#I very much understand the pain and struggle of having a craft you just...cant seem to get your heart back into. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

squidcalamarium · 5 years

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An open letter to three people

I would write this (and post it) on some other social media platform, or even write it out in a google doc, but that all feels either more vulnerable or impersonal than I want this to be. I understand that posting about my Feelings on tumblr isnt really all that private, but here all I am is what I say I am, and that matters more than anything really.

Anyway

This is going to be really long.

Five years ago, when I was 15, I identified as agender and pansexual. I was struggling a lot with feelings of "greyness" accompanied by intense bursts of anxiety, and both would make me cry. I cried a lot. I cried a lot for years. I still cry fairly easily but thats beside the point because I dont cry As Much, now. I dont cry as much as I used to, and it's not as painful as it used to be, because I have you three.

I was 14 and scared of myself when I met my first real best friend, at a mutual friends birthday party. I used to struggle with accepting a lot of things about myself, before I met her. Before I met you, I was disgusted by the way I looked. Not because I thought I was fat, though I struggled with that some, no, the main reason was my skin. I was raised believing the darkness in my skin was something to be ashamed of. Not ever directly, my grandmother would never ever tell me, her perfect granddaughter, that her skin tone was shameful. But it was in everything around me, from the age of 8 to 12, that taught me that being Half of something that's supposed to be Opposite of another, is wrong. The distinction between Right White and Black as Sin.

You helped me see past that. You helped me be able to look back at pictures of myself from when I was in elementary, middleschool, yesterday, and not have to look away. I was a really cute kid, looking back. I dont have to fight myself when my mom posts pictures of me from years ago on Facebook anymore. I know I'm not ugly. I know I never was. Now.

It struck me when I was 14, a year after getting to know you, that I didnt think my skin was ugly anymore. That I could like features about myself again. I cried when I realized that. I started to explore myself in other ways, after that, because I could finally look past how I Looked into what I Am.

I tried out genderfluid for a while, scared to admit I wasn't a Girl. At 15 I tried out agender, and like I said above, that was probably a product of my hormonally increased depression. It was also because I was scared to admit I Was A Boy. It's easier to say I'm nothing than it is to say I'm something.

It's hard, learning to accept one aspect of yourself only to struggle immediately after with another.

I dont remember much about this stretch of time in my life, and my timeline is incredibly blurry. I remember when I first met my two best friends, but I dont remember when I first met my girlfriend. Probably because we just weren't very close at the time. It was middleschool, after all. We met through a mutual friend and never really got to spend any time together until highschool. Anyway, back on topic. I think I was about to talk about how I learned to Love again.

For a Very long time, I was scared to even say the words "I love you" out loud and in a coherent manner to another human being. Saying "I love you" felt like a weakness, something vulnerable that once said, would be used against me. It had been, before, but not by you. Which you? All three of you.

Love, too me, used to be something sacred and delicate that could be ruined if I said it to freely. To say it would be to give someone the opportunity to hurt me, and no matter how many times someone said they loved me, I couldnt say it back. I was like this for so long, and it hurt so much.

Love, too me now, is still something incredibly special, but also something that should be said freely. Love is a feeling best felt shared. Love isnt just Romantic, and it never has been. I love flowers in fall, I love the feeling of summer rain, I love the color pink, I love the Concept of goblins, I love my hair, I love my girlfriend, I love my best friends. I love being able to say "I love you" without feeling like I'm pulling rocks out of my lungs. I love being able to say "I love you" without feeling the blood grow heavy in my skin and fear suplex my heart.

I love knowing I'm loved just as much as I love them.

I love knowing no one is going to fight over who I love more. Knowing I love you all differently and just as passionately. Knowing I dont have to be scared of being abandoned.

When I learned how to love without being scared, and how to trust in others, I was able to accept more about myself. I was around 17 when I accepted the fact that I'm a man. I'm not a girl, I'm not nothing, I am genuine to myself. I struggled a lot with accepting that. I was scared of myself.

Before I came to that conclusion, and went a little bit wild, I met my other best friend. He helped me find peace in myself.

I was not in the best place, when I was 16. I almost did a lot of things when I was 16. I dont think I tried to kill myself, but I also dont remember a lot of my teen years. He would know better, the kind of place I was in at the time. He helped me get through it.

Sometimes, when you catch yourself in a rut and cant seem to find a way out and just end up digging yourself down deeper, you need someone to call you an idiot. You need someone to go "maybe instead of resigning yourself to pacing back and forth forever, you could try and climb. You could try and dig into the walls and climb. Just stop trying to pretend it's okay, and ask for help."

I decided from then on out that I was going to treat myself better. That I wouldnt seek out self deprecation, and I wouldnt dwell on things that made me feel bad. It was hard, and it Still Is, but I'm better now. I'm better than I was. I still have the screenshots of the texts he sent me. They're on a blog I used to Write my Woes onto, but now its just an archive.

I am no longer my Own Worst Enemy.

When I first got with my girlfriend, I was kind of in the middle of losing my mind, and I ended up breaking up with her. Awful decision, really, but it needed to happen. I needed to grow as a person, into someone who deserved her even a Little Bit.

I still dont think I'm good enough for her, not by a long shot, shes a better person than I'll ever be. But she loves me anyway. Shes seen me when I looked my worst, when my brain was at its worst, and she still loves me. I dont think ill ever measure up to be what I think she deserves, but I try.

She motivates me, more than anything, to keep trying. To keep going. I almost didnt make it past 19, despite everything I still almost gave in, I almost gave up. I refuse to hurt her like that though. I can't hurt any of you like that.

I cant give up now, not when I have a future to look forward to, and that above all else is what she gives me. Its what you give me. A future to look forward too, to want to earn, to achieve.

I have never really had any solid idea of what I wanted out of life as I gotolder. Usually I'd go for more vague things, like "I want to be an artist and make money from my crafts" and "I want to be a therapist for tweens and young teens, to help them understand themselves." But besides that, I had nothing. What kind of life would I lead, outside of these Career Paths?

Now, I know I just want to be yours. For as long as you'll have me.

I'm 20 now. I am a man, and I don't really want to bother much with a label for my sexuality besides saying I'm queer. I have two best friends, one like a sister another like a muse, and my girlfriend. I have a cat named chelly and a dog named princess.

My life isnt where I want it to be, but I'm a better person now than I was before.

I'm better at Being a person than I ever have been.

Because everything I am now I had the potential to become, and everything I will be I have to potential to become.

There are a finite amount of resources in me, and the more I learn the better I am at using them.

I still get upset just as easily now as I did before, I can still spiral just as badly. I can still cry just as quickly. It's just that now, I know what to do to calm down a little quicker. Now, I'm nicer to myself. Now, I know how to redirect my emotions and my thoughts.

I'm still everything that I was before, just with more experience. The same parts, just rearranged more effectively than before. I'm as quick to comfort myself as I am to comfort others.

And it's all thanks to them. It's all thanks to you.

Thanks you.

I love you

#my insomnia is kicking my ass right now #i have a final tomorrow i have to be ready for #and am i ready?? no #am i concerned? kinda #should i be more worried ?? probably #either way my brain isnt shutting the fuck up so i guess ill just write it out #this isnt as good as the one that didnt post in the facebook group #but im kinda glad it didnt post in there bc facebook is weird and it might of posted to my actual main timeline #and that would of been bad #note how i avoided using names in this?#yeah thats why its not as good #op #long post #rlly rlly long post #its 3am

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Withstanding The Test Of Time - Shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - am i starting another au? yes. do i know when it’s gonna be updated? no. will it be soon? who knows. do i have any regrets? many. why am i doing this? why not.

aka: someone once asked me for a soulmate au and i really cant resist

Changing clothes in the tiny bathroom cubicle of the office block wasn’t exactly the most ideal situation Sharon could have found herself in, but she found herself in it nonetheless. Work had finished, and she knew she didn’t have time to hop on a train home, change, and get back in time to join the protest. So she’d ended up in the bathroom, struggling out of the stupid pencil skirt she had to wear and cursing under her breath.

“Fucking shit. I do not have money for the dry cleaners again. Shit, shit.” She muttered to herself, examining the coffee stain on the white fabric of her shirt and absentmindedly rubbing her burnt chest. “Fuck this.”

When Sharon had signed on to her job, she’d been under the impression that she’d be in for a learning experience. Taking notes in meetings, observing the long-time employees, that kind of stuff. Granted, office work wasn’t going to be particularly exciting, but Sharon had been fresh out of university, ready to stake her claim in the world of journalism and make her way up.

It hadn’t happened like that. As it had turned out, her intern position was nothing more than a coffee slave, running back and forth to deliver the hot beverages and pass messages between employees. She was allowed to cover the smallest of stories, about topics that required no real research, but spent most of her time being bossed around by everyone else. At twenty-four, she hadn’t made any headway.

Sharon couldn’t remember which one of the bitchy ladies had caused her to scald her chest and almost break her glasses – it could’ve been Kimora, Gia, Aja, Violet, Pearl – they were all the same. All she knew was that one of them yelled her name with twice the volume that was strictly necessary, startling her so much that the piping hot mug of espresso flew from her fingers and spilled everywhere. Not only had she been forced to clear up the mess, too, she still had to run whatever pointless errand she was given by one of the bitches. It hadn’t been a good day.

Finally out of her work clothes, Sharon tugged on the faded black jeans and t-shirt she’d stuffed into her bag that morning, ready to join the protest. The t-shirt wasn’t pretty by any means – she and her friends had scrawled their message onto the fabric with pungent Sharpies – but it did the job. Now she just had to tug her coat around her shoulders, and hope that if anyone saw her they would assume she was dressing for the rapidly approaching autumn.

Thankfully, the office was empty when Sharon emerged. As quickly as she could, she made her way into the elevator and pressed the lowest number, waiting for the doors to slide shut. Before it could, she heard the sound of heels clacking against the floor, and a deep voice called “Hold the lift!”

For anyone else, Sharon would’ve shrugged and pretended she couldn’t, but Sasha was sweet. She made her way in at the nick of time and smiled at Sharon gratefully, removing her hat and fanning herself with it.

“You off to the protest?” She asked, her eyes wandering to Sharon’s t-shirt.

Sharon nodded. “Yeah. Are you? It’d be nice not to get there alone.”

Sasha’s face twisted into an expression of sincere guilt. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m going to a family thing with Shea tonight, her cousin’s timer is about to get to zero and he wants us to be there with him when it happens.”

Of course. Sharon didn’t resent Sasha; the Russian was probably the only person in the office who actually understood and supported Sharon’s view on timers. But it stung a little knowing that, whilst Sasha was as against the laws as she was, her timer had gone off and she was happy with her soulmate. Sasha and Shea were one of those unbeatable couples – so sweet you could get a cavity.

At Sharon’s silence, Sasha placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I really am. Is yours still…?”

It was a touchy subject. The two had known each other for almost two years due to work, but it was still awkward to broach the topic with Sharon.

“Covered? Yeah. I don’t wanna see it at all.”

Timers disgusted Sharon. Ever since the technology had been evolved, the tiny glass timers were implanted into every baby at birth, without a choice. They started at the top of the wrist on the inner forearm and went about a third of the way down – pretty inconspicuous – and slowly ticked down, every second of every day. When the black numbers finally reached zero, the name of your soulmate would appear. Within a month, you had to marry them – for reasons the government were strategic not to disclose, although Sharon suspected it was to save the dying tradition of cookie-cutter married families – and there were even laws in place. If you were under eighteen, you could wait until eighteen and then marry within a month. Over eighteen, you had to marry within a month. Most people just abided by the rules because it was the safe option.

Many strongly opposed the timers, but their voices were often silenced. The loudest anti-timer activists were always mysteriously turned up missing, or found dead, or had a sudden revelation and saw the error of their ways. It was dangerous to be against them, and from society’s point of view, those that did were outcasts. Sharon’s first rebellious act, at the age of thirteen, had been to take a pair of craft scissors and try to remove the device from her skin. When all she’d managed were scratches on the smooth surface, she took a thick piece of tape and covered it completely. She’d been doing it ever since.

The numbers made Sharon feel sick anytime she looked at them. Last she’d seen them – a couple of weeks ago, when she’d had an allergic reaction to some jewellery and had to rub cream into her arms – it read 02-11-34-03-09-45-29. Two years, eleven months, thirty-four weeks, three days, nine hours, forty-five minutes, twenty-nine seconds. She still had time before she was forced to give in. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when her time was up.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Sharon.” Sasha pulled Sharon out of her thoughts, stepping out of the elevator with an almost melancholy smile. “Be careful out there.”

Sasha disappeared in the opposite direction to Sharon, heading towards the car park with her keys swinging jauntily from her index finger. Eyeing the darkening grey clouds overhead, Sharon wished she had the money for a car. The wind almost blew her backwards as she stepped outside, the air heavy with the scent of oncoming rain. Just what Sharon needed. Head bowed, she tugged her coat tighter around her and started to make her way down the street towards the city centre. It was only a short walk, but she knew that if the heavens didn’t open on her journey there, they definitely would during the protest.

Soon enough, Sharon spotted the small cluster of people with signs and tables around them, set up in the centre between the frequented shops and office buildings. Bianca’s dulcet tones rang clear and loud above everybody else’s, and Sharon made a beeline straight for the older woman.

“There you are! Jesus fucking Christ, I was beginning to think you’d bailed.” She said the moment Sharon approached. “Did you bring that blank sign?”

Sharon frowned. “Huh? What blank sign? You told Betty to bring that.”

Bianca cursed. “I knew it, the lying little bitch. I’ll cuss her out later. Is Sasha coming?”

“No. She’s too busy obeying the fucked up laws we’re protesting, like a good little girl.” Sharon supposed she shouldn’t talk about her friend like that, especially with how often she jumped in to help Sharon with her everyday life, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bitter.

“Of course.” Bianca muttered grimly. “Got your gear on? All your shit ready?”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Fuck, Bianca, when am I ever not prepared? T-shirt is on. When are we starting?”

“In a minute.” Bianca barked. “First of all, tape off. You know the drill, Sharon. Don’t fight me on this.”

Before Sharon could protest, Bianca had marched away, presumably to chew out Betty for not bringing along whatever she’d been told to. The older woman took these protests very seriously – as did Sharon – and organised each one with painstaking precision. She wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty, with at least one arrest happening per protest usually. Many a time it had been Sharon waiting overnight in a cell. Whilst she held a lot of respect for the woman, Sharon hated one rule that she had - timers must be exposed.

She and Bianca had fought about it many times. Bianca always said that, in order for any change to happen, they couldn’t appear as though they were afraid of the timers. They had to bear them out in the open with blatant disgust, and not a hint of fear, in case it was capitalized upon and their efforts invalidated. There weren’t many who covered their timers anyway, so it didn’t seem like such a huge issue, but Sharon despised it. Time and time again she begged Bianca to just let her keep the duct tape on, but she never succeeded.

Bianca just didn’t understand. Her timer was a blank white, having gotten to zero years ago with no name to follow. She didn’t understand the peculiar mix of dread, fear and anger that bubbled in Sharon’s stomach every time she accidentally caught a glimpse of her exposed timer. Even Sharon didn’t understand it, but Bianca refused to even try.

Deciding to just get it over with, Sharon slipped off her coat, folding it and placing it onto one of the empty tables, and tore the tape away. The motion stung at first, the skin underneath turning red and raw, but the cool air soon soothed the pain. She managed one furtive glance at the hateful device before squeezing her eyes shut and covering the glass with her hand. Two years. She still had two years left.

As efficient as ever, Bianca soon had the protest underway, with a few passersby stopping to watch, a few joining in, but most of them glaring in distaste. Sharon was taken back to her first ever protest – one that had been organised by Bianca – when she was fifteen. She’d skipped out on writing her history essay to hold a measly piece of cardboard out on the streets, receiving only leery glances and getting yelled at by churchgoers for what they claimed was being ‘anti-love’. Shivering, cold, and slightly afraid, Bianca had noticed the skinny teenager and taken her under her wing. Sharon had been working alongside Bianca for years now.

“KEEP YOUR LAWS OFF MY LOVE! KEEP YOUR LAWS OFF MY LOVE!”

Sharon had come up with the most recent slogan; in fact she came up with most of them. She had to put her language degree to use somehow, and if her shitty intern position wasn’t going to allow her to, she was going to do it here. The group chanted the words in unison, relishing in the stares they received. Negative reactions weren’t ideal, and were extremely common, but the more people looked, the more people would start to listen. At least, that was the hope.

Surrounded by so many people, Sharon didn’t even feel the chill of the oncoming season. She was near the front of the group, next to Bianca, her arms high above her head with her sign aloft and her shirt bearing the words “NO MORE TIMER LAWS!” Bianca was just as loud, spurring on everyone else to be the same. By far, Sharon and Bianca were the most passionate of the bunch.

After about an hour, a fair amount of people had joined, the protest in full swing. A mother dragged her curious preteen away from them, shooting angry stares their way. An old man clutched his heart, and a young married couple shook their heads in hasty disagreement. This was a pretty standard reaction, and no police had arrived yet. The protest would only cease when they turned up.

Fully in the swing of things, Sharon didn’t even notice her phone ringing until it started to vibrate against her back pocket, startling her. Reshuffling slightly, she shifted the sign into her other hand and swiped across to answer the call, knowing Willam would just ring endlessly if she didn’t pick up.

“Good evening, miss bitch. Can I ask a favour?” Willam said in lieu of a greeting.

Sharon huffed, out of breath from yelling. “Can’t really talk right now, kinda in the middle of something.”

“Ew, are you having sex? That’s nasty, Needles. Who the fuck answers the phone whilst they’re having sex?”

“Willam!” Sharon cursed. “For fuck’s sake. No, I’m not having sex. I’m protesting. This better be important.”

Willam hummed. “Girl, you clearly don’t have sex enough then. So touchy! Whatever, whatever. I just wanted to ask for a favour.”

“Make it quick! I’m busy!”

“Girl! Calm your ass, find a dick to hop on and soothe that stress. Courtney just wanted to ask if you can babysit next month. We have a wedding to go to and we’re not gonna be able to take Nugget.”

Sharon bit back a rude retort. First of all, she didn’t really care for ‘Nugget’ – a nickname which had stemmed from when Courtney was first having their baby up to now – she was red and whined a lot and was entirely unpleasant. Secondly, whilst Willam was and would always be one of Sharon’s best friends, she was forever irritated at the way he’d changed in high school. He was as fiercely, openly anti-timers as Sharon was, up until his had run out at sixteen, and lo and behold, the name behind the glass was none other than his crush Courtney. Courtney was a nice girl, sure, but within the month of their marriage Willam had decided he loved timers, refused to accompany Sharon to any protests, and sometimes mocked her for her beliefs. He was one of many who thought it was childish and a passing phase to be so against the laws. Years later, although in many aspects he was the same, in one that Sharon considered very important, Willam had completely changed. He was a happy father and husband now, and saw Sharon as immature.

“I don’t fucking know!” Sharon yelled, trying to compete over the shouts of the other protesters. “I don’t – I don’t know if I’ll have plans! Look, I can’t even think right now, it’s too lou- SHIT.”

At the same time as Sharon swore, her eyes widening, Bianca grabbed Sharon’s arm and looked alarmed.

“NEEDLES!” She yelled. “LOOK AT YOUR ARM! YOUR TIMER!”

Sharon didn’t want to look. In her phone speaker, Willam was urgently demanding to know why she’d cut herself off and swore so loudly, but Sharon couldn’t even finds the words to speak. The protest continued around her, but Sharon herself felt frozen.

It was as if time had stopped, and yet in the very same instance, time was moving swiftly forward.

00-00-00-00-00-01-57

One minute, fifty-seven seconds.

Her timer had changed.

“Bianca, B-B-Bianca, what the fuck do I do?! What the fuck is happening?!” Sharon screeched, her heart pounding.

The older woman seemed at a loss. “SHIT, BITCH, I DON’T KNOW! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! YOU’VE GOT TWO MINUTES, RUN FOR ALL YOU’VE FUCKING GOT! GET MOVING, CUNT!”

Sharon completely panicked. How the fuck had it gone from two years to two minutes?! Was it faulty? Either way, she knew one thing. No matter whose name appeared on her arm, she would not be ready to marry them in a month’s time. What was more, she would never love them. Perhaps out of spite.

As quickly as she could, Sharon pulled the roll of duct tape out of her bag – she’d learnt not to go anywhere without it – and tore some off, slapping it haphazardly over the timer and shoving her way through the crowd and out. One hand clapped over her timer, she broke into a sprint, dashing through the city and dodging people in an attempt to just run as far as she possibly could. Even though she could no longer see the accusing black numbers, she knew time was slipping out from underneath her.

Streets all melted into one another as she ran, still clutching her arm, her heart beating at a mile a minute. A wave of nausea washed over her as she continued, bile threatening to rise up her throat at the very thought of her timer almost reaching zero. Everything she protested against was going to come true if she didn’t do something. All this time she’d hated the little device in her arm, and fiercely argued against it, and yet she didn’t have a plan for how she was going to cope with its eventual countdown to zero.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Sharon hurtled round a corner and started to cross the road, her legs carrying her faster than her brain or eyes could really comprehend. Hot tears blurred her vision, her only visible goal the one in her mind – get away.

Her mind was so frenetic that she didn’t notice the vehicle racing towards her until it was too late. She caught one glimpse of the shiny black metal before it slammed into her, the impact causing her body to go flying. At first, she felt nothing but shock. All of the air was forcibly knocked out of her lungs, and then came the pain.

White hot, all-consuming. It began at her arm, which had taken the brunt of her weight, sharp lightning bolts of pain that had her gritting her teeth with the sheer agony. Then it was her head, her face flattened against the tarmac, and the twisted positioning of her legs. All Sharon could do was lie there and groan.

The car screeched to a halt after Sharon was hit, the door slamming as the owner got out and gasped in horror. Blood had started to trickle from her forehead into her eyes, so she couldn’t see, but through the pounding in her head she managed to make out the sound of heels approaching her.

“Oh, fuck! Miss, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Sharon tried to open her mouth, tried to move, but she couldn’t. Her body was essentially paralysed; useless and limp in the middle of the road.

“Fuck – my phone is dead. Someone call an ambulance! Quick! Thank you, thank you!” The speaker was female, but that was all Sharon could glean from the voice. She was in too much pain to take anything else in. “Y-You’re gonna be alright, I promise. I’m so sorry.”

Again, Sharon tried to respond, tried to at least grunt or move her fingers. At the attempt, a fresh wave of pain shot through her. It clearly wasn’t going to work.

The speaker knelt down next to her body, smoothing Sharon’s hair away from her bloody forehead and gasping shakily again. It sounded as though she were crying.

“Fuck. T-The ambulance are on their way, h-hang in there. You’re gonna be just fine…”

Her voice, trembling yet soothing, was the last thing Sharon heard before her body gave up and blacked out.

“…vitals normal. She should wake up any minute.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Willam? What was Willam doing? Why was he talking to a doctor? What the fuck was going on? Sharon didn’t have the energy to open her eyes, let alone try and speak. As best as she could through the pain and her muffled hearing, she tried to listen to what was being said.

“Don’t cry again, she’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Willam was saying.

“Fine?! Look at her! She looks halfway to death, and it’s my fault! What a horrible first impression for a s-”

“Shh!” Willam hissed, cutting the girl off. “Whatever you do, don’t say the s word around Sharon. Look, she’s alive. Don’t stress, Alaska.”

If there was one thing Sharon was positive about, it was that she’d never met somebody called Alaska in her entire life. What kind of name was that? Did she have family called Nebraska? Nevada? Hawaii? It was ridiculous. What was even more perplexing was that Willam seemed to know this Alaska. Willam introduced Sharon to all of his friends, knowing Sharon rarely had time to be sociable and make her own, so it was strange that they’d been kept apart. As soon as her mind was gathered enough to find the words, she was going to grill Willam for all he’d got.

“Sorry, sorry. I just can’t help it! I feel so bad, and she’s gonna wake up and hate me and it’s gonna be horrible. How are we supposed to-”

Willam interrupted Alaska a second time. “Bitch, what did I tell you about shutting up about that! First off, Sharon’s chill, she’s not gonna hate you. Secondly – and I’m being serious which is how you know this shit isn’t a joke – don’t say anything about that to her-”

“What?” Sharon managed to choke out, her voice sounding strangulated. The effect on her raw throat was worse than she’d anticipated, and she fluttered her eyelids to try and force them to stay open. When she finally managed to keep them open, albeit squinted and sore, both Willam and a woman that she had to assume was Alaska were staring at her.

Willam faltered, pretending he hadn’t heard her question. “A-Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”

Involuntarily, Sharon let out a groan. “Everything hurts.”

“That tends to happen when you jump into the road and get mowed down by a car.” Willam said offhandedly.

Alaska gasped, her voice turning high-pitched as she slapped Willam on the arm. “Don’t! I can’t apologise enough, Sharon, I’m so sorry. You were just so fast, and I couldn’t stop in time and I… shit. Sorry. T-Tissues, I’m gonna get some. Shit.”

The three fell silent as Alaska fumbled around for some tissues and started to delicately dab at her eyes, in an attempt not to smudge her makeup. Sharon let her eyes wander around the room, glossing over the medical posters and sterile equipment that lay around in favour of eying her two visitors. Willam was picking at his nails, his sandy hair falling over his face and his suit indicating he’d come from work. He hadn’t really changed from high school – or indeed, the last time Sharon had seen him, a week or two ago – other than a little bit of scruff on his face that he hadn’t shaved. It was Alaska that really caught Sharon’s attention, supposedly Willam’s friend who had hit her with her car.

She was blonde, like Sharon – only her shade seemed a little more natural than Sharon’s peroxide box-dye – with masses of hair that looked like it had earlier been neatly styled, but had fallen out of place as the hours had worn by. Both her lipstick and her eyeliner had smudged, her efforts to save the paint with tissues proving futile. One black mascara tear trickled down her cheek, marring her smooth skin. Her button-up shirt was undone at the top, torn open as though she’d needed to breathe, and her heels were discarded on the floor next to where she stood.

“So what exactly…” Sharon began, wincing as she looked down. “Um, what happened to me?”

Willam snorted. “Everything – okay, sorry Alaska. You sustained a head injury but thankfully you’re no more fucked-up than you were before, your left arm is broken, and your legs aren’t broken but they’re all bruised and scraped up and gross. Trust me, you don’t wanna see those pasty purple things. When was the last time you shaved? And your face looks horrible. So the only real change is the broken arm.”

Alaska breathed in sharply, obscuring half of her face with the tissue as she dabbed at her tears once again. At her reaction, Willam pulled an apologetic face.

“Sorry, sorry,” Alaska murmured profusely. “I’m trying to stop getting upset. That’s such a bad first impression and they always say first impressions matter and I always wanted my s-”

“Sharon, we’ll be right back. Alaska, will you step out here with me for a second? And by that I mean, step out here with me for a second.” Willam intoned. Clearly he wasn’t playing around. Left with no choice, Alaska followed Willam outside, leaving Sharon in her hospital bed to strain her ears and listen to them.

“Come on, stop crying, and for the love of sweet fucking Jesus, Alaska, you need to be careful. If you want any chance of Sharon liking you, you need to watch what you say and not mention that. Got it?”

The emphasis that Willam put on the word ‘that’ was confusing. What the hell was he talking about? Sharon tried to shift into a sitting position, trying to move so she could hear everything better. A twinge of guilt struck her for eavesdropping, but she reasoned that after all, she’d been through a lot. They couldn’t fault her for wanting to know what was happening.

“But-”

“No, no, listen to me. I’m saying this because I care about you, Alaska, but I also care about Sharon. I hate having to burst your bubble because I know how you feel about all this, but Sharon does not feel the same way. Look, I agree with you, I personally think it’s dumb, but she’s extremely set in her ways. If you even wanna be her friend, you gotta tone it down.”

“This isn’t what I expected from this.”

“You’re an adult, Alaska. Surely you didn’t think it’d be like a fairytale.”

“…You knew that was what I wanted, though. My whole life, Willam!”

“It’s not realistic! No one has that! Especially not with someone like Sharon.”

“You have it!”

“That’s different, Alaska. You know it is.”

“Do you… do you think she’ll ever change? Do you think she’ll come around?”

There was a heavy pause. Sharon frowned, utterly lost. What were they even talking about?

“I don’t know. I changed, but…”

“We should go. She’s been alone long enough.”

Sharon quickly settled back against her pillow, doing her best to look as though she hadn’t been listening in to their conversation. Granted, she had no idea what it was about so it was a little useless, but even so she didn’t want them to know. Feigning her best neutral expression, she moved a piece of hair away from her face and smiled awkwardly as the two re-entered.

“Everything okay?” She tried, her eyes flitting between the two blondes.

Willam coughed. “Yeah, yeah. We should get going, actually, I’m giving Alaska a lift and I want to avoid all the traffic. I’ll be back tomorrow with Courtney, probably. You’re gonna be alright?”

Sharon snorted derisively. “Can’t really get myself into any more trouble, can I? I’ll see you then.”

It was Willam’s wife Courtney who made the suggestion that Sharon should stay at their home for a little while as she recovered. When one of the nicer nurses – Caroline, a lady in her mid-fifties who had taken a liking to Sharon and even allowed her to smoke out of the window a couple of times – had mentioned that she should stay with someone after being discharged, Courtney had eagerly volunteered herself. Sharon supposed it was those newfound motherly instincts kicking in, but she did her best to quell the eyeroll and sigh that threatened to ruin Courtney’s bubbly attitude.

“It’ll be fun having you around!” Courtney trilled, her neck craned so she could see Sharon in the backseat of the car. Willam made eye-contact with Sharon in the mirror as he drove, shrugging apologetically at his wife’s excitement.

“You always make me laugh, and we can help you out until you’re okay again!”

If Sharon managed to escape the Belli residence without throttling poor Courtney, it was going to be a miracle of the highest order. She really wasn’t sure if she would or not.

“I’m sure I’ll be a bundle of laughs after being hit by a car.” Sharon replied dryly, evilly relishing in the way Courtney’s smile faded.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Courtney. The Australian was sweet enough, and Sharon had known her a long, long time – longer than she’d known Willam. Mostly it was how different the two were. Though they attended the same elementary school, middle school and high school, they were so starkly opposite that they’d never been friends, or even interacted. Courtney sat tight with her immaculate pigtails and checked pink ribbons, tenderly playing with dolls, whilst Sharon got scolded for skidding across the floor. Courtney wrote in a personalised glittery diary, her handwriting tiny and neat and printed, and Sharon drew skulls and crosses on her arms and got warned about the dangers of ink poisoning. Courtney joined the school council, became head girl and was a member of the cheer squad, and Sharon received frequent detentions for spontaneously campaigning against timers with Willam.

Throughout high school she’d sort of been in and out of Sharon’s life, mainly through Willam. He’d made it no secret to Sharon that he liked her, and made it no secret to Courtney that Sharon was and would always be nothing but a friend. Sharon suspected that part of the reason Willam had even protested timers with her was because he thought Courtney’s name wouldn’t appear on his, and he’d pined after her for years.

They grew closer through her marriage to Willam, the three of them spending more and more time together, but Sharon couldn’t help harbouring a little bit of bitterness against her. Courtney was an absolute gem, and genuine to boot, but Sharon just couldn’t help seeing her as the reason Willam had turned his back on her beliefs. It wasn’t in Courtney’s nature to mock Sharon’s beliefs, even though she was a traditional romantic, but in a way, it was her fault that Willam was so harsh about Sharon’s beliefs being ‘childish’.

To her credit, Sharon always tried to be amicable with Courtney. When she had Nugget – or Farrah, as Sharon supposed she should call her – Sharon visited every day during the first month, despite her hatred of small crying humans. Willam seemed to appreciate her efforts, so at least that was one stable, intact friendship she could rely on.

“I promise I’ll take good care of you, and Willam too. You’ll be okay with us.” Courtney’s tone had changed, a little sadder but full of sincerity.

Sharon felt a little bit guilty, flashing a smile in Courtney’s direction. “Thanks, Court. You sound like a real mom now.”

Courtney blushed and turned to face the front of the car again. “I’m sure Farrah’s excited to see you. You know how much she adores you.”

Sharon bit back her initial thought of your six month old definitely doesn’t know me well enough to love me in favour of another strained smile. “Ha, yeah. Little Nugget. I’ve missed her face.”

Soon after, Willam drew up on the driveway of his house, reversing neatly into his garage and quickly hopping out to help Sharon walk inside. Her eyes glazed over the white picket fencing and carefully cultivated flowerbeds, ignoring the pang in her chest as she wrapped one arm around Willam’s shoulders and tried to hold as much of her weight as she could. Courtney ran to her other side, supporting her waist and being mindful of the sling on her arm. Sharon’s legs felt weak underneath her, pain shooting from her ankles up to her thighs every time she took a step.

“Best just get to the living room, it’s quicker.” Willam decided, leading the three of them through the corridor and pushing the living room door open with his foot.

The first thing Sharon noticed was Farrah, sat atop a pile of cushions kicking her feet happily. Even if Sharon didn’t like kids, she had to admit that Willam and Courtney had made a cute one. The second thing she noticed was Alaska from before, making faces at Farrah on the couch.

“Alaska, can you-” Willam began, Alaska immediately springing to her feet at Willam’s voice. She cleared a space on the end of the couch, leaving the long L shape for Sharon to sit across, and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. For a prolonged moment, it was incredibly quiet, before Alaska tried to break the silence.

“Farrah was an angel as usual.” She sounded uncomfortable.

Willam shook his head, smiling. “I know she whined and cried all evening, that’s what she does.”

“But it’s endearing!” Alaska protested. “Anyway, you better drop me off home. I’m not walking or paying for a cab.”

“I just got in!” Willam whined.

Alaska rolled her eyes. “Now I see where Farrah gets it from. Let’s get moving, dipshit.”

Willam sighed, pulling his keys from his pocket and shaking his head. Alaska smiled sweetly in response, picking up her handbag from the coffee table and pressing a kiss to Farrah’s head. The little girl squealed happily and wiggled her toes.

“Bye Courtney, bye Farrah! Um… bye Sharon… let’s go.”

She made a swift exit, practically bolting out of the room with Willam in tow. Sharon shuffled from her position on the couch to get more comfortable, Alaska’s awkwardness over the whole situation funnier to her than she liked to admit. It wasn’t like Sharon could bear any ill-will towards the frantic blonde. After all, it had been Sharon’s fault that she’d ended up in the hospital. At least Alaska hadn’t gotten hurt.

Courtney sat down gently next to Sharon, making sure not to knock her in case she hurt her. She fixed Sharon with her warm gaze, her makeup from the day still somehow pristine and perfect, and took Sharon’s free hand in her own.

“You look like you’re thinking, are you okay?” She questioned.

Sharon nodded slowly. “Oh, I’m fine. It’s probably just the fact that I’m wearing no makeup.”

Her words elicited a light slap and a gasp. “Don’t! You’re gorgeous, don’t say that. Your soulmate, whoever they are, would be lucky to have you.”

Courtney fell silent, and pulled a face. “Shit, sorry. I forgot you don’t… you don’t like that. I probably made you feel even worse, we won’t talk about that. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Sharon had been hoping Courtney wouldn’t ask. It was virtually impossible to not spill your life secrets to Courtney when she asked, and she was always such a good listener that it felt completely natural to sit and talk with her for hours on end.

“It’s kinda related to… soulmates and all that shit. It was entirely my fault.”

As usual, Courtney listened with an open mind and heart as Sharon told her the full truth – everything from the protest to the freakish change in her timer, to running away as fast as she could and ending up darting into the road just as Alaska drove by. Now that she thought about it, it had been pretty harrowing. No wonder Alaska had been so distressed over it all.

Courtney didn’t interrupt once, only speaking when Sharon was finished. “So your timer has run out? Have you looked at it?”

Try as she might to hide it, Sharon still detected the hint of excitement underpinning Courtney’s words. Of course she was excited at the prospect of someone she cared about finding their soulmate. She had it all; a husband, a beautiful home, a daughter, the archetypal young family that the government had aimed for with their timer laws. But Sharon knew she’d never have anything like what they had, even if Courtney couldn’t see it.

“No.” She deadpanned. “Well, I mean, I can’t because of this sling, but… it’s still covered.”

Courtney frowned. “Are you going to look at all, Shags? Surely there’s a little bit of curiosity?”

A long, pregnant pause followed her words. Neither of them really knew what to say – Courtney knowing she couldn’t really push thing any further, and Sharon not knowing how to, or even wanting to, provide an answer.

“It’s getting a little late,” Courtney mumbled. “I’ll fetch a blanket and leave you to sleep. Goodnight, Sharon.”

“Goodnight, Courtney.”

Long after Willam had gotten home, and fallen asleep in bed alongside his wife, Sharon lay awake on the couch, her mind plagued by that stupid timer underneath her sling. Part of her ached with curiosity, begging to just peek and see if she really did have a name, or whether it had just been a nightmare. The rest of her fervently hated the device, wishing more than anything that she could tear it out of her skin and forget all about it.

Similarly, a few miles away, Alaska lay awake in her bed, her eyes fixed on her timer, for the very first time wishing more than anything that she could tear it out of her skin and forget all about it. Her whole life she’d dreamed of the perfect soulmate, someone who loved her for who she was and who she could love in return. Then, when the little black numbers had finally reached zero, Willam had taken her by the hands and told her she had no chance.

Alaska’s timer read Sharon Needles, and she already knew that Sharon would never love her.

Sharon’s timer read Alaska Thunderfuck, and despite not knowing that was what her timer said, she already knew that she would never love Alaska.

#purecamp #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #willam belli #courtney act #witney #sasha velour #bianca del rio #withstanding the test of time #rpdr fanfiction #submission #soulmate au #lesbian au

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