take a sedative, forgoing the traditional shot for a pill to spare him any more stress. Yes, it would take longer this way, but even little comforts count in the long run. She'll stay with him until it takes, letting out a quiet breath of relief as she switches out most of the lights and pulls the little space between the curtains closed.

[recoveryouidiot]

Small relapse today. Not good, directly related to the sweet jar my deskmate gave me and feeling trapped without food at work. Feeling very bad but trying to get past it.

Wrote a short thing about it, felt cathartic. Extremely triggering so kept hidden.

CW: bulimia, eating disorders.

Please be warned this is likely to contain extremely triggering content if you have experienced an eating disorder.

I am about five years recovered from an eating disorder. Until recently. My OCD had been getting worse, and with it, I have been experiencing some relapses. For the most part, I have been doing really well - I have been planning my meals carefully to avoid going too hungry or bingeing, have been going to the gym, and generally attempting to keep an even keel.

That is, until my deskmate.

My kind, thoughtful deskmate got me a candy jar for my birthday, and she periodically fills it with sweets. In any other universe, this would be a lovely gesture that I would greatly appreciate. Right now, though, it's the bane of my life. Thanks to the nature of my job and the extra time my OCD rituals add to my morning routine, I've been working late hours. This means being stuck at work with nothing to do. And this means the siren call of The Jar...

No matter how many protein bars I have stashed, or bottles of water, or caffeine pills, or boxes of fruit, The Jar signals its inner bounty to me noisily, crying out for attention as I sit trying to work. The bright medley of colours rings out to me through silence, catching my attention over and over. I can sense them in my mind's eye, smelling impossibly good, the sharp tang biting through my hunger and my boredom. I picture this over and over again, trying to drive the thought out, but it is in vain. I tell myself I'll have one - no, two - no, four, because four is a ritually important number, but ONLY four, only four, only four...okay, one more. But one must now become four. Which becomes eight. Twelve. Soon I am not hungry, I don't want the rest, I don't want to keep eating but the one-two-three-four compulsion takes hold and I am consumed by consumption.

Soon the jar is empty.

I make my way to the bathroom, ashamed. I drink some water. I stare at the toilet wondering if I'm really going to do it again. Five years clean? Not any more. You can't even get it all out. It doesn't even work. But it feels like that one-two-three-four is drumming at my insides. I feel sick and it feels like my body WANTS this out. It's rejecting the ritual and I feel compelled to indulge its own primal desires.

So I do it, I vomit into the bowl, over and over unsatisfyingly until my eyes are puffy and my nostrils running. Not enough has come up. It never does. But the soft voice of self-care has quietly made herself known, saying 'that's enough', and I oblige. There is a self-preservation instinct in there somewhere, after all. I survey the damage. Pink goo everywhere. I clean up carefully, knowing nobody ever uses this particular bathroom but soaping the sides just the same, flushing away the evidence as I have done countless times before. I flush. I splash my face with water from the sink. I flush again, and again, and again. But something is wrong. Down at the bottom of the bowl, a marbled pink lump is visible - pink and purple and yellow, like stones in an aquarium tank. Bright and eye-catching, impossible to miss. This is, of course, the curse of the gummies.

Every bulimic will know there are 'good' and 'bad' foods to throw up. Pizza, for example, is a terrible choice - though its salty, fatty, chewiness is beguiling to the sensory governers of cravings, it is a regrettable food to binge upon. Its bready, cheesy texture forms knotted lumps in the stomach, clinging to one another as they come up, forcing the oesophagus apart painfully as it is dragged back up into the bowl bite by steaming bite. Pizza makes you atone for your sins. On the other hand, ice cream is an excellent alternative. Smooth, easy, and if you catch it at the right time it's still cold as it comes up, soothing the rawness of a throat you've probably torn apart three times that week already. I digress - gummy sweets, as it turns out, are one such Bad Food. Clinging to one another, clinging to your oesophagus, not letting you free of your idiotic mistake. And in the bowl...clinging together in a heavy, sticky jewelled mass, a brightly-coloured reminder of your inability to control yourself.

I flush again and again. I stare at myself in the mirror and punch myself in the stomach a few times, wondering how I got back into this mess. The jewel-like mass isn't going down, and I daren't let the cleaners find it in the morning. An emergency, then - the toilet brush. Plunging my hand deep into the bowl, the brush picks up the pieces - slice by tiny gummy slice - as I tip them back into my hand. Over and over again, my hand soaked with toilet water, the reminders of my sins dripping down my arm. I clean up again, this time feeling cold. I hope that this is the last time.

[myaekingheart]

I feel like I’ve been overthinking food and my weight a lot lately. Past couple nights I’ve had dreams about weight and this weekend, I’ve felt super anxious about food. My boyfriend’s mother was up from Saturday until this morning and she lowkey exhausted the fuck out of me. Sometimes I wonder if she even understands the definition of chill, she always wants to run around and do something and go places like there’s never a relaxing day with her. Yesterday, we went to four different thrift stores, three of which were Goodwill, and that alone was exhausting as fuck. What made it even worse is that the concept of eating when she’s up is always so...stressful. She just never fucking eats, and neither does my boyfriend, but she’s always wanting to take us out to eat but neither of them care where we go so then all the pressure to make a decision almost always rests on me. And then it takes us like an hour to decide where to eat and I’ll be starving and I’ll just want to like eat toast or some shit for breakfast but then I don’t want to eat only for them to be like “Okay let’s go out and get food” and me not be hungry, you know? I feel like it’s socially unacceptable to not eat if you’re going out to a restaurant so there’s always this paranoia about social standards and shit. On Sunday, we went to WingStop and got some food and we ate in the restaurant which we never fucking do (we always just get food to go) and I mean, wings are fucking messy. I was hungry and I wanted to eat (even though I knew there was a very high chance I’d get sick because we were going to the movies afterward which is a hardcore HIGH ANXIETY environment for me and I try to avoid it at all fucking costs) but in the back of my mind all I could think about was how fucking ridiculous I looked, I was making a huge fucking mess, I had sauce all over my hands and all over my face. This one woman walked into the restaurant to order some food herself and she laughed at me, saying that’s how she was going to look once she got her order. On one hand, I was super self-conscious but on the other I didn’t even care? Or maybe that’s what I kept trying to tell myself, that I didn’t give a fuck if I, a full grown adult, was eating wings like a toddler eats cake on her birthday (or anything on any day, for that matter). Yesterday was perhaps the worst in regards to my relationship with food, though. For starters, I was beginning to feel insanely burnt out. His mother had been running us ragged all weekend and last week was the week from hell, I could not catch a break, topped off with the fact that I relapsed in the self harm department last Wednesday, told my therapist and boyfriend about it on Thursday, and then had a massive argument with my boyfriend about it over text messaging that took up all Friday afternoon and left me in hysterical tears for four hours straight, so all I had the capacity to do was clean the house in preparation for this weekend. I was so looking forward to a three-day weekend, too, but unfortunately I couldn’t even enjoy some R+R because of his mother. The only thing keeping me going is the promise of Thanksgiving break next week, honestly, even though I know the minute we come back from that it’s all downhill from there prepping for finals. But anyways, so yesterday I was feeling super burnt out which was bad enough but then that made the food issues even worse. By the time we got ready and figured out what we wanted to do, we didn’t eat our first meal of the day until fucking 2pm and I was already starting to feel dizzy and nauseous. We went to an unfamiliar restaurant where I got a good burger that I ate in it’s entirety, which led to my boyfriend’s mother commenting “She’s hungry!!” and halfway through my food I started getting some serious food-vertigo (which is basically a thing I just made up where sometimes the prospect of eating makes me dizzy and I start to feel kind of sick and anxious). This food-vertigo and exhaustion lasted throughout the entire rest of the day as I was dragged to four different thrift stores and Sam’s Club (I find it funny that after all of this, his mother had the audacity to say she didn’t get everything done up here that she wanted and that the time flew by way too fast like um okay...). I was grateful that she bought me a hoodie I found to use for a Hinata cosplay and my own bluetooth beanie after getting my boyfriend one for his birthday, like I will never say no to someone buying something for me, I was just simultaneously so fucking tired. I knew I had to keep going, though, because there was one thing I definitely wanted to get done today and that was to take the annual park picture that my boyfriend and I have taken in front of this waterfall in a nearby park every year on his birthday since we’ve been together. The picture has to be taken at night, though, when the waterfall is lit up, so we had to wait. We decided to go to dinner beforehand at this semi-fancy restaurant that I had also never eaten in before that gave me some mild anxiety. It was dark inside and the ceilings were high and the tables were marble so shiny you could see the ceiling reflected in them which gave me serious anxiety/vertigo. I wasn’t even hungry, either, but I picked at some garlic knots that tasted pretty good. We did end up getting the picture even though his mother’s hands were super shaky so almost every picture she took was blurry as fuck (and she had to use my phone because both her and my boyfriend’s phones were dead af and my phone camera is shit-- I feel like only I know how to properly work it and make the pictures come out decent). At least we did get a decent picture in the end, though, and then we went home for at least some relaxation before bed. Even this morning/today, though, the food anxiety has persisted. All I ate today before “dinner” was a croissant for breakfast which was delicious and I fucking love croissants, my anxiety was just so bad that I still felt kind of vertigo-y as I ate and even with sleeping in an extra fifteen minutes, I was fucking exhausted. All of this was well and good but I didn’t even mention the worst part of all of this: my boyfriend’s mother had a stomach bug the entire time she was here. Apparently she started feeling sick on Thursday night or something, was going to call out of work Friday, but came up on Saturday anyways because yesterday was my boyfriend’s birthday and she refused to miss spending it with him. So on top of everything else, I was also struck with the fear of her getting unexpectedly sick no matter what we did or where we went, as well as stuck with the nuisance of her complaining about how she hadn’t eaten anything since Thursday and that she couldn’t eat and that her stomach was bothering her so much. It made me even more anxious because all I could think about was her puking in the only bathroom in the house and then myself having to interact with that (the toilet that would have been since contaminated with her stomach bug germs) or her running to the bathroom with hand clasped over mouth or something equally nerve-wracking. Every time we went out to eat, she’d barely get any food and anything she did eat was so fucking panicky to watch like all I could think about was her vomiting it all back up again and the risk of that. It made eating even less enjoyable for me, the not-so-friendly neighborhood emetophobic. And now, tonight, I am struck with the horrifying fear that I may have just walked right into a trap. I ate her barely-touched leftovers from Saturday night for dinner and now I’m feeling so nauseous but I can’t tell if it’s because her food was contaminated with her fucking germs or if it’s just my anxiety talking. Either way, I know I cannot afford to be sick right now which makes things that much worse. I’m still so fucking exhausted, too, I still have a bit of that vertigo-y thing going on, I’m stressed, I’m anxious. Everything sucks and I overall just kind of want to die. 

And in terms of the dream, last night I dreamed that I stepped on the scale and had gained seven more pounds than the last time I weighed myself. I know I need to gain weight to be healthy but at the same time, I can’t help but feel so out of control and panicked because I know I gained weight without even trying. Yeah, I eat, like I’ll starve myself but I still eat, but the fact that I recently gained five whole fucking pounds without even trying??? And in the course of, like, a month if eve that??? That is fucking TERRIFYING. Like just...how??? Especially when I didn’t think I was doing anything different, you know? That’s just so nerve-wracking. So of course my subconscious is playing on those fears and feeding me nightmares about gaining even more weight without even trying, leaving me to feel out of control and panicked. I even keep almost gaslighting myself about the real incident, saying maybe I only dreamed that I gained five pounds and that next time I weigh myself, I’ll be back to my usual weight or something, I don’t know. It’s so weird to feel so comfortable at a consistent weight that you know is logically too low for your height and age. Like I panic when I drop too low and I panic when I gain. It’s just so fucking bizarre, I don’t know, man. Maybe I am anorexic after all. I know I have some sort of eating disorder but I’ve always told myself I was super atypical, that I never fit the criteria for any of the real eating disorders, but now...well, now I’m not so sure. I took an assessment with my therapist for this sort of stuff on Thursday morning when I last saw her, so hopefully the next time I see her I’ll get the results and know for sure what the fuck is wrong with me. I don’t know, man, right now everything is just kind of super fucked up. 

[seunghyun247-blog]

great white sharks vs killer whales || solo ft jongin

MENTIONED: @247jiyong , @247xbora , @247yoori , @sehun247 @247sooyoung

it’s the second to the last day of the trip and all seunghyun wants in the world right now is some goddamn alone time. he’s been followed around by camera crews and his tentmates, and then there’s the issue of him living so damn close to every enemy in high school he’s ever had. he tries not to make eye-contact with them, but how is he supposed to avoid them entirely when they are sleeping and eating and breathing just a few meters away from him? it’s hard to pretend things are fine, and even harder to do it under the watchful gaze of the television lens.

he feels like he’s going to explode soon—he’s never been able to handle stress very well.

but still, at least he’s managed to find a few minutes away from everyone else, a few seconds just to himself where he can smoke a cigarette without feeling guilty and let himself just embrace the overwhelming quiet of the atmosphere out here. he stands off to the edge of the woods, about a hill and a half away from the campsite where he can still see everything but from a good distance. he’s begun to think for the last day and a half that this trip might actually have been enjoyable had he been out here without the others. maybe he ought to come back soon, just to chill alone for a while, no friends or fake friends or camera flashes.

he drags in on the tobacco, closing his eyes for a long moment, letting the serenity surround him.

“got a light?” asks a voice just behind him.

without really thinking about it, seunghyun pulls out his lighter, his baseline need to be nice to others taking president over any other feelings of annoyance or frustration that his peace has been interrupted. he turns and holds the lighter up and out towards—

kim fucking jongin.

seunghyun is frozen for a moment, paralyzed entirely except the ability to merely blink once, his whole brain grinding to an absolute halt as their eyes meet; seunghyun’s wide, deer-in-the-headlights aesthetic meeting jongin’s, half-lidded and calm. they stand just a few feet away from each other, but seunghyun can already feel a heat in the air, some sort of toxic radiation from his younger half-brother and to say he was scared of the shorter male would be an understatement. he’s seen what jongin can do, what he has done, what he’s capable of--and anyone who’s seen that should be scared of him.

his blood runs cold before racing through his veins like it’s a competition and he struggles for a moment to force air into his lungs. jongin is everything seunghyun hated about high school, every torment, every nightmare. younger than him by two years, jongin has managed far more intense feats than seunghyun even wants to try for. he’s heard all the stories, all the rumors, all the snide remarks and evil plans. he’s personally witnessed jongin beating people until his knuckles and his clothes are bloody, giant grin on his face, insanity lurking in the corners of his eyes.

he takes a step forward and seunghyun wants to shrink back, but he doesn’t. maybe it’s the fear rooting him in place or maybe it’s his body reminding him that if you run from a rottweiler, they feel more compelled to chase you. he stands his ground though, his figure unmoving even though the worry is very apparent on his face, while jongin comes up and casually takes the lighter from his hand, holding the flame up to his own cigarette before breathing it in.

“i uh… i’m surprised.” seunghyun finds his voice, even though it’s a bit too breathy. “don’t you usually light your cigarettes with hellfire or something?”

he’s not sure why he’s just made that joke, but jongin does turn to him and give a half-grin anyway. although, knowing jongin, that still might not be such a good thing. “usually i do, over a bonfire of my enemies’ corpses.” he tosses the lighter back to seunghyun, who catches it without dropping his eyes from the other. it’s a joke... right? just him bolstering up his own reputation of course...

for an awkwardly long while, neither of them speak. seunghyun does his best not to creepily stare at the other, pinning his eyes to the ground while jongin looks out over the view of the camp, everything seeming much smaller and more manageable from this distance. they both sip on their cigarettes and listen to the bugs and the birds around them. he doesn’t know what to say or how to break the ice—isn’t sure whether this is jongin making some kind of peace or effort to reach out to him, and whether or not seunghyun will reciprocate it. he hadn’t let him come to their father’s funeral, which had been a heavy blow. seunghyun isn’t sure he wants to accept any sort olive branch from someone so selfish. but then jongin speaks and the confusion ends abruptly.

“so i know we all hate gossip girl, and some of us more than others, but she does on occasion make some interesting points and the reason i’m here right now, forcing myself to breathe the same air as you, is because i just want to make sure that one particular point she’s made recently is wholly and entirely false. and i want to be clear about this, i’m not doing this out of some grand gesture to check up on you or anyone, this is merely me reminding you where the line is between what you can have and what you cannot have.”

“what?” seunghyun squints. “what are you talking about?” honestly, the sheer audacity--

“sehun,” he turns his head and looks directly into seunghyun’s eyes. “you’re not fucking him, are you?”

“I—what?” the world stops. it could collide with a meteorite right about now and seunghyun wouldn’t be able to notice.

“see the post said he seemed unhappy about you getting engaged to little miss park and while i thought it was hilarious, i’ve got to wonder why.”

seunghyun feels stuck like a bug, motionless and bleeding somewhere he can’t see. revealing his relationship ( or dysfunctional mess ) with sehun to anyone would be disastrous, especially to jongin. if sehun, the devil’s own best friend, is scared of him and what he might do.... “i, i don’t… that’s not anything to do with me—that, he might have just been upset because of sooyoung…” and then he winces because it sounds like he is trying to shift blame onto one of his oldest friends. he doesn’t want to put her in the warpath of someone like jongin.

but his little brother is shaking his head, his eyes glowing eerily, the corner of his lips tilted upwards. “you and i both know sehun’s preferences don’t swing that way.”

seunghyun gulps. he tries to think of something to say but nothing comes. his brain is full of broken gears that refuse to turn. his throat starts closing up.

“alright let me make this clearer for you,” jongin sniffs, breathing in the smoke and shifting entirely to look straight at the other. “i’m doing you this as a favor, actually, given the fact that you don’t really know who he is or what he’s done. see, me and my people are sharks, we own the ocean, we’re apex predators. and you always have been and always will be just a whale…” seunghyun winces a bit at the old insult that followed him around through his years at cheongnam. “you don’t belong with us.”

being insulted like this, using that old nickname once again to make him feel inferior, actually bolsters something inside seunghyun, catching alight like a pyre. his eyebrows thread together in a glare that sharpens as jongin steps closer to him. he wants to tell him to fuck off, even with how unwise that is, but he has to think about sehun in this equation as well. there’s a reason sehun always has to pick on him in public, there’s a reason they’ve kept themselves secret this whole time. seunghyun grips a fist tightly. “there’s nothing between sehun and i,” he finds his voice, albeit still quiet. “and even if there was, he isn’t your property—“

but he’s cut off by jongin’s laughter, a short outburst that reverberates from his throat, like a cackle but darker, and it sends a shiver down seunghyun’s spine. the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “of course he is. there’s no real backing out of a situation with me, once they get involved. i’m like cancer; i’m never really gone and there’s always a chance for a relapse.”

“that’s just stupid.”

“for them, yeah,” he looks back at the campsite, still grinning. “but then, i never really force myself on people, they end up liking it well enough on their own.” something simmers in jongin’s pupils as he drags on his cigarette. “i mean, just ask your friend jiyong.”

for the second time in the last ten minutes, all of seunghyun’s blood runs cold, the world turns a sickening grey. there’s an implication there in the way he says jiyong’s name, more than just a secret between them, more than just a past life in high school. something’s happened. what? what?! WHAT?! “wha….. what are you….”

“oh he didn’t tell you about our little ‘ride’ in his lamborghini?” jongin feigns a look of surprise. “i thought you two were best friends?”

seunghyun’s chest feels like it’s a thousand pounds and he can’t even wrap his brain around, not just the idea of the two of them together or that jiyong failed to mention this massive fuck-up, but that he got involved with jongin after knowing the relationship between him and his brother? why... why the fuck doesn’t jiyong ever care about staying away people who genuinely hate seunghyun? at least showing some measure of wariness, of caution, or even a moment’s hesitation? suddenly seunghyun is on fire, and he finds enough rage to bring him a step closer to the shorter male. “what the fuck have you—“

“speaking of fuck, he’s pretty good, but i’ve got to wonder if his parents know how nasty and gay he is. or his newest, pretty girlfriend. bora is quite a nice piece, huh? didn’t you like her at some point?” jongin drags on his cigarette once again, completely unaffected by seunghyun’s anger. “don’t worry, hyungie, you’re not the only one hurting over her choosing mr. enigma-- seems she’s got quite a few wet dicks up her ass.”

“i’m not hurting!” seunghyun’s voice raises, his frustration boiling over, his heart hammering against his chest. “you stay the hell away from them, you leave jiyong and bora alone! and all of them! you’re goddamn curse, jongin! they’re not your toys—not jiyong, not sehun, not even yoori!”

up until that last moment, jongin’s face was pretty placid and more or less just amused, but then the name yoori falls out of seunghyun’s lips ( an accident really, simply because he’d met yoori and been contacted by her recently to help her out with her finances, and her situation had been on his mind ), and something deep and dark and cold shifts inside jongin. his whole demeanor changes, like a sudden eclipse, all the amusement vanishes as his countenance sharpens.

jongin isn’t called the devil simply because he is fiery and prone to anger. there is something deeper inside him, something inhuman, an unfeeling, black mass, a hole where his heart should be.

“you don’t know anything about yoori.” his voice is calm but the words sound like they’re being spat out by a void.

“i know she doesn’t want to be with you. she’s doesn’t love you.”

“love is irrelevant. is that what you think i’m talking about? something that pathetic?” jongin tilts his head and seunghyun gets another glimpse of that pure, inhuman remorselessness inside him. “i don’t give a shit who loves me or not. love me or hate me, doesn’t matter, she still belongs to me. she always will.” he closes the distance between them tighter, coming up to closer to seunghyun’s frown, not even bothering to match it, as though his frustration is simply irrelevant. “just like sehun. you think he loves you? loves you, while he’s sucking cock in dark alleyways and going on dates with strangers? at the end of the day, i have what he wants. not you. i’m not lying to you, the truth is always worse, so trust me when i say; he’ll always be more mine than yours.”

“why do you even care so much?”

“because that’s what sharks do. they rip their victims to shreds.”

seunghyun doesn’t say anything to that, can’t force words past his lips because he knows he’s a bad liar and anything else he can think to respond with would only be futile and unnecessary. plus there’s too many thoughts in his head, too much white-noise, too much overload of information he would rather have died than find out about. he’s not wrong; there is something inside seunghyun that feels torn up now, attacked for no reason. but he meets the devil’s eye, stands his ground and doesn’t flinch or loosen his clenched fist, even as jongin steps away from him, passing him and heading back into the woods.

“you know the thing about whales, jongin?” seunghyun asks, motionless as one of the trees, not even bothering to look at the other. he can hear as his half-brother’s footfalls stop, although he’s sure he’s too proud to turn and look back at him also. “you can ask any marine biologist on the planet and they’ll tell you… great white sharks are deadly, but they’re actually no match for killer whales.”

he can feel more than hear jongin’s grin and the light laughter as he resumes walking away.

[marrowflavored]

==> Weeks in the future, but not many...

      [ access plain text ]

   Shou demanded to leave the house as soon as he saw the lava Kanaya showed him, but halfway trying to get his immobile ass out the door he collapsed backwards and clutched his chest. He stopped trying to leave at that point, just kind of in dumb shaky shock as he lay back on the couch, shivering. Couldn't eat meat for a few days. Completely nonverbal for at least a day or two. Big eyed and confused and so shaky he needed both hands to drink water. He'd stared really large eyed at Alex and Frenchie when they got back, and it was hard to tell if he was surprised or not from the way he was already deer in the headlights but.    Mentally afterwards, he's in shambles. Between the memories trying to force their way up and Jave's Self poorly reintegrating he's ungodly scatterbrained, muttering apologies and curling up on himself. His best exercise seemed to be literally that, exercise, so when he was mobile again got to grinding hardcore. He was always there for listening or holding someone, but he was helpless and useless otherwise, something that frustrated him to no end. He wanted to see Ghostie but wasn't in a state to insist, as much as he wanted to. He wanted to hug Alex, at least once. Frenchie, for sure, all the way through his alcoholic descent.    He wasn't sure if Jave was 'there' or not but that the same time he kind of knew he was but wasn't sure how to integrate or properly deal with that. Since he was BACK but PART of shou again--Jave's things were becoming shou's, and there wasn't enough separation between the two to say 'he's here' without being utterly cruel.   Shou takes a while before he stabilizes. It's poor stabilization anyways, but it's there. He'll still wince or shudder as a new memory tries to rip through him, but he's trying.   He likely talks to Zack often. Often enough to know what the plan is. Enough to be nervous and hysterical about the prospect of being doomed and disappearing, but not without hope.   Shou took some kind of hit when he had that fit on the day Jave died--he hasn't been quite the same since. Aside from being a neurological wreck with the worst memory issues, he just. Didn't hold himself the same. There would be times he'd stand there with his face utterly dead expression, sitting in his hip and hands tucked in his pockets. Suddenly Zack can't rely on Shou to be his sous chef, unless they're preparing things cold, since even the sight of a warm oven or boiling pot will send him into panic. He's been found under a blanket pile during a rainstorm, curled up with an ancient stuffed animal from his closet and whimpering like a small child. His voice will go strangely flat sometimes, less empty and more just. The Wrong Delivery of his words.   He frowns if asked about it, sometimes just frowns in general, thinking hard. Apologizing quietly if he can't grasp it.  Fighting in the day, and holding people close at night. Usual, if strained, Shou things.   But especially towards the end, but sometimes in peeks before, there's something different. One of the hugs Frenchie gets feels different, no less forgiving but something in it is stiller and deeper than usual. Like someone else is there.   Ghostie, of course, will get his before he leaves. Before, or after, it's hard to say, trying to track Alex down before she winds up dead.   Hopefully, finding her before that point. Catching her arm when she tries to leave. Trying to explain the time plan. To fix this. To change this.   When she tries to leave again, holding her in a hug from behind. Before she leaves with her portal, just muttering, "Star girl, please. Stay with me."   "It's going to get better, I promise. We just gotta hang on a little longer."

  Frenchie went several nights without sleep after watching his friend die, staying awake through the night to watch over Shou, Alex, and Zack. The first time he would manage to doze off would only last a few hours before he was woken, trembling and sweating, by nightmares of turning on the lights in the Miller's movie theater to see Jave's face crumbling to ash.   Frenchie was noticeably jumpy and on edge for a week, unable to get more than one or two hours of sleep at a time, and became prone to nervously following Ghostie around the house to make sure he wasn't getting into anything shifty. Driven to desparation by paranoia and lack of sleep, he eventually turned to the only thing he knew was a surefire way to get some rest and relaxation - self medication. Whoever found him passed out near the alchemiter would only shake their head and move the empty bottle of whisky somewhere safer. It was only a matter of time before relapse arrived in this timeline, anyway.    It eventually became clear to him that Alex was avoiding him (she was avoiding everyone, but in his vulnerable state it felt especially personal). Convinced of everything that he had suspected all along, that she only tolerated him until she could drop him and be with her real boyfriend, he tried several times to contact her before giving up and, in a fit of inebriated despair, deleting her number from his phone.    A mixture of guilt, depression, and anger drove him to solitude, even as he sought to protect his remaining friends from the lurking threats of Sburb. he could usually be found outside, using lightning and fists to wreak havoc on Shou's endless enemies, or hiding in the bathroom, alone. Heavy drinking and hours of combat were the only ways he could maintain a regular sleep cycle and still drive off recurring nightmares.    Frequently he would approach Shou, trying to comfort and find comfort in him, and sometimes it almost worked. Shou had the natural ability to make him feel Forgiven. But eventually the solace would end. Other times, he would attempt a casual hangout with Zack, but they'd both be too distracted to really have any fun doing it. Their contact mostly included tearful hugs or working in the kitchen together, not exchanging words.

   Alex mostly cried the first few days. Similar to Frenchie, she didn’t sleep much and when she did it was mostly nightmares about Jave’s cooked corpse. After she calmed down, she would accept a little help, but remain kind of detached. Hugs from Shou would be met with a half-hearted pat on the back, talks with Frenchie just made her guilty or sad that she couldn't help him as a moirail. Relaxing makes her restless and she ends up thinking, which creates a downward of thought. She’d be angry at Ghostie for not listening and getting Jave needlessly killed. She'd be sad and upset about Jave's death, commenting about how she wasn't there to help him or even comfort him as he died. She'd think about going back to his planet for a burial but couldn’t make herself face that place again. 
So more and more she sneaks out and runs off and goes the OPPOSITE way of her peaceful exploration, going out and looking for danger. The more she wandered off to get distracted the less she’d look at her phone and respond. When she sees Frenchie’s drunk texts, she feels even worse about not being a good moirail and keeps spiraling down until she virtually stops contact all together.    One day Shou stops her and asks "Star girl" to stay, the nickname was only every used by Jave. She doesn't stop her violent explorations, but she does try to stay around closer to Shou's house, the home base. Shou never calls her that again, and she's in doubt enough to not consider the reason he did, and aware enough to know it wasn't a fluke or a trick of the mind.

   Zack was more moral support overall. He’d try and comfort Shou with hugs and shoulder pats, and hug Frenchie close. He'd even give Alex hugs which aren’t returned. When Shou’s more healed up, Zack heads off to find answers, telling everyone his plans and making double sure that they know what he's up to. He Knows things weren’t supposed to go this way in the timeline, and he follows that trail of thought to his planet and his new God Tier. Because of the ascension he has a clearer knowledge of how things can be fixed, the most favorable option being “Wait through hell until Ghostie gets the bright idea to go back himself.” Until then, he keeps calling Alex and updating here even if she doesn't respond, taking drinks away from Frenchie, and helping Shou as best as he emotionally can.    When Shou shows his fear and panic over heat after the incident, Zack changes to an all salad/sushi diet, or basically anything that can be consumed or cooked cold. Usually separates meals too, in case there is something like meat or warmth involved.

   Ghostie held it together for a total of about an hour after Jave’s death. It was long enough to try (and fail) to find an adequate burial place, then wander the newly destroyed land, shell-shocked and shivering despite the heat. Then he broke down, violently, screaming and scratching at his arms until Frenchie dragged his catatonic body back to Shou’s planet.    Ghostie knew he was alive now, and subsequently doubled his efforts to hurt, maim, and punish himself. He ate next to nothing, frequently raided the cabinets of Shou’s home for pills and alcohol, and never slept, instead choosing to sit awake in the corner. He picked fights with imps and ogres. He sought Frenchie’s attention by stealing the alcohol that he alchemized, but Frenchie refused to take the bait. After a couple of attempts to contact Alex, he could no longer face her rejection and gave up.    He took to following Zack around, trying to stay out of sight, but for some reason taking comfort in his presence. He frequently revealed himself by accident, unable to be as stealthy as he wanted, but Zack never seemed to threaten him or mind his presence. In fact, it was quite the opposite, and a silent sort of kinship developed between the two. Ghostie found the older boy’s activities interesting to watch, and it made him think.    To stay in this ruined timeline and let himself fade into oblivion was no less than what he believed he deserved, but after several weeks of guilt and self-destruction, he began to wonder if somehow, this could be fixed. Watching Zack grow stronger, honing his powers over time, Ghostie developed a suspicion that maybe this timeline was supposed to fail - and some other, fortunate one was meant to succeed. Maybe, for some other version of himself, there was hope.     Maybe Jave could still live. 

[where-ls-my-mlnd]

You ever just randomly get in the mood to partake in self-destructive behavior? Wait, shit. Let me rephrase that. Make it sound less deranged. You ever sunk into a vicious sorrow, like, the worst, most agonizing, screaming sorrow you’ve ever felt in your entire life, spend a week being consumed by this horrible unrelenting pain, and then develop the urge to do things that are deleterious to your well-being in order to cope? Holy fuck that sounds even worse. Ah, son of a bitch— don’t go thinking I’m insane now, alright? ‘Cause I’m not. Severely insane, anyway. I’ve always had a couple screws loose, but that’s okay, and hardly the point, anyways. The point is quite simple at its core. Allow me break it down for you. Ever since I was young, I have been terribly, dangerously, and inexorably fond of self-destruction. That’s not a secret. Never has been. You don’t develop a drug addiction because you like the feeling of safety, you know what I’m sayin’? It stems from a profound inner sense of chaos, a desire to escape; whether it be from your emotions, your life circumstances, or the world at large, that is so strong, and so fucking undefeatable, it becomes larger than you are. Even the strong-willed can be absolutely wrecked by addiction. No one is exempt. Addiction doesn’t give a fuck who you are, where you’re from, what your aspirations are. It just wants to break you, and then build you back up again, and have you walking around half-alive for years and years so it can feed on the last of your life force. It doesn’t want you too strong, but not too weak, either. The ideal is for you to be slowly decomposing over the course of half your life or sometimes more so that it can drag out the torturous process for as long as possible. If you’re lucky, you’ll hit bottom, a massive part of you will die, and you’ll be reborn. What you choose to do with your second chance at life is entirely up to you, and that’s the tricky part. I’ve seen many people carelessly waste their chances, as if they thought God was just doling them out for free. I’m rueful to say that I have wasted my own chances before. A gross disregard for the life I was so blessed to still have. But maybe I should go easy on myself. Why should I take such care of my life— when I did not even want to live it? That’s a question for the ages, ain’t it? Psychologists would love to pick that shit apart. Well, anyway, what I am incredibly happy to say is this: I was one of the lucky ones, and after countless failed attempts, I was able to kill that monster once and for all, and in its death I found a brand new life for myself. It’s not an easy life, but nothing is ever easy with me. All that matters is it’s my life, I fucking made it for myself, and I am so damn grateful and elated to be living it. What I am hesitant, and slightly anxious to say is this: in my heart resides the same fondness for self-destruction that got me into so much trouble as a teenager. I’d like to say I’m not surprised— and if I did, it would be at least half-true. I have always had an unadulterated, skin-crawling need to be free. And I’ve always gladly done whatever I thought was necessary to achieve that freedom, even if it was illegal, stupid, morally bankrupt, or just absurd. That’s the thing with me. I can’t fucking stop, ever. If used for different purposes, it may even be called admirable: that furious, unyielding drive. I like to think I can still channel that energy, in my career specifically, but these days I’m honestly not sure. But there is a difference. Back in the day, I would start shit just for fun. I was seeking something, for sure— something that I still don’t feel like I’ve found. Beyond the classic premise of a teenager’s quest for self-discovery, there was no greater goal, or purpose for my antics. I did it because I could, and because after a while I began to fall in love with destruction. Raising hell was my religion. In an otherwise Godless world— that was always the altar at which I worshipped. Now, I find myself self-imploding because of so, so many violent, turbulent emotions to which I cannot put a name. It’s just like, my fucking mind, man...it’s a hell zone. That animal urge to unleash all inhibitions and just say fuck it is only ever activated by deeply unpleasant feelings. It’s almost like I’m...acting out. I‘ll be overcome by a wave of melancholy, or hit by sudden, thrashing anxiety, and I’ll get so overwhelmed that I feel like I need to do something to let it out. Something drastic. Something impulsive. Something absolutely fucking insane. Something like what I’m doing right now. Driving in my car, vibrating with excitement in my seat, to pick up J, who’s waiting for me in that damn park so we can go to a fucking club. A club! I literally just passed three years of sobriety, fuck, what is this? Am I trying to relapse? Well, no— I’m not an alcoholic, what the fuck? You know, I mean, can I handle my alcohol? No. But like, if I start drinking, can I stop? Uh...yeah! I’m only a drug addict, it’s fine! Holy fuck that was the most disturbing sentence I ever said. Well, whatever, I don’t think anyone’s gonna whip out any fuckin’ shards in the middle of a nightclub. Coke, that’s a given. But like, I can avoid it probably, also I barely like it! So who cares?! Imagine someone offers me a bump— I’m not gonna whore myself out for it. Not gonna hold out my hands and beg oh yes, please, PLEASE give me some coke! You know what I’m gonna say? WHAT THEY TEACH YOU TO IN SCHOOLS, BABY! N-O! NO...no thank you, not a big fan of the booger sugar, I’m a member of the elite, I only like amphetamines. OOPSIE I forgot to use past tense. Used to like amphetamines. There we go. Oh mother of fuck, what am I doing? God— I hardly remember getting in my car. See, this is what I mean! When the pain gets real bad, I start to act fucking chaotic! And lord knows the pain has been abject as of late. To this day I don’t know how I even survived Sunday night. In that dark, sinister park, and in J’s brutally honest words, I was met with a feeling of despair I can only describe as deadly. I don’t know how I didn’t do something to myself. I’m sure I wanted to. After a certain point I think I just blacked out. System overloaded or something. I got home, by some fucking miracle— I know because I woke up in my bed around 3 am because I had been crying in my sleep, which is just fucking neat. After that, I don’t know. I really wish I could remember. Perhaps some things are too horrific to remember. The days that followed were even worse. I spent my time floating in and out of sadness, then to bitter, uncontrollable anger, back into sadness again, then for the grand finale there’d be a thick feeling of complete numbness, and that would be what followed me throughout the day. Sometimes I’d see her in my dreams, and still miss, love, and need her desperately— other times I’d feel disgusted by the vile creature she has become and want to forget we ever shared a moment so sacred. It was mostly the first one though, and that’s what made it so hard. You should’ve seen me, flipping through old photos of her like a fucking weirdo and clutching them to my heart, like if I held them close enough, she would hear how loud it beats for her. I was lovesick for the very first time since I was twenty one years old and discovering that bad boys, if given the chance, will treat you bad every damn time. I was never under any illusions that this was healthy, but I knew something was seriously fucked when I abruptly stood up and almost passed out, and later realized it was because I hadn’t eaten in two days. Thank God for fast food and its obscene amounts of fat otherwise I might still be a touch too skinny. Before I knew it, the week had passed me by, and this brings us to tonight. Tonight. It’s kind of a funny story how my spirits got so lifted. I was in the shower, which is a story in itself. I don’t know how I forced myself to take a shower in that state— I can’t even get out of bed most days. I get out of that bitch, right? I bury myself in my towel like a blanket ‘cause it was colder than my father’s stare in there. I wipe the steam from the mirror. And my breath was stolen away. I actually looked good. Fuck, I looked amazing. My eyes were bloodshot from crying, yeah, but my eyelashes looked darker, longer, little tiny beads of water dripping off them, and my complexion looked so fresh and healthy, and my lips had somehow turned a perfect shade of pink like I just blew a cherry popsicle or something. Was I sort of...pretty when I cried? Is it just like Lana Del Rey said? Oh my god, I thought. It was. I watched as my eyes brightened and my face was lit up by a smile at the realization. I broke into this demented cackle, and stayed there five minutes longer than I should have, gripping the edge of the sink and laughing gleefully. By the time I got back up to my apartment I was still in disbelief. Did I look that good all the time? Had I always been sexy? I couldn’t stop looking at myself. It was like I had been given a whole new face, a whole new body. I tried to just sit and quietly watch TV but it felt too wrong. It’s a Friday night. I live in the heart of the city. I’m not emotionally attached to anyone anymore. I have exceptional looks all of the sudden. I have more pent-up sexual frustration than I know what to do with. It just seemed too...perfect... And so, I decided, with a slightly manic sense of determination, that I was going to go get laid. Got a little dressed up because, yes, it’s true, my closet does consist of more than just hoodies. Fluffed up my hair a bit, stared into the mirror some more, then I hit up J. Man did he sound jittery when he answered the phone. Never in my life did I think that J would ever ask me, under any circumstances, for any reason, “What...what’s up?” I was too enchanted by my own reflection to analyze it at the time. “LISTEN, are you busy?” I demanded, trying out different poses in the mirror. He wasn’t. This pleased me immensely. “I wanna go fucking clubbing, J. You wanna go clubbing?! Let’s go clubbing! I ONLY WANT TO GO IF YOU COME WITH.” A heavy sigh from the other line. “I don’t know, man...” Panic instantly arose and began to frazzle my mind. Oh, god, it all seemed so clear now. He was gearing up to leave me. That was all there was to it. I had been too clingy, too emotional, too inconsiderate before; I had expected too much of him, and for that he was pulling away from me. That sigh held the leaden weight of our previous interaction and it was palpable, even over the phone. It was obvious I had to do something. “Come on, J...there’s money in it for you.” Needless to say, he was suddenly very eager to agree when I told him to wait for me in the park and that I’d pick him up in one hour. All the while I’m fucking hauling ass to collect his ounce of coke that I promised him, splitting it up into several different amounts and agonizing over how best to organize it. I figured it out eventually— because I fucking worked my brain half to death. The attention to detail was painstaking but it had to be done. And now, here I am, riding around the city, glorious night air blowing in through the open window, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of Uptown Funk, feeling that same wild, intoxicating rush as if it never went away. Perhaps I’m going a little crazy, perhaps I’ve never been saner. But I haven’t felt this good about myself, or anything, in a long time. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve felt very confident since I entered my twenties. Something about all the self-introspection makes it hard to view myself in a positive light. But I’ve done enough of that, enough self-introspection for ten lifetimes. If there was ever a time where I deserved to go fucking ape shit, and have fun, and act like a normal twenty-something year old...it would be now. Spring break, bitch. May as well bask in my freedom while I still have it. Lush, gorgeous greenery juxtaposed with tall, steely, glittering buildings and the sudden feeling of quietude that being surrounded by nature brings: that’s how I know I’ve made it to the park. Almost out of respect for the calm, solitary setting, I instinctively go to turn down my music, drowning out the sounds of saxophones and terrifically catchy guitar riffs and Bruno Mars’ bright, joyous voice in favor of comfortable, worshipful silence. I wouldn’t mind driving around this place for a while, but I don’t have to look very long to find him. He’s standing on the sidewalk, looking as close to peaceful as he can probably get, cigarette in hand; never without his crutch, his trademark accessory. A shadowy figure in the near-dark, an apparition, an enigma, as always. I find myself breaking into a smile as I pull up and then subsequently stop the car, sliding out of my seat and nudging the door closed with my hip. I can see him very well now that I’ve gotten closer and— oh! What the fuck— okay, J! Giving me a little shirt-half-unbuttoned moment! He’s...okay, wow, he’s kind of serving. He’s really serving. He’s dressed in this sleek little black shirt that matches his hair just divinely and dark jeans and he looks so good I can’t help but raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes in surprise. “JAMES DEAN! How’s it going?!” I exclaim in lieu of a proper greeting. “What’s this little number? Did you get all dressed up just for ME?!” I let out a laugh, “Goddamn, man! Who the fuck told you to show out like that?! You are giving me so much life right now, J. I swear to God—you look so fucking good! What the hell?!”