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randomoranges · 3 years

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the majority of the first part of this fic is based on a real thing that happened to me and my students yesterday

i applaud their ease at which all of this happened.

The Kids are All Right

“M Édouard, est-ce que tu veux jouer avec nous?”

It’s Friday afternoon and the first nice day of the week. The weather has been miserable, but luckily, he didn’t have to deal with indoor recess this time around. The group finishes in English class and he’s quite honestly killing time before he can leave them with their English teacher. He could have planned something exciting and fun, or ploughed on with another lesson, but he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to fight them. They’ve been – more rambunctious than usual these past two weeks and he’s been snappier with them than usual. He wonders if it’s the new seating arrangement or the coming of spring, but he’s counting down the days to the end of the school year and murmuring it like a mantra to himself on various occasions throughout the day.

Still. Moments like these bring the smallest of smiles to his face.

He likes to watch the kids play during recess, when he’s not aimlessly walking, and daydreaming about any other job he could have taken that wouldn’t be so taxing. This afternoon is one of those occasions. Most of the boys are on one end of the playground, playing a rather intense game of soccer, while the majority of the girls have been playing some invented game with a jump rope. The others are spread around; some are playing pear ball, others are sitting in clusters, but it’s nice to see that all the kids are hanging out with another kid and that no one is alone.

He figures he can play with the girls this time around.

Every now and again, he plays with the kids – when they ask him to, obviously and it’s a free bonding moment with them. He’s played some intense soccer and basket ball games, has played every version of tag and other such games, has learned to be decent at pear ball and he’s even been known to play hopscotch and jump rope. The kids love it. He also loves it.

He nods and his student excitedly yells out “M Édouard va jouer!” which is greeted by loud cheers by the other girls. He gets a quick run through of the game; the person in the middle makes the jump rope go round, the others are gathered in a circle around it and they need to jump when the rope gets close to them. If the rope touches them, they need to tell a truth about themselves. Easy enough, really. He’s encountered multiple versions of this same game over the years.

He offers to be the spinner, since the student who’d been doing it before had been struggling with the rope and the kids are delighted to let him have a go about it.

The girls show no mercy when one of them gets touched by the rope and the questions they ask are harmless in nature; do you have a crush on anyone, what’s the most embarrassing thing you ever did, which of your siblings is your favourite, and so on. He politely reminds them that they’re not obliged to answer a question if they feel uncomfortable, and overall, everyone seems to have fun.

On the fifth or sixth turn, the rope stops at a different student and the other girls flock around her chanting “Vé-ri-té! Vé-ri-té!” He joins them in, clapping his hands to the rhythm of the words and finally she gets them to stop as she thinks up of a truth to tell them, or be placed at the mercy of the counsel of questions.

Finally, she graces them all with her truth, as the others wait with baited breaths, “Chuis bi,” She says easy as all else and the rest of the girls roll their eyes, laugh, and groan, complaining about how they all already knew.

He’s – surprised by this. By the ease of the way she’s said her truth, but also by how not a big deal it seemed to be. He wonders, briefly, if it has anything to do with the talk he’s had with them earlier that week – about gender and sexual identities and such. Still, he marvels at the situation and it takes him a moment to recover, thinking of his own childhood and how long it had taken him to come to terms with his own sexuality. The fear he’d had. The anxiety it had produced. (And the relief, afterwards, when his parents hadn’t booted him out of their home.)

“Merci de nous avoir partager ça,” He says, because even if his fifth graders might not understand the full scope of it, he still wants them to feel that he accepts them as they are. He reminds them that they don’t have to share everything with him – or the others, but that if they do, he appreciates it and that he is someone they can come to and trust.

Then, within the same breath, before they can start the game again, another one of the girls admits to being bi as well. Again, the rest of the girls react much of the same way; they laugh, they say they already knew, and they move on and it flummoxes him. He thinks back to being eleven himself and never in his wildest dreams would he have felt such ease in admitting something.

Edward briefly wonders if maybe, just maybe, it has to do with the fact that they are girls and not boys. He knows it’s not the best way to think about it, but he feels that girls might have it just a little bit easier – with each other and their friend circle, whereas the boys – especially his boys this year, are still very much immature and very centered on the idea of being a Real Man (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.)

Or maybe these students are just more open and more aware of themselves. It’s a better thought to have. He knows the discourse has changed, even if it isn’t perfect. There are now queer characters in media and literature that were very much absent in his day and age. Celebrities – young celebrities just a little older than his kids are using social media platforms to talk of their own experiences and doing their own coming outs and maybe that’s also helped make these terms less loaded.

There has to be some good out of it, after all. It can’t all be about cyber bullying and fraud.

Still, he makes it a point to remind them that they don’t have to “come out” to everyone just because and that it’s okay if they don’t want to tell people. They don’t own it to no one. They nod along and humour him and he wants to sit them down and tell them that no, he’s serious and that sometimes it’s not this easy. He should know. But – maybe it is this easy for them. Maybe it has become this easy for the new generation despite what he still hears on the news. Maybe, thanks to the new generation, different orientations will finally no longer be some big taboo and the world can be a better place.

Maybe he’s still dreaming, but – it’s a nice hope to have. If anything, he can hope and appreciate that these two students seem to be very comfortable with themselves and for that, he’s happy. If they can have an easy ride of it, why the hell not.

He leaves it at that and the game runs its course for a while longer, until recess comes to its end.

“M Édouard, dites-nous une vérité!” One of the girls asks as they line up to go back inside. He laughs and stalls for a moment. Some part of him wants to share as well – tell them through his truth that they are not alone and that he’s gay. It would be easy, really, and he’d be an ally to them, or something – he’s not sure, but he likes that it’s not some convoluted over-thought process like most of all the other times he’s come out in his life. Thinking back to how casual the others were with their friends telling them, he figures they wouldn’t turn on him. They’d be surprised, probably, but – it’d be fine – he hopes.

He opens his mouth to say it – to casually let them know that he’s gay, but then the words falter and die at the back of his throat; shrivel up as bile forms instead. He chokes over them and that same old fear creeps back in. He sighs, frustrated with himself. It’s not that the kids need to know, but part of him yearns to share and to show them that it’s okay to be like this – that they can lead successful lives while being themselves. Yet, even if these students would be okay with it, he fears they’d share the news and spread it – that it would then reach the ears of someone else, who would tell their parents, who would get upset, who would tell the school and ultimately, that he’d get fired and dragged through the mud.

He doesn’t have the energy for that. Not now. And the fear ices his veins and suddenly, the pleasant mood from before is gone.

The kids look at him, waiting for an answer.

“Quand j’étais jeune, j’voulais être un astronaute.”

It’s not a lie, but it feels like he’s just done them a great disservice. They don’t realise it and some other kid pipes up saying they too wanted to be an astronaut when they were seven, while another rattles off the name of a few astronauts they know. The moment passes, the kids move on to the next thing as they file back in and Edward breathes a little easier, even though the disappointment weighs him down. This could have been a great teaching moment and he’d let it slip through his fingers.

He trickles in after them and tries not to over think it too much. After all, hadn’t he just reminded his students that they don’t have to tell other people about their sexual orientation if they didn’t want to? The same should apply to him, even if...

Instead, he focuses on the fact that two of his students felt comfortable telling him, even if maybe they were only kidding and even if they went back on it at some later point. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they didn’t feel the need to keep this truth about themselves hidden. That they felt zero shame and malaise sharing. That their friends welcomed them. If anything, it was refreshing to see. Hopeful at its fullest. It’s good to know that maybe the discourse has changed, after all and maybe, with time, he’ll come to terms with his own fears as well. He’s got to keep hope, if not for himself, but for them and maybe, with time, he can learn something from them along the way.

(There will come a time, later, a few years down the road, during the last leg of his career. The context will be similar; recess, a Friday afternoon and the girls will be playing some other iteration of a truth game. They’ll ask him to play and he’ll agree, for a lack of something better to do and a never-ending need to bond with his kids in whichever way they want him to.

It’ll be great fun. The kids will share truths about themselves that’ll range from heartfelt to funny and he’ll appreciate every single one of them. Eventually, as the kids are often known to do, they’ll turn on him and ask for a truth in return. Eventually, he’ll abdicate and confess to his own.

“Je suis gai,” He’ll tell them, easy and simple as that, with a teasing grin to his face. They’ll roll his eyes at him, complaining all the while that they already know and that they want something new – a real truth. He’ll get them to settle and they’ll wait patiently, thirsting for a new truth about their teacher, “M Étienne et moi on est ensemble,” He’ll tell them next, laughing as they groan because it’s old news. They’ve known for ages – some since first grade. It’s the oldest news in the whole of the school. Hell, some have known since before since they had older siblings who brought the news home even before that.

But Edward will laugh, pick up the game from where it left off and resume it. He’ll share the truth because it is one of his favourites. He’ll share it because, finally, after so long, he feels comfortable doing so. But mostly, he’ll share it for the kids. To let them know. To remind them, really, that it is okay to be this way and that even when they have doubts and even if it sometimes feels as though they have no one cheering for them, they’ll always have him.)

FIN

#pc: edmonton #edward murphy #au #fic #teacher au

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theyearsiturnedintoaghost · 3 years

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Hello, Is This Thing On?

Hi! (as mentioned above). Do people still use this thing? I have no idea. Years ago, and I do mean YEARS ago, I had one of these. I didn’t use it for much, just reposting things, following humans I’d met in online communities, a ‘celebrity’ here or there, sometimes screaming about shit I couldn’t control into the void that is the endless scrolling interweb, and being pointless in wasting my time between classes, work, and twenty-something. Regardless, my previous tumblr had minimal followers, made minimal impact, and that was okay. It was honestly just a nice place to sort of hide in plain sight. Still be part of a social world without actually having to do much. This was also pre a billion other apps and social media outlets to express yourself or scroll mindlessly at a million other pointless things that people were posting to make you giggle or even just stop for a second and think.

Clearly, the point of this, back then, felt like something I would use to help propel my writing career. Turns out, it did not. I did not write much, if at all. And most of the time I think it was because I was scared nothing was as good as any of the other stuff I was reading from people I liked, and thought were so much cooler and smarter than me; I still feel this way all of the time, but I do realize this was me being nervous, small minded about myself, and completely unconfident.

Unfortunately, I am still most of these things a lot of the time, but recently, after getting fired from a job, having my heart broken by pretty much everyone on the planet, especially a few specific people, cancelled by all of my friends (?) - this is a thing btw. (It’s not as awful as being cancelled publicly, but it does still ruin your life, mindset, confidence, and overall physical and mental wellbeing) Getting a new job, hating it and feeling like I was going no where, and missing out on living a life I felt proud of and that I was actively participating in, I decided maybe I should just try to write it all out and see what happens.

To be frank, I expect nothing of this. I can’t fathom a world where anything I have to say truly matters to people because lets be real - everyone has this own shit and everyone is going through so much all of the time. And we all think we have something new, quirky, interesting, and important to say. And in a world that constantly shoves perfection down our throats and works so hard to make each of us feel completely inadequate to every Kardashian, Beyonce, Grande, etc., it’s hard to really think that anything I have to say will matter to anyone; at all.

(I also hate that all of my ‘perfectionist’ people were female, but maybe it’s harder to compare to Golden Boys when you are a female. Either way, there are many boys/men/theys/thems that are put on a pedestal and made out to be perfect out there, as well, and they deserve that notation as well. I just have no points of reference off the top of my head, so please forgive me; I am trying to do this in a stream of consciousness type thing.)

I mean, the truth is, I’m a fucking mess. I’m 33, single, living at home, afraid of my own shadow most of the time, and spend about 98% of my time alone. I pay for a phone plan that I literally only use to send memes to my two sisters, and that’s about it. I rarely receive texts, invites out, or even calls to make plans for something. And while a lot of this is my own doing - again, I did cut off most of the world after I realized I was sort of the joke to a lot of people - it’s still kind of pathetic, and entirely uncool. I am not a socialite, or someone cool and trendy, and to be honest, I kind of never want to be.

Which is a semi-false statement, because years ago, when I had one of these previously, I sort of hoped it would work out and that I could write and be ‘cool.’ Whatever the fuck that means. But now, years later, I’m honestly beyond glad I am not cool; not in the slightest. Maybe that’s making it to your 30s? Maybe the trade for having to create a daily routine of lathering up my body with like 9 different versions of FDA-Approved-Vampire-Juice on my skin to prevent me from looking any older than I already do, you in turn get to have a brain that finally realizes... having a ‘normal’ life is honestly pretty cool? Normal is clearly subjective here as everyone is normal, famous, notoriety, or not; They’re all still humans and people with feelings, thoughts, and emotions. This is a hard thing to realize when you see stadiums full of people screaming at Harry Styles (Boom! found a male perfect in this scatterbrain) or hundreds of paparazzi lined up to take photos of every person on a red carpet wearing clothing that costs as much as my student loan debt (Which sidenote, is VERYYYYYY much). It’s hard to fully realize that maybe some of those people who became ‘icons’ never really knew what they were getting into when they signed that deal with the Devil to make them seemingly immortal; especially in a world with the internet where everything can exist forever (or until the world explodes, clearly). But maybe getting into my 30s and removing myself from most social media outlets, even listening to the news, or caring about whatever fucking popular haircut was in this season (it’s always bangs, and I’ve already made that mistake. No thanks), that I learned to realize - the truly most important people in your life are the ones that stick with you when it’s tough. When getting out of bed is so hard your limbs ache and you cry every morning on your way to work, at your desk behind your computer screen hidden in a corner, or in a bathroom stall during your lunch break. The normalcy that comes with realizing your prayers to ‘just make it to five o’clock,’ are heard and that you are just so thankful for that that you don’t even desire the innate feeling in most of our egos to stand out, be seen, ‘Make it’ in a way that lets people notice we ‘succeeded.’ Maybe this only comes with the realization of how nice it is to go to a grocery store braless and unnoticed.

Maybe this is also something I, and so many of us in this point and shoot viral world, are trying to still learn.

Sure, a lot of days I still crave being able to make a perfect Pintrest project, practice my Late Night interview with Letterman where I sound funny, charming, and likeable to all walks of life, or recreate a recipe from the New York Times website so great that The Barefoot Contessa finds out through word of mouth, and comes to my basement hide out, and offers to give me, a fellow barefoot loving bitch, her title and crown along with a glass of wine and a kiss from her husband, Jeffery. We’ll both laugh at how lovely it feels to be Barefoot ladies who understand that wanting ‘fame’ or ‘recognition’ in your twenties is only really a pathway to destruction by your 30s.

And this is not exactly something that I learned easy. In fact, I spent most of my twenties destroying my body with drugs - plenty of hard ones - and alcohol - various kinds of the same things - in order to numb my brain from the sadness that is just... being young, lonely, scared, unsure of yourself, and nervous that all of your hopes and expectations for yourself in your ‘dream life’ are too much for what you and your actual self will ever be capable of ever becoming. That I would never become the comedian I dreamed of being, or sing the perfect song in front of a crowd of admirers, or write that best selling book to tell everyone who thought I was nothing they could go fuck themselves. It’s something I still have to remind myself, and my brain and ego, that are most likely things I will never do because those are lottery dreams. And people you know don’t actually win the lottery. And at the end of the day, I am people you know. And sometimes it breaks my own heart to realize I may never feel that rush of making a crowd laugh, or creating a piece of art that makes someone feel seen, but as Pam, from The Office said, and I am paraphrasing, ‘there is beauty in ordinary things.’ And I think reminding myself of that as I sat on the beach this summer and watched a dad teach his son to surf, and how happy they both were when he got up, gave me that brief feeling of... being okay. I won’t lie, I did cry a little at this realization at that moment, and I am slightly teary now as I write it, but I think I’m not ashamed of that because being normal means I get to feel things as I do, in that moment, and that is something I think I lacked in my desiring-bigger-flashier- twenties; actually being present in the world and your place in it. Even if that is just as small as being kind to a random person on the street.

I think that is why everything I felt I wanted to write never came out correct. It never came out ‘Perfect.’ And that was my problem for most of my life, even up until today, I’m afraid that I am a perfectionist in the ways that are preventing me from becoming... me. I’m still fearful that I am too late in ever ‘accomplishing’ anything I ever dreamed. I doubt I will ever actually write a book. I’m unsure I’ll ever make a decent living. I am beyond doubtful I am ever going to be loveable to someone whom I also want to love back. And maybe I’m a little scared that I’ll never have a kid, or that if I do have a kid, I’ll never be a decent parent. And I’m still working on breaking the cycle of thinking something has to ‘sound’ or ‘be seen as important’ to be meaningful. There is beauty in the ordinary. I’ve started to make it my mantra. Spoken in my head every time I see a teenage couple holding hands walking in town, a father holding their baby close to his chest, a woman dressed in a power suit striding through an office building or city on their way to make their own careers or push equality further. I’ve started to dream of how actual normalcy makes the real changes. How every 4th grade teacher has a chance to change some kids life.

Clearly, a lot of these personal fears I have about myself not being ‘enough,’ or doing something good enough to become successful at it and build a life out of it, are monotonous fears and privileged middle-class complaints. I’m aware they may not resonate with anyone, anything, or mean much more than just being an online public diary entry to my own meandering thoughts, but, still - I finally felt like I had to try.

So here it is, the whole truth on how I let myself become a ghost for years.

I hope someone will stick around while I just... try to explain it all, figure it all out, and hopefully make sense out of even being whatever a human who is hoping to grow even means. Hopefully, something here will resonate with someone else and we can create our own little weirdo corner of the world where we’re not seeking more than just trying to be honest with ourselves and what it means to be human. Even if that means just posting a recipe for banana bread (thank you Gwen Steffani for keeping me able to spell Banana), reposting random memes about how we all want to scream for 30 seconds and feel better, or sad-girl diary entry posts about how I ruined my own life a million times over. Oh, and maybe I’ll give you tips on how to stain your wood deck, because I spent my day doing that yesterday and basically, Home Depot is calling me to be in their ADs.

But at the core of it all, lets be very real, it’s hard to be human in so many ways. And I’m just hoping this connects with anyone. Especially any of us who wished we were different - in any way.

xoxo

-K

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Feels Like This (Part 1)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So months back I hinted that I was working on a few new AUs. I have been wanting to write this fic since the moment it popped into my head, but I held back, knowing I had two other great stories that deserved their happy ending and a proper send off. Now though both of my other fics are done, we are on to one of our first new fics. To all of you that have begged for another CS AU where someone is a prince or princess… this is for you, and for me. I can’t tell you how excited I am to be writing this. I have missed this kind of world since I finished When Love Reigns, and this time the script is flipped – it’s Killian who is royalty. This first chapter though, is building a bit of our back story. It’s from Emma’s POV and it puts us on the path to change. So without any more delay, I hope you guys enjoy the story and thanks so much for reading!

“Goooood Morning, New York! It’s that time again – WAKE UP CALL!”

The sound of sirens and clanging that blasted through the clock radio next to her bed echoed through the once silent room, slamming into Emma with a force that gave her no choice but to wake.

“Crap!” Emma screeched as she jolted from the bed, woken from an incredibly sound sleep. On instinct her body moved quickly, trying to jump from bed like she would when Henry was little and called to her in the night, but she wasn’t totally coordinated yet. Instead of landing on her feet, she tumbled, hitting the ground hard and letting out a groan. “Double crap!”

A knock sounded at the door and two seconds later her son’s voice filtered through. “Mom, did you fall out of bed again?”

“No comment,” Emma replied, checking herself for major injuries. Thankfully she would be fine, but this was not a good look.

It’s temporary, she said to herself as she stood up and stretched, willing her limbs to let go of the tension and the achiness that a fall like that would cause. The semester is nearly over. I’ve only got one summer class. One not three. One not three.

She chanted the mantra that had gotten her through this spring over and over in her mind as she went through her morning routine. It was a rushed, frantic situation, as it normally was on weekdays, but somehow, just like always, things came together in the end. She was showered and ready, dressed for her admin job in the financial district. Henry was also totally geared up for school, proving once again how self-sufficient he was. Having a son with as much maturity as Henry was a blessing on mornings like this one where she was dead on her feet from studying all night and still had to be up bright and early for the office. He was eight going on thirty-eight. Honestly most days it felt like Henry had it more together than she did, but as she walked into the kitchen to press a kiss on the crown of his head and he smiled genuinely at her, Emma couldn’t seem to care. She might not be perfect at being a Mom, but her kid was happy and well, and that was all that truly mattered.

“Someone seems chipper this morning. Did you sneak those powdered donuts I hid or something?” Emma asked as she made herself and Henry some sliced fruit. Henry, meanwhile, measured out their cereal, liking to be a part of their prep process as much as he could. He handled things with the ginger care and attention of someone trying their best, focused on the task with so much purpose and precision.

“No, I didn’t, honestly Mom, I promise.”

Emma stifled a laugh at how adamant he was. She knew the truth: her son was too good for stealing, even just a few treats. It was amazing how much of a moral compass he had. Sometimes she wondered if it was too much for a boy his age. He should be getting into a little trouble, causing mischief, doing… something, anything that wasn’t picture perfect. But Henry wasn’t like that. He preferred stories to anything else, and the look on his face told Emma that a story was exactly what had him so animated this morning.

“Well if it’s not a sugar high then it must be a good book. What’s on tap for today?”

Listening to her little boy talk about his newfound tale made Emma so happy, because his own enthusiasm was infectious. Reading had always come easy to Henry, and he was on pace for the level of a sixth grader though he was only in 3rd. It was amazing to behold, but also a little overwhelming. Emma herself had never had that yearning to read, probably because the only books in the group homes she grew up in were ripped up and torn to shreds. By the time she was old enough to go to school and use the libraries they had, Emma was jaded. Thankfully she’d been quick to learn and always got by, but by high school she’d skipped town, never to look back.

A few years later she was barely surviving day to day and her heart decided it would be a good time to give the whole love thing a chance. She met a man who claimed he loved her, but, in the end he was nothing but a tough lesson made flesh. Neal taught Emma that it wasn’t enough to love someone. You had to love someone good, someone kind, and someone who loved you enough to care for you and fight for you too. Instead of meeting that marker, Neal stole a bunch of shit, tried to let her take the fall, and, to add insult to injury, skipped town and never looked back. Nothing ended up coming from the charges made against her – the judge threw the case out when he heard about her background, only asking that she commit to a hundred hours of volunteering, and in the meantime the only good thing Neal ever gave her was her son. But, despite her rocky beginnings, and thanks to a little luck and more than a couple of miracles, here they were. Nearly ten years had gone by since she’d seen Neal and Emma and Henry were good. They had each other, now and always, and though their family was small, and at times Emma wondered what it would be like to fall in love again, she didn’t want to rock the boat or jeopardize all the good she and Henry were lucky enough to have.

“Mom, did you hear me?” Henry asked and Emma’s mind shifted back into her room instead of where it had been, skipping down memory lane.

“Sorry, kid. Coffee hasn’t hit yet,” she said with a shrug. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m almost done with my final project for Ms. Harlow’s class.”

“Almost done? But you’ve still got another month of school.”

“I know, but it’s just reading and writing. My favorites.”

Emma listened in on his update about his project, and it didn’t surprise her to hear Henry was ahead of his class. This had been happening since he entered kindergarten. Every year the teachers set objectives and every year Henry met each one, most of them pretty early. It was a great thing in one respect, because it meant Emma didn’t have to worry about him. Henry was brilliant and gifted and would clearly go far in life, but it did make Emma wonder: was she doing enough for his son? More than once she’d been told that a private school might suit him better and might challenge him more. But she simply didn’t have the money. Hell, she’d worked overtime for years just to get them in this tiny apartment in this district which was one of the nicer ones in the city.

Henry continued to tell her all about school as they left the apartment and headed out, and their whole commute in was filled with his updates about the things he’d learned and still wanted to know. Emma noted that there were very few stories involving other kids and she knew that was probably because Henry didn’t have an enormous amount of friends. Oh the other kids liked him, of course, who wouldn’t love her son who only had nice things to say and a friendly smile to offer? But he wasn’t tied to any of them closely. Instead he preferred the company of books, and of Emma and their favorite friendly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard.

“All right Henry, so you know the plan, right? Today’s Wednesday which means…”

“School, then library club, then Mrs. H will pick me up and watch me until you get out of class. I wonder what she’ll make for dinner. I hope it’s spaghetti.”

Emma agreed, knowing that her neighbor’s spaghetti was legendary. Mrs. Hubbard had years of practice, cooking for her own family over the course of many years, but her kids were all grown now and it was just her and her husband living in the city. Her husband, though well past retirement age, loved his job down at the docks, and still went in for a few hours every evening to manage the shift change from day shift to night. Mrs. H, meanwhile, was desperate for the chance to mother people again, and she did so often with Emma and Henry. At first Emma tried to protest, but it all fell on deaf ears. Not only did this wonderful woman help care for Henry, she was always helping with the cooking and the cleaning. She was also pretty much a built-in therapist for Emma, and every time she met a challenge in her parenting she couldn’t face, Emma called Mrs. H. That woman was the closest thing she and Henry had to family, and Emma knew Mrs. H felt just as strongly for them in return.

“Whatever it is we’re going to love it and we’re going to thank Mrs. H so much for her help, right?”

“Of course,” Henry said with a nod. They’d finally arrived at his school building and now was the time to say goodbye. Last year parent drop off was in the class room, but this year they moved the kids to drop off at the door. Most kids took that as a sign to stop hugging their parents when leaving for the day, but not Henry. Instead he gave her a big hug which warmed her through and made her feel so blessed and reassured. Henry was truly the sweetest, and when he finally let go and ran into the building Emma let out a sigh, thinking to herself how damn lucky she was to have Henry as her son.

Her day from there was just about as crazy as she expected. The time she had to get from Henry’s school to work was minimal, but she managed to slip into the office just under the radar. For eight straight hours she was moving, and she barely had time to devour the sandwich she’d packed for the day while running to and from errands that the office staff needed help with. She couldn’t take lunch though, not when she had to leave early to run ten blocks to class this afternoon. Again, her ability to get there was nearly undermined, this time by a broken subway car that caused more congestion than ever on the street as people tried to walk instead. But in just the nick of time, Emma made her way through the wrought iron gates of her university, and was in her assigned chair in the Mills Center Auditorium, listening attentively to the lecture her favorite professor had lined up today.

Since having Henry, Emma had needed to work and pay bills and figure things out. At first she tried to do that with just her GED, but soon it became clear that she needed to go back to school. Thank god there had been online classes, and she’d managed to find enough scholarships for ex-foster kids to get her an associates degree. When that was done she went to the state school in the city and started taking more classes and in four more years she had her bachelors. She was so proud of herself and so glad for the bump in pay that a simple degree had earned her, but somehow school had called her back again, this time for a masters degree in childhood development and social work. It was a very focused degree, without any ties to her current financial job, but it was the work her heart wanted to do. With her MS she would qualify for a number of jobs, all aimed at helping kids in the system, and again, thanks to some hard fought for scholarships, she was managing it all at virtually no cost but time.

The two-hour seminar she sat in today was engaging and interesting, honing in on a case study of one particular city – Sacramento. Their public programming was a beacon for the American model and through partnerships of government, schools, companies, and community activists there was a significantly lower rate of teenage runaways and kids who graduated from the system with ‘bad outcomes.’ Emma noted all the policy choice that were implemented to help these kids and she applauded the effort of these experts, but she knew there were still more things that could be done. She took just as many notes on the lecture as she did her own ideas, and by the end of class, her pages were full and her mind was equipped with a few more answers and a lot more questions.

When their time was up, the rest of her cohort dispersed. They were younger than Emma and most of them were friendly with each other. They always were nice to Emma too, saying hi and asking about Henry, but Emma didn’t linger long after class. She had to get home to her son, and to get back to working on all the things she had to face tomorrow.

“Emma, would you mind coming with me to my office? I have something to give you. It’ll just take a moment.”

“Sure, Professor Hopper,” Emma agreed, not thinking much of it. ‘Doc’ Hopper was a great lecturer and a helpful teacher and there’d been many times when he gave her a book or some other sources for her work. She assumed that was what was happening today, but when he asked her to take a seat as he moved around his desk Emma started to get worried.

“I’m sorry, professor. Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, Emma. In fact, quite the opposite. The department has selected the JR Foundation Fellowship recipient this year.”

“Oh?” she asked, wondering which of the people in her class was getting the chance to travel abroad and learn from some of the best minds in childhood development and psychology. She thought maybe Ayana or Jade might be good choices. They were both bright and determined. Matthew was a wild card. But she imagined he must be up for consideration given his often out of the box ideas.

“It’s you, Emma. You’re our chosen fellow.”

“Me?”

Emma whispered out the clarifying question, not understanding what Doc Hopper was getting at. The connection to the JR Foundation Fellowship was one of the biggest selling points of this program. Students from across the world came here just to be considered for it and to say she was not lobbying for the possibility would be an understatement. Most of the time she felt she was barely scraping by. Everyone else in her program was younger than her, none of them had children, and those who had a job worked part time or entirely for the school. Emma was always on the fringes of her cohort, but all the late nights studying and reading had paid off. She learned a lot and did well when it came to grades. Still, she never imagined this would happen, and for a fleeting moment she felt pure excitement.

You can’t go, her inner voice said suddenly. You’ve got Henry to think about. How would you afford it? You could never take him out of school. You can’t move him halfway across the world just to nickel and dime things. We’ve had enough ramen to last a lifetime.

The reasons why this would never work mounted internally as Emma cleared her throat and fidgeted in her chair. She was about to turn down the most prestigious offer anyone at her level could receive and the pain of that was sharp. To know she’d earned this but that it wasn’t meant to be hurt her, but she would not allow herself to linger in the sadness. Nothing had changed from this morning – she was still a very lucky woman, with a roof over her head, food on her table, and an incredible son who filled her life more than any stop in her career ever could.

“Professor Hopper, I’m truly flattered to be chosen. But -,”

“Wait, Emma, before you turn this down, please know that the faculty is aware of your unique circumstances and we’ve made some adjustments to the fellowship terms. It’s all spelled out here,” he said, handing her a folder with papers and admission offers.

Emma opened it up, and within the bolded headlines of the first page there were all sorts of add ons. A housing grant that would cover her and Henry for more than six months, additional ‘cost of living’ scholarships, and more. Tears formed in her eyes at she looked at the stipend she would receive if she accepted this appointment. It was more than she made at city hall, and she knew already that her good standing with the city would allow for her to take this opportunity if she chose to. She could request up to a year of leave where they’d hold her job if she gave enough notice, and she had just enough time to do so. Still there was one concern – what about Henry? What about his life? Would it be right to spring something like this on him? They had only a month before the fellowship was set to start. She couldn’t do that… could she?

“I realize that you’ll need time to consider, Emma, but as you can imagine time is rather limited. I can wait a few days, but we’ll need to know by the end of the week if you accept.” Professor Hopper looked at her with a transparent sense of honesty and empathy. It was always clear why this man studied child psychology and counseling. He was quiet and patient but adamant in wanting to help. But when he looked at her like this, Emma remembered her own childhood and how little there had been by ways of help and guidance. “For what it’s worth, Emma, I really hope you’ll take the appointment. In all my years at this school, I’ve never met a student so well suited to this job. Your experience is one thing, but it’s a gift unique to you. You have a way with these kids, Emma, and a fellowship like this can help you make the most of your degree come graduation. It opens all kinds of doors and you know what that can mean.”

“Helping so many more kids,” Emma admitted aloud, and that was ultimately what she wanted more than anything. Yes, providing for her son was the most important thing, but there were so many more children out there who didn’t have nearly enough. Without family or money or hope, the world was a sad and scary place and Emma wanted to fend off some of that fear for as many kids as she could. Doctor Hopper’s point was undeniable, and people who had previously taken this fellowship had gone on to do so much, like launch successful non-profits and run whole government departments for children in need. It was a chance to learn, to grow, and to meet people who knew how to make things happen, and Emma was enticed by that, so much more than she should be.

“Take some time, Emma. Mull I over, talk to your son, and if it’s right, it’s right. You know you’ll always have my full support either way.”

Emma thanked Professor Hopper and collected her things, heading out of his office and away from school. It was a short commute back home, but riding the subway at this time of day meant being a part of the last big rush of people. She was squished into the train car, but she didn’t think much of it. Instead she read over the more than generous offer of the package the school was giving her. Usually the fellowship was generous, with the chance to go to Montenaro (a tiny European country she’d never once heard of outside of this) and a small stipend to live on with placement in student housing. For Emma, however, other arrangements had been made, including a small house that was still at least triple the size of where her and Henry lived now. The stipend was also larger (to cover the cost of any needed ‘childcare expenses’) and Doctor Hopper had written a note – he had a good friend who had a connection to a private elementary school near the University of Montenarro. There was a spot for Henry available for the fall semester, which was still a few months out, and a space for him at the University’s summer camp. Emma actually cried at how kind this offer was and how much time it must have taken and how many favors must have been called in. People had moved mountains for her and in the process they’d pulled down so many of the blockades that might keep her from saying yes.

Her heart began to believe that this might actually be possible. The timing was actually kind of perfect – her term would start in six weeks, in the middle of June and her lease on the apartment was set to end at the end of that month. She was planning to renew, but it didn’t make sense to keep the place for six months while they were away. That was money she could save for a rainy day, and when all of this was over she’d be done with her degree early and would be looking for a job anyway. Maybe they weren’t strictly bound to New York. They could end up anywhere. The possibilities seemed endless. Still, as she made her way back to her apartment Emma tried to get herself in check and school her features. The last thing she wanted was to get her hopes up. This would come down to what was best for Henry, and she’d never want to pressure her son into doing something for her that he didn’t really want. But at the same time it was such a great opportunity. The money, the living arrangement, and the work experience. It all seemed so perfect.

“Anybody home?” She asked, as she opened the door to her place and walked in, dropping her coat and taking off her shoes in the front walk as she headed to the kitchen.

“Hi Mom!” Henry said, barreling into her with another big hug and a huge smile on his face. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, kid,” she said, ruffling up his hair. “Hey Mrs. H. Something sure smells good.”

“It’s spaghetti Bolognese, and it’s very near ready. How was class, dear?”

“Great. Actually about that, I got some news today.”

“Big news?” Henry asked excitedly and Emma shook her head and smiled.

“Huge news. You know that fellowship I told you about? The one in Europe?”

“I remember. It’s in that tiny little country on the coast. What was it? Monta… Monta…”

“Montenarro,” she filled in and the light in Henry’s eyes burned bright with recognition.

“Oh right – you know their national fruit is called a montacari? It’s like if you mixed a strawberry, blackberry, and a raspberry. They only grow in mild mountain climates and before the berries grow the plants make flowers that are pink and red and white. Every August they have a festival there to celebrate the harvest.”

“How do you know that?” Emma asked, amazed at her son’s seemingly endless memory and then she filled in at the same time Henry did. “Let me guess: you read about it?“

“I read about it,” Henry echoed and they laughed. “So who won the spot?”

“I did,” Emma announced and for a beat there was complete silence. She watched as her son took in the news and then he was moving, jumping up and down and hugging her all over again.

“You did it, Mom! You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”

“You thought I’d win?” Emma asked and Henry nodded fiercely.

“Absolutely! You’re the best, Mom, everyone knows that!”

Emma laughed as she looked over to Mrs. H who had a huge smile on her face. “Congratulations, honey. But I think I must have missed something. What exactly is this fellowship?”

Emma explained the circumstances surrounding the placement. It was a six-month appointment, for two terms – summer and fall - and in that time the recipient worked for the J.R. Foundation. J.R. was an international charity with an impeccable reputation focused on helping vulnerable youth populations around the globe. They worked on literacy outreach, education initiatives, disaster relief and more, but this fellowship appointee would work with the counseling division, focusing on children’s health, wellness, and mental resilience strategies. That six months of work counted as her two semesters of full time interning which she needed to graduate, and for Emma, it would mean cutting down her time to graduation significantly. At the end of this six months, if she added in an online class or two, she’d be ready to graduate, finishing up eighteen months earlier than she previously expected.

Halfway through her explanation, Emma watched Henry leave and head to his room. She heard a lot of movement inside and she frowned, worried about what he was up to. “Henry? Everything all right?”

“Are you kidding? Everything’s awesome! We’re moving to Montanarro and I’ve got to get packing!”

“Henry, wait,” she said and her son popped his head out before she motioned for him to come closer. “We still have to talk about this. This is a really big change. It would mean you miss the last few weeks of school here, and that next fall you’re not with your friends here. We wouldn’t be back until just before Christmas. Are you sure you like that idea? I won’t be mad if you want to stay here. This is our home.”

“Home is where we are together, Mom. You know that,” Henry said, reciting a line she’d said over and over again to him, especially back when times were tougher and they really struggled to get by. His assuredness made her throat tighten. Again she was on the verge of tears but she fought them off. “Besides – every hero has a special journey, Mom, and their special journey usually starts with a new place. Think of the adventure we can have together. It’s gonna be awesome!”

“Henry it might not be that easy. Moving can be hard sometimes. Things will be different there. I know they speak English, but there’s other languages and customs too. It might not be the easiest adjustment.”

“I can do different!” Henry replied eagerly with a smile. “I’m great with different. Different is my middle name.”

“Henry, you don’t have a middle name,” Emma teased and he shrugged.

“Well now I do, and it’s Different. So can we go, Mom. Please? I promise I’ll be so so good.”

“You’re always good, kid.” Emma said softly, running her fingers through the hair that was shadowing his brow. “Are you sure, Henry? It’s a really big step.”

“Can’t you feel it, Mom? Don’t think with your head. Use your heart, like you taught me.” Emma was quiet for a moment as she took in her young son’s sage advice. “You feel it too, I know you do. This is right for us. It’s our path.”

“Why don’t I sleep on it, okay, kid? In the meantime you go wash up for dinner all right?”

Henry seemed to accept this non-answer, though he muttered under his breath about always having to wait for adventure. Emma smiled despite herself and then looked to Mrs. H who was watching her closely.

“So what do you think? I know we’d be leaving you and Mr. H in a bind. You weren’t expecting to have to look for new tenants and -,”

Mrs. H interrupted Emma by taking her hand in hers and silently commanding her attention. Emma looked up and listened carefully. “Honey, you don’t worry about that at all, you hear me? My Horace and I are golden. We don’t need to rent this place out, but we took one look at you and Henry and we knew you were going to be like family. And you know what family does, Emma? They support each other always. This fellowship sounds like everything you’ve wanted. You can make a difference and you and that darling boy of yours can see the world a little. In the meantime we’ll keep this place here for you. No one else is renting it and you don’t need to worry about paying anything at all. The payment has been getting to know you two these last few years. That’s better than anything money can buy.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asked, half wondering about her generosity but also asking if she should go at all. She was excited, to be sure, but she was also terrified. What if she failed? What if something happened? What if –

“I am, Emma. And deep down you are too. Henry was right, this is an adventure, one you should meet and embrace every step of the way.”

Emma appreciated the counsel and though Henry came barreling back in soon and the conversation shifted, Emma had all evening to think about the choice in front of her. She grappled with her options – to take the safe path and pass up on a once in a lifetime opportunity, or to take a little risk and have a taste of adventure and fulfillment with her son in a brand new place. By the end of the night, as she was drifting off to bed, Emma knew she had her answer: this was going to happen. She was going to take this step and take a chance, and somehow, despite her less than stellar origins, she trusted it would all work exactly the way that it should.

Little did she know how true that was, and just how much purpose and hope she would find in a tiny country halfway around the world.

Post-Note: So there we have it. Just in case anyone is curious about the title, I actually got a creative burst in conceiving of this AU plot line when I heard the song ‘Feels Like This’ by Maisie Peters. If you haven’t heard it before, you should definitely listen, as it’s a lovely one with all kinds of feels. Anyway, I know that this chapter was all from Emma’s POV, but as you might have guessed, next chapter we will see Killian and where he is at when we begin this story. I’m so excited for this AU and to build this dynamic and I am hoping to share the second chapter with you all next weekend. In the meantime, I would love to hear what you all think, what you might like to see in this fic, and what your general thoughts on this kind of AU are. As always I appreciate you all so much, I hope that you’ve enjoyed, and I wish you all well and happy! Thanks again!

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thehundredplusone · 4 years

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Infodump: The Satanic Panic & Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA)

GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD! STRONG CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THE FOLLOWING:

Child abuse

Murder

Police abuse

Satanism

Mental illness

Cannibalism

TL;DR at the bottom.

I'm autistic and my "focus" or specialist subject is extreme religion, cults, and religious abuse. The subset I've been most interested in for several years is the satanic panic of America in the 1980s and 90s. This is the period of time which the idea of satanic ritual abuse comes out of. For those who don’t know, satanic ritual abuse or SRA is purported to be an organized form of child abuse and murder conducted by underground rings of “satanists”.

An important bit of context around these events: it was around this time that the fact that child abuse existed first entered the public consciousness. It's weird to think that child abuse wasn't considered a 'thing' at any point because we're so aware of it today but up until the 1970s, at least in the USA, no one really considered it. People ignored physical, mental, and sexual abuse in the home, considering it a private matter. "We believe the children" was such an important mantra during this time and so key to the SRA movement precisely because they were coming out of a period in which children were never believed about abuse at home and there was a major push to be aware of the symptoms of abuse.

The first ideas of SRA initially came from a book called Michelle Remembers, which is purportedly true account of a woman surfacing memories of SRA with her therapist. The book was a cultural hit and spread like wildfire, leading the authors, Dr. Lawrence Pazder and Michelle Smith (soon to be Dr and Mrs Pazder, as they both left their spouses and got married), to go touring the country to speak at psychology conferences, to newspapers, and on TV shows. They claimed that there were underground rings of satanists going around abusing children.

Interestingly, as people dug into Michelle's history to make sense of how this horrible abuse had happened to her, some inconsistencies showed up, like the fact that she had perfect attendance at school during the periods which she was supposedly being held captive by satanists. Michelle also claimed to have been directly healed by religious figures like Mary and the Archangel Michael, which was why she bore no physical marks from her abuse. Some have speculated that Michelle’s trauma was actually related to repeated miscarriages and the medical procedures she went through surrounding them. There are a number of elements which make the story suspect but they were brushed aside during that time.

Soon enough self-titled experts on SRA with no real qualifications other than attending a conference began to offer training sessions about recognizing the signs of satanic activity and abuse to police departments and teachers. Among their claimed signs that satanism was active in a community was one particularly dangerous suggestion. These experts, who often had little training in child psychology, claimed that while children never lie about being abused, children who were victims of SRA may lie and claim that they weren't abused. It was important, they said, to keep asking and make it clear that they didn't have to protect their abusers.

If you know anything about about psychology, your red flags might be going up right now, and with very good reason. Children are highly susceptible to suggestion and pressure. If they are asked a question over and over again by an adult who is pushing them to give a certain answer, they generally will. Adults are susceptible to this as well but to a lesser degree, which is part of why you see people confessing to crimes they never committed. Hold a person in a room for hours and hours, asking them constantly about something they want you to confess to and many people will eventually confess falsely just to get out of the room.

This is exactly what happened once things really took off. If you ask Americans about the satanic panic, those who know of it will often point to one key trial set right in the midst of the most frantic part of this cultural hysteria. That would be the McMartin preschool trial. So the McMartin preschool was a daycare in California run by a family, the McMartins. They were well regarded in the community and had quite a few kids attending their center. One day, a mother noticed an odd mark on her son's bottom and became concerned that he was being abused. After questioning him repeatedly, he finally said that his father, who was a teacher at his preschool, had hurt him. She contacted the police, and the police, seemingly knowing exactly what would send the community into a fervor, sent a letter to every parent at the preschool urging them to talk with their children and find out if they were being abused. More parents insistently questioned their children until they too confessed to abuse of all stripes. Another interesting note here: The mother who initially made the complaint had a history of mental illness and of suspecting others of abusing her son. She checked him for marks regularly and questioned him about possible abuse. While we can't say for certain this is what led to his confession, knowing that he'd had this line of questioning before makes it more likely he could have been coerced into a false confession.

The daycare teachers were arrested and all of the children were brought in to be questioned by social workers and police. They used the same tactics as described above, holding children in rooms for extended periods of time, asking them over and over about the same things until they agreed, telling them that other children had confessed to acts which they hadn't confessed to, and describing explicit, leading scenarios. The children questioned were very young, as young as two in some cases, and they were being prompted to agree with trained adults.

The adults also took any fantastical statement the child made as fact, going on the premise that they should believe the children. Claims taken seriously included dozens of babies being butchered and eaten, being flushed down a toilet into a secret room, and flying through the air. The daycare's entire building and property were dismantled and searched for hidden compartments or rooms and remains of the children supposedly killed. Nothing was ever found. The parents and children also met with Dr Pazder and Michelle in the run-up to the trial and it's believed that this influenced their testimony. SRA claims were also heavy in the medial around this time through a number of other cases and it's likely that children picked up on the stories and them subconsciously used what they'd heard from the TV or their parents in their own accounts. Ultimately, most of the charges were dismissed due to a lack of evidence. The few which went forward were eventually reversed, in some cases after the defendant served time in jail.

That's not the end of the story on SRA though. Remember the kids going through this? The kids who were trapped in rooms, separated from their families, forced to confess to graphic details of abuse which no child should ever have to hear, not allowed to leave until they told the police or psychologists what they wanted? That is scarring for a child. While some kids had enough of a sense of self to realize that none of it happened, many others had their very fragile sense of self ripped to shreds and tainted with the ideas people pushed onto them. They developed false memories of their childhoods. Normal scenes of happy families, playing with friends, going to preschool, were tainted by the anxiety and fear they were put through by people who should have been protecting them.

One story highlighted in a podcast I listened to highlighted a young man named J and his father, M. M was accused of satanic abuse by his ex-wife and ended up in jail. J and his siblings were sent to a therapist who convinced them that they were abused. The therapist told him he'd never be able to hold down a job, that he'd be stalked all his life by the satanic cult, and if he tried to be normal, he'd wind up abusing children the way his father did. J wound up depressed and involved in drugs but did eventually stop therapy and managed to pull together a life for himself.

When he was in his 30s, still fully believing that his father had abused him, his younger brother made contact with their dad. M sent the brother a long letter explaining what he remembered of the events and apologizing for them, which was forwarded to J. The letter ultimately helped J find cracks in the abuse memories which his mother and therapist had created and he began to question everything. He had been traumatized as a very young child into believing he was abused, but that itself was ultimately the abuse. Nothing had happened to him but a mentally ill mother and a manipulative, unethical therapist, but those were enough to leave him with years of scars and problems to work through.

I want to be clear that I’m not trying to discredit or harm people who have memories of SRA. While the acts never happened in nearly every case, the pain and trauma inflicted by being made to agree to graphic descriptions of abuse is very real. Their suffering is real. The blame for that suffering should be placed where it belongs. The only way we prevent something like this from happening again is to have accurate accounts of how it happened the first time. If you believe yourself to be an SRA victim, my heart goes out to you. I hope you’re able to heal in time and piece yourself back together.

TL;DR: SRA came out of a weird period of botched child psychology and hysteria. It's not likely anyone was ever ritualistically abused by satanists. People with memories from SRA cases have had false memories imprinted on them through repeated questioning by police, social workers, therapists, and parents. These people were their abusers, not satanists. They are abuse victims and they may have very real mental illnesses due to trauma.

If you want more info about this topic, I recommend checking out the podcasts "Conviction" (Season 2), "You're Wrong About" (Michelle Remembers episodes) and "The Satanic Panic".

#sra #satanic ritual abuse #cw child abuse #cw murder #cw police abuse #cw mental heath #graphic #michelle remembers #ritual abuse #infodump

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forlornmelody · 5 years

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Kord Center Mall: Rose Takes Bart to a Rave

Rating: Explicit (there’s smut, and drug use, and lots of swearing)

Fandom(s): Mass Effect, DC Comics

Ship: JayRose (Jason Todd/Rose Wilson)

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: Even the best-made plans go sideways, sometimes.In which Rose plans to have a good time with her NOT boyfriend, but ends up watching over the most annoying and most adorable kid working at Kord Center Mall.

Note: This is a cross over, mall-verse AU concocted by @scifi-ginger and myself. You’ve been warned.

-*-*-

Rose Wilson has three stops she makes on her hour-long lunch break. How she managed to get an hour instead of 30 minutes like most part-timers, no one seems to know. Her desk partner, Cassandra Sandsmark--regular employee of the month and all-around wonder girl, has definitely noticed, and she protests every time Rose leaves. Their manager likes Rose, so he never says anything. Or maybe he’s terrified of her dad like everyone else. Getting into his scheduling software is easy enough, especially since he has the password on a sticky note behind his monitor. It’s not Rose’s fault if he doesn’t bother to memorize it.

First she goes to Joey’s counter at MAC. For someone who’d rather sign than talk, Joey sure sells a lot of beauty products. It’s probably the way he smiles at his customers, giving them bedroom eyes regardless of their gender. When Rose spots him, he’s chatting up some twink who has trouble standing still. Joey lays a steadying hand on his shoulder, applying the liquid eye liner like he’s still in art school. He waves at Rose when he’s done with the makeover, walking the guy over to the counter to what’s surely going to be a big sale. When the customer signs his receipt, he also jots down his number. Taking the receipt, Joey nods at the guy, then at Rose.

“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d been waiting.” The twink stumbles out of the store, leaving Joey and Rose alone at the counter.

Joey punches the guy’s number into his phone and Rose rolls her eyes. Her brother sets his phone down, and his hands flurry into signs. “What? Was it something I said?”

Rose leans across the counter, so his co-worker can’t hear her talk. “Really? Are you going to seduce every single person who comes in here?”

Waving his hand dismissively, Joey snorts. “He was cute.”

“You say that about everyone, Joey. And I won’t let you tarnish my reputation as the skankiest Wilson.”

Leaning back towards her with a wicked gleam in his eye, Joey slaps his hand on the counter. “I’m pretty sure Pop has us both beat there.”

“Gross.” Rose starts to walk out, but her phone pings.

I still want Vega’s number.

Rose turns back to face him, grinning widely as she moonwalks out the store. “Fucking a personal trainer won’t get you a free membership!” She calls out.

Joey’s hands move so big Rose is convinced the department store across the hall can see. “But it will get me some exercise!”

Shaking her head, Rose moves on to the crystal shop three doors down. Rachel, or Raven, as most call her, is busy ringing someone up, so Rose peruses the tea selection. She isn’t really sure what to make of the supernatural or the paranormal, to be honest, but she humors her friend--getting palm and tarot readings from her so Raven can practice. Every so often she’ll even join her meditation sessions, though Rose has the worst time sitting still. Her latest mantra is “I’d rather be punching a bag” over and over until Raven shoves her away.

Ignoring the names of the teas, Rose takes her time sniffing each jar for the one’s that’ll taste best. She picks one up that smells like almost nothing. What’s the fucking poi--

“I don’t think you need anything for erectile dysfunction.” Raven drawls from behind her. “If you do, we really need to talk.”

“Jesus.” Rose jumps a little, slamming the lid back down. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Are you actually going to buy something, or are you just here to fuck off?” Raven folds her arms, eyeing Rose with a smirk.

“What’s a good compliment to some dank weed?” Rose leans back against the shelves, jostling several jars in her wake.

Raven scoffs, but digs out a couple jars, pushing Rose out of the way. “What does Joey think about you partying with the mall’s resident bad boys?”

“And girl.” Rose holds up a finger like a kindergarten teacher. “Don’t forget the girl.” As if anyone could forget Jack Nought. With her mohawk and tats, she looks like she walked off the set of Mad Max. Maybe she did. Jack can do whatever the fuck she wants. “And Joey trusts me to take care of myself.” She pokes Raven in the nose. “Unlike some people.”

“Har har.” Raven waves her off like a fly. “And your dad?” Her voice lightens, and her eyebrows knit together, all airs of indifference falling away. She moves behind the counter, measuring and weighing the ounces of tea, only to toss the generous amounts in the bags anyway. Samara lets Raven do what she wants, too. They should start a club.

“He can go fuck himself.”

“You know, I have an extra room available if you--”

“Don’t.” Rose eyes the register to see what total Raven rang up, and slams extra down on the counter.

“Fine.” Raven starts to count out her change. Rose leaves before she can put it in her hands. Good thing she was already on her way to the punk store.

Jack is chewing and blowing bubblegum when Rose walks in. “Hey fucker,” she calls out affectionately.

“Fuck you too, Jack.” Rose circles the counter, squeezing Jack’s butt in her usual greeting--her eyes searching the merchandise.

“Looking for Jason?” Jack slaps her ass in reply. He’s running inventory in the back.”

“No, your other boy toy.” Rose quips as she heads towards the backdoor. She’s not allowed back there, but she’s on good terms with the management team.

Jason is waist deep in open boxes when she finds him. “Hey asshole,” she says to his back as he studies his clipboard.

“Jesus.” Jason slips and falls back against one stack of merchandise. His clipboard goes flying. Peanuts rain down on their heads. “Hey bastard.”

Rose picks the peanuts from her hair, squishing one between her fingers. “Excuse me? You’re the one who’s adopted.”

Jason pulls her down with him. “You’re the one who disowned her dad.”

Plastic bags squeak underneath their feet as she settles down next to him. “He deserved it.” Next to Jason isn’t close enough. Rose crawls into his lap.

“Rose, I’m a little--”

“Busy?” Her breath ghosts across his lips. “Not busy enough.” His body always feels so warm beneath her hands.

Jason’s lips part, and his hand wanders back and forth across the top of her shoulder, like he can’t decide between pushing her away and pulling her closer. “Jack will kill us if she finds us goofing off.”

“Since when do you care about the rules?” She kisses him once, long and slow, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “And she won’t kill me. I’m on break.”

Jason swears. “I’m already behind today.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“You asked?” He kisses her this time, pulling her tight against him. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

Rose trails her other hand down his side, sliding it between them. She drinks in his groan, sliding her tongue into his mouth, and her hand into his hoodie pocket.

Jason seizes her wrist, pulling away from her mouth. His breath comes out ragged. “Really?”

Sitting back, she pouts. “Empty? Nothing? Nada? Zilch?”

“I’m working.”

“Not even one joint? You disappoint me, Todd.”

“I’m not going to get arrested at work, Wilson.”

“At least tell me there’s a party this weekend.” Rose traces the lines of Jason’s jaw. She could do it all day. It’s not her fault he’s so easy on the eyes.

Jason leans back against the boxes, pulling Rose with him. “Mm. I think there’s a rave.”

Grinning slowly, Rose braces her hands on either side of his head, letting her hair drape around their faces. “Please tell me we’re going.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get a group together.” He slides her hoodie’s zipper down. “Get a couple cars going.” His eyebrows scrunch together as he grins up at her. “Shouldn’t you be thinking about right now?”

“Depends.” Her hand slides underneath his hoodie and his shirt, shivering at the way his skin jumps. It should be illegal for someone to be this perfect. “Is it going to be more fun than this weekend?”

Jason rolls them over, pushing her shirt up. “Depends.” He lavishes her middle with kisses. “On.” A breath. “Where your head's at.”

If anything, Rose doesn’t like where her thoughts are headed. It’s all too easy to imagine dinner dates and long walks on the beach, or whatever it is couples do. So, she plays with the hair on the back of Jason’s head as he makes his way lower and lower. No matter what happens, no one can take this moment from them--from her. Maybe Jason’s right.

“Rose?” Jason’s hands let go of her jeans, and he’s watching her. Shit.

Shaking it off, Rose pulls him back to her. “C’mere.” Her lips crash into his, biting his bottom lip until he hisses into her mouth. “You’re short on time, right?” She slides her hand down, unbuttoning his jeans.

It’s a bold face lie and they both know it. “Yeah.” Jason gulps, sliding his hand inside her jeans. He pauses at what he finds or doesn’t find there. “Rose?”

“Shhh.” She shoves her jeans down, guiding his fingers. “It won’t take long, I promise.” Rose grins against his lips. “Especially with you.”

Jason’s kiss is a little too tender, his touch a little too reassuring, so Rose goes in hard. Her lips crash into his and she bites his bottom lip. As he moans into her mouth, she yanks his jeans out of her way, feeling along his length.

“Mm.” Rose tugs his ear lobe between her teeth, shivering at his sharp breath in her hair. “You are all I need right now. Just you.”

“Fuck, Rose.” Jason rocks into her hand, gripping her shoulders hard. “I need you, too.” He just manages to get beneath her underwear again, snickering between moans. “That’s more like it.”

“Nng.” Rose leans her head against Jason’s shoulder as his knuckle digs against her clit. It slips a little against her soaked skin. This is what she needs. “Just like that.” Panting, she bites his neck where it meets his shoulder.

Jason shakes, shakes under her touch. “Rose--” Her name isn’t a question this time. It’s a plea.

Rose snickers. “You want me?” Fuck, the way he whimpers as she shoves his underwear down. “You need me?”

“Rose, please.” Jason kisses her hungrily, fumbling as he pulls her underwear past her hips.

Swallowing hard, Rose digs through his pockets until she finds what she’s looking for. There. She grins, holding up the condom where Jason can see. He nods, and she slides it on him. Together they slide him inside her, and together they are a mess of limbs and teeth.

“Oh, fuck.” Rose whimpers, falling back against one of the stacks. It’s a little soon and a little rough, but it’s exactly what she needs right now. “Fuck, yes.”

“Y-yeah.” Jason drives into her, gripping her hips so tight she’ll have bruises later. He bites her neck, marking her in kind. Oh fuck, the boxes are going to fall over.

Moaning into his ear, she slides her fingers beneath his shirt, skimming her nails down his back.

“Rose,” he gasps. Now it’s a statement. A warning.

“Jason, I need--” Rose whimpers. She’s so close.

“Shh.” He catches her lips, taking her hand and putting it between them.

Rose circles her clit quickly, closing her eyes as Jason pulses inside her. His fingers slide over hers, and he pants into her neck as her world tilts on tilts on its axis.

Seconds, minutes, hours? Later she turns her head and finds him lying next to her, and they snicker together. Rose pushes a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes.

“How the fuck am I supposed to work after that?” Jason traces her bottom lip with his finger.

“There’s a Starbucks across the hall.” Ah fuck. There’s that feeling again. Rose kisses his finger once, then sits up, grabbing her clothes and throwing them on. “What time on Saturday?”

Jason blinks up at her, pushing himself off the floor. “....Eight, I guess? It’s out of town.”

Rose snatches one last kiss from his lips. “See you then, asshole.”

“Catch you later, bastard.”

_____________________

Fuck him. Fuck Jason Todd. Fuck his entire fucking family. Rose stares down at her phone, the bass of the warehouse thumping even from across the field-turned parking lot.

“What’s wrong?” Bart leans over her shoulder, reading Jason’s text message.

Stuck at Bruce’s party. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.

Rose swats him away. “He fucking bailed.”

Jack and Roy had already gone inside. They wouldn’t be able to find them til sunrise. And Jason wasn’t coming. That just left her and Bart “I can’t shut up” Allen. Two hours in the backseat doing her best to ignore him. Oo! What music are you listening to? Can I share? Lemme make you a playlist. Do you like Kesha? I LOVE KESHA. Rose didn’t even need to respond. He’d just keep talking.

“Jason bailed? What happened? Was it one of those Wayne Manor parties? Maybe we should go there.”

“It’s two hours away and we’re not invited, dumbass.” Rose made her way to the door. “You got your ID?”

“Well. Oh! You mean that ID.” Bart waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah. Tim made me one.” He pulled it out, waving it in front of her face.

“Gimme that.” Rose eyed it. “No way you’re passing for thirty.” She shoved it in her pocket.

“But how am I going to get inside?” He trailed after her.

“Lemme worry about that.” Rose spun around, and Bart ran into her. “But you need to let me do the talking. Kay?”

“Kay.”

“How’d you get invited, anyway?” Rose stomped toward the doors, doing her best to put on a winning smile. She needed something good, stat.

“Oh! Tim invited me. But he had to go to Bruce’s party too.”

“So I get to babysit you instead. Fucking fantastic.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Jason flaked.”

Rose stopped, glaring at him. “I was supposed to get high and laid tonight. But no. I get stuck with you.”

Bart flushed as red as his hair. “I mean. You still c-can. I won’t stop y-you.”

“Wally would turn me into a statue and put me in a museum, so no. That’s not happening.” The Wayne boys owed her big time.

“ID’s?” The bouncer shined a flash night near their faces, eyeing them.

Rose pressed her ID into the guys hand, biting her grin. “Hey there.”

The bouncer smirked. “Who’s the kid?”

“Oh, him? He’d just here to drive us home. Just got his license, right Bart?” Rose giggled. “Hey, you busy later, or--?” She swiped the sharpie from his pocket, scribbling a phone number on his arm.

“Have fun. But keep him out of trouble.”

Rose threw him a mock salute, shoving Bart inside before the bouncer could change his mind. “Whew. Okay. Just promise me you won’t do anything--”

“Oo. What’s this?”

Turning around, Rose caught Bart popping a brightly colored pill into his mouth. “Bart, no!” Shit shit shit. She grabbed his wrist.

Bart’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Too late.”

“You don’t know what’s in that!” Fuck. Wally was going to kill her.

“I’ll be fiiine. You worry too much. Let’s dance!” Bart tugs her to the middle of the room, oblivious to the strangers he’s running into. Yup. If Wally doesn’t kill her first, Bart is first on her shit list.

At least the music’s nice--loud and thrumming through her entire body. She would almost enjoy it, if it weren’t for the looming feeling of shit about to hit the fan. It’s one thing if Rose gets high and gets sick and wakes up in the ER--Bart’s just a kid.

After a few songs, Rose starts to think maybe Bart just found some candy and is just messing around to piss her off.

Then he steps inside her bubble. She can’t hear what he’s saying, so Bart yells in her ear. “You’re really pretty.”

Fucking fantastic. “And you’re high. Fuck off.”

Bart moves back, only to dive in closer, tripping over Rose’s feet. “This stuff is great. I can see why you wanted it. I can fly.” He scrunches his nose. “No. I could run. Run right across the ocean something.”

That’s a mental image that will haunt her later. “You’re not even close, kid.” It’s then Bart decides to grind up against some dude twice his age. It’s then Rose decides to steer him outside.

“Ro-ose.”

“Shove it, Bart. We can still hear it out here.”

“Oo. It’s so nice and cold out here. You’re right.” Rose has to peel herself out of his hug. He only hugs her again, spinning them around. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re still high.” How long does that shit last, anyway? Time drags on so much longer when she’s sober.

“Noooo. I mean it.” Bart pokes her nose. “You’re watching out for me. You’re like my big sister.”

“Your big sister that will kill you if Wally doesn’t get to you first.”

Bart stares at her jacket, running his finger along stitching on her sleeve.

“You okay?” Rose has no idea how it’s possible, but quiet Bart is worse than talkative Bart.

“You got any gum?” Bart doesn’t wait for her answer, digging through her pockets until he finds some. He then unwraps the rest of her back before shoving it in his mouth.

“Yeah, sure. Have some gum.” It’s going to be a long night--Rose can tell.

“Got any water?” Bart fiddles with the zipper on her pocket. “I’m so thirsty. Do you get thirsty on this stuff?”

Rose groans, dragging him back inside. “Let’s find you some gatorade.”

------

Hours, maybe centuries later, Bart sits with Rose outside, snuggled up to her as close as he can get. Her tiny leather jacket doesn’t really work as a blanket for them both, but it’ll have to do. “Still cold?” She asks.

Bart’s voice is muffled against her collarbone. “Yeah. But it’s better.”

Rose rests her chin on top of his head, rubbing her head down his back. She’ll probably never know what having a little brother feels like, but this will do. Damnit. Bart might be the stupidest little fuck, but he’s her stupid little fuck and she will fucking murder anyone who hurts him. Her knuckles will have bruises by morning, but she’ll feel better than the creep with the freshy broken nose.

“Rose?” Bart sighs, and Rose feels him tremble.

“Yeah?”

“You ever like someone who didn’t like you back?”

Rose chews her lip, remembering Dick and his impossibly blue eyes, and his stupid grin. How she’d move the world for him and he’d still just pat her on the head like she was his kid sister. Bart didn’t need to know about that. “Yeah.” The whole world didn’t need to know it either.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Bart breathes in like there’s ice in his lungs.

“Fuck, Bart. What did you take?” Rose tilts his chin up, studying his face, as if that will give her a good answer. It won’t.

“No. I mean. When you lo--like someone, and they think you’re best friends. Why does it have to hurt like this?” Bart sniffs. “How do you people deal with this all the time?”

Rose stares at him. Not once has she ever seen Bart cry. Bart isn’t the kind of kid who knows how to cry--not because he’s some bro-ner clutching his man card. Sadness and Bart just don’t go together. He has one mode, only one, and that is pure joy and smiles and energy that usually makes Rose want to hurl. What the hell happened to the kid who came with her to the rave? Only when her mouth feels dry does Rose realize that her jaw fell open. She snaps it back shut. “Do you need me to kill someone?”

“What? No. No. He’s perfect. He just doesn’t like me back.” Bart shakes, vibrating through his entire body. “Of all people I could finally fall for--why’d it have to be him?”

“Him, huh?” Rose smirks, handing him yet another tissue. “Do I know this him?”

A sniff. “Yeah. I think he parties with Roy and Jason sometimes.”

“That really narrows it down.” Rose rolls her eyes.

“He’s got this great tan, and he always smells like taco seasoning.”

“So romantic.”

“And when he speaks Spanish it’s like--” Bart laughs “my brain finally stops, you know?” He stares up at the sky as if the object of his affection can be found among the constellations. “I used to think he looked kind of funny, I mean, who spends that much time on their hair? But now? I can’t stop thinking about how I want to mess up that hair. Run my fingers through it, I mean.”

“Wait. Jaime? The kid who works at Taco Bell?”

“You’re the same age as him.”

“Yeah, but the way he kisses R--never mind.” Rose coughs. “Have you told him yet?”

“Told him what?”

“Told him how you feel?”

“Jaime? No. No. I can’t.” Bart jumps out of her arms, pacing back and forth so fast he almost seemed like a blur in the low light.

Rose smirked. “You both speak English, you both work at the same mall. There is no reason you can’t tell him you want to jump his bones.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me back? He’s my best friend Rose! What if it gets weird??”

“Then find someone else to bang?”

“I can’t.” Bart stops, biting his lip so hard it turns white. “...This isn’t so easy for me.” He scratches his scalp, his skin turning as red as his hair. “The last time I dated a friend...he didn’t feel the same way. And now it’s weird.” Bart sniffs.

Oh no. Not again. “Bart--”

“I can’t lose Jaime like that.” And there he goes. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh Bart.” Rose hugs him, patting the back of his head. He’s probably going to outgrow her in a year. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I hardly ever feel this way about anybody. I just--”

She pulls away enough to stare him in the face. “Bart. You work at Kord Square. Everyone there is queer. You have lots of friends.”

“But--”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen II, you will be fine. I promise. Let’s go hang out in the car, yeah?” Bart mutters an okay, rubbing his eyes, and Rose guides him back, a plan already forming in her mind. She can practically see the outcome. Those two love birds won’t know what hit them.

#oops this was supposed to go out three weeks ago my bad #kord center mall #dc comics #jayrose #jason todd #rose wilson #joey wilson #jack nought #bart allen #melody writes

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bpdbiscuitblog-blog · 5 years

Photo

Nonsuicide Note: My Two-Year Journey from Suicide Attempt to Peace and Adventure (TRIGGER WARNING)

"You ruin everything."

"Rape victim."

"Cheater."

"You're a bad person."

"You got what you deserved, bitch."

"Get your ass in the house."

"He's not coming."

"Redheads are so much prettier."

"Green eyes are better."

"You're so pale."

"What do you mean you're not Christian?"

"White trash."

"You should smile more."

"Why can't you just be normal?"

I have been running from these words and so many more all my life.

When I had a mental breakdown on Memorial Day 2017, I began a journey. One that is still happening every day.

But if you've subscribed to my blog and read my previous posts, you know that story already.

Today, two years later, I'm healing.

I've found peace.

I've found adventure.

Not 100% of the time. Maybe 75% of the time.

But that's better than none of the time. Steady improvement, right?

And now, instead of surrounding myself with people that tore me down emotionally, mentally, sexually, and physically, I find people who build me up. Wrap up in their words like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. Scrub the old words out of my mind and replace them with these new words.

"You're like a little kid."

"You're sexy."

"You're smart."

"You didn't deserve to be hurt."

"They hurt you. They were wrong."

"You never hardened your heart to the world."

"You're special."

"I love your smile."

"I love your body. Don't change it."

"You have such a weird, individual style."

"When you walked into my life, the whole world lit up."

"Because I was lost, and you helped me."

"Thank you for teaching me to read."

"You're the best teacher."

"You wanna play soccer with us?"

"Thank you for helping me learn addition."

"Thank you for helping my kid learn."

"He loves your class."

"These kids love you."

"We love you, Ms. C."

"I love you, K."

"I love you, Biscuit."

"You're a good person."

"You have a heart for people."

"You're so genuine."

"You're so brave."

"You really do love everyone, huh?"

"Why are you hugging homeless people, you fucking hippie?"

"You're learning how to point out elephants without hurting people."

"Take care of yourself, Rafiki."

"People will hurt you, baby girl. Please be careful."

"You're a pain in my ass. But you're worth it, baby girl."

"You're crazy. But you're worth it, baby girl."

"You're worth it, babe."

"You're worth it, baby."

"You're worth it, mommy."

"You're worth it, My Angel."

"You're worth it, baby girl."

"You're worth it, K."

"You're worth it, sis."

"You're worth it, Biscuit."

"You're worth it."

Yeah, not sure why my girl Amy Schumer had a problem with being called "brave". That was fucking brave. If you don't feel absolutely perfect at all times, showing parts of your body you're self-conscious about is so damn hard. And she is self-conscious about them, or she would have realized that's what they meant when they called her brave. No airbrushing. No fixing anything anyone else could perceive as a flaw. Just being proud of who you are, being happy with your flaws. I'm definitely not there yet. I wore this oversized tank so that I could cover up or crop any part of my body I wasn't happy with. I didn't wear it because I wouldn't pose naked. I wore it because I wasn't happy enough with my body to pose naked. Will I feel different after my tummy tuck? Will I suddenly want to show off my new body, one that's more like me at 18 than ever before? Shit, I'm already picking out bikinis…

But for now, I'll just crop it to the important parts and not focus on what I can't change. The important parts (sorry, guys) are not my boobs. Or my eyes. They're my arms and legs. They're the words written on them. The ones in red are things I need to forgive. But I haven't forgotten them. And the ones in blue I never should forget. They're too important to my mental health and wellbeing.

I need a new mantra.

Love…is bullshit.

Love has been made out to be this emotion that people have for you. Empty words and chivalrous actions in an attempt to get laid on the reg is not love.

Lots of people love me through this. Because love is something you do. It's not an emotion. It's an action.

And I need to love better. The action, not the emotion. I need to love my friends, my kid, and most importantly, myself better.

So that's the goal, right? Be a better human being. My purpose in life, if I do nothing else, or if I do something way different from what I planned on doing, is to follow my rules to the best of my ability. Be nice. Be honest. And if I can't be nice, then I need to be as minimally aggressive as possible in order to still be honest. And honestly, my life is the most important to me. I need to be selfish right now. If I'm not, I am putting my mental health at risk. It is what it is. I'll do my best to minimize and improve. But this is where I'm at.

It's like Pink says.

I'm not broken. I'm just bent. I can learn to love again.

Maybe not right now. I just need to fix some shit right now. But like....one day. When I'm ready.

For right now, I'm just going to be happy loving myself. And my kid. And my friends.

And really….

And really that's what's most important, right? More important than what other people believe about me, say about me….is what I believe and say about myself.

"Hi, I'm Biscuit."

"I'm a hippie."

"I love music, especially Stevie Nicks and Halsey."

"I'm a storyteller."

"I'm a pothead."

"I'm poly and pan."

"I'm a gamer."

"I'm a business owner."

"I want to be nice and be honest. And I want people in my life to be the same way. And I want us to help each other learn."

"I love people very easily. Trusting is hard, but that's because some bad shit happened to me, and I’m still getting over it."

"I'm a good friend."

"I'm a good mom."

"I'm a good person."

"I want peace and adventure."

"I'm a pain in the ass, but I'm worth it."

"And I'm on a Pink kick today, so here's another song."

"And I want to live. Like, a long time. So Ima do that now."

#bpd #suicide #actually bpd #bpd problems #bpd thoughts #mental health #ftw #survivor

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lahallucinations · 6 years

Text

when the dust settles

Pairing: Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles

Summary:he wants to meet up no no no no no no i think he misses you

or, breaking up sucks, and losing your best friend at the same time is even worse

Warnings: Implied Alcohol Abuse

W/C:6835

Read on ao3: x

Louis was in the middle of contemplating whether he had enough time to sneak in a cigarette before they started filming when he got the text.

It was from Natalia, his talent manager turned best friend and it was exactly as professional as her, “sos babe i tried to stop it from happening but simon was... himself” Louis sighed. He definitely needed a cigarette break, one that was away from the crowd and preferably never-ending. It was all Simon’s fault. Simon had this way of getting Louis to agree to things that he never would consider or want. At first, it was mostly out of gratefulness and a little bit of fear that Louis or the one of the other boys would agree to whatever idea Simon proposed. It had sold, so perhaps Louis should have been appreciative but he wished he had fought harder on coordinating outfits and in the later years, the amount of work they did. Things would be different now, if he had. They might not have hit their peaks but perhaps they wouldn’t have hit their lows either.

Even now, Louis didn’t know exactly how he let Simon rope him into these projects. The convincing, or well, the schmoozing had started a few months ago, when Simon had visited him in the studio. He had listened to the demos with pursed lips and a poker face giving nothing away. The minutes right after Louis would play Simon something, he’d get transported to primary school, back to a child that was looking to a teacher, hoping for a pat on the back. It was weak. The low hum that Simon made after Louis showed him the first demo took him exactly back to his first audition. The seconds after he had sung, each felt like a century. He had barely been able to breathe, awaiting the response that would potentially change his life. The response had been good, things had worked out. Nobody is lucky twice. Simon talked around it. Despite calling himself a straight shooter, Simon didn’t tell him the songs were shit, or that they wouldn’t sell or that perhaps going solo may not work out. He was nice. If Louis had learned anything in his years working with Simon was that a nice Simon was worse than a mean one. A mean one respected you as an artist and wanted you to improve, a nice one pitied you. A week later, he had taken Louis out to a club, they’d drank martinis and had caviar tacos and Louis had felt the whole night feeling strange about the future. The album was on hold, Harry was on the goddamn radio again and his sisters didn’t need him to be the big brother anymore. He din’t even want to think about being a disappointing father on top of that. Louis didn’t know how Simon could tell what he was feeling but at the end of the night it was a simple question, “Wanna do X-factor?” It was some combination of booze and the tracks lying on the cutting board that Louis said yes. He read over Natalia’s text again and grimaced. He grabbed a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. He wasn’t supposed to spoke inside his dressing room but this counted as special circumstances. Louis had been good, expert even, at avoiding Harry. Both in their lives and in their professions. He had been asked about Harry’s music in an interview and the lie had come easy to him, “Yeah we’re friends. I think people will love the album.” He couldn’t imagine listening to it. He couldn’t imagine talking to him. He didn’t want to imagine seeing him. He took another drag of the cigarette. Someone knocked on the door. That was his five minute signal. This time next week, he’d be here. He shot a reply to Natalia, “make sure he gets his own dressing room. far away from mine.”

^^ The worst part about all this was, Simon was right. He enjoyed being on the show. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled this much during the day and then went home inspired to create more. The people on the show reminded him why he wanted to do this in the first place. He wanted to sing, he used to sing to his sisters when they were upset, getting to see their tears turn into laughter is what drove him to the auditions and even if he hadn’t gone through, he would still be making music, he firmly believed that. Watching smiles appear on the faces of the singers after hitting their high note made Louis happy. Louis knew the feeling of being on stage and impressing the crowd all too well. He’d belt out a note and for a moment after, a silence would rush over the audience, they’d be processing what happened, Louis would take a breath in that second and then accept the uproarious cheering he was showered with. Music had purpose again. The disappointed faces of his audience didn’t run through his head while he wrote anymore. Their expectations felt manageable, not as heavy as they had been at the start. Everything he had been making felt like a recreation. It was like taking a blossomed flower and turning it back to a bud. They were buds before, never quite at bloom but growing. Louis didn’t remember how to do that anymore, maybe he never knew how to do this alone. He’d always connected to the other boys through the music. The feeling was a rare one, akin to a sunny day after weeks of London showers. It would be him and Liam mostly, the others boys preferring to write alone, or with other people. Those sessions made everything worth it. The long hours, the lack of privacy, the haze of partying and intensity that surrounded them in those years, the sessions that were about music made it all work. He sometimes thought if he and Harry had jammed more, they might have ended differently. His mum had always told him that he couldn’t fix everything, but Louis always admired the way she held everyone together. He should have been the glue, he should have made his mum proud. The only memory Louis has of Harry writing with him, is one he can’t place, it was a late night, the rain was loud and imposing outside. Harry had returned from a party a little damp and laughing at every little thing. He had come over and took a spot next to Louis on the ground. He was close, closer than he was in public, closer they were supposed to be. His hand had lingered in the space above Louis but it didn’t sadden him. He had looked at Louis with this look. The look felt like a promise. A promise of a place without lingers, a promise of future where they could be. Louis let out a laugh now, chiding his own naivety. Liam had started strumming as Harry sang. It was gibberish at first, Harry putting together random words in succession to see what stuck. He somehow made that sound beautiful too. Soon though, Louis started paying attention again and it was soft, Harry sang as they recorded it on their phones, Louis joined in with harmonies a verse in. It was perfect, like everything Harry touched. Louis wondered if he’d ever be able to listen to that song again. ^^ Louis’ body was betraying him. His hands kept shaking, his stomach was weak and Louis almost wished he got ill so he could not have to do this today but he put that thought behind him. Professional and Pleasant. That’s the mantra that Louis had to exist by. It’s what Natalia had told him was the best course of action. She used the phrase often repeating it to herself to get through tough negotiations and dealing with the sexist asshats that dominated their industry. His stomach flipped again. Professional. Pleasant. He wanted to throw up. Louis went to grab a cigarette but found his pockets empty. He swore under his breath as he tried to find a solution. He opened the door to his dressing room and found a PA running with a box of La Croix that was probably for the crew. Louis flagged the PA down, the man was dripping with sweat and he gave Louis a tight smile. “After doing this, you mind getting me a drink too?” Louis acted friendlier than he had to, giving the man a wide smile at the end of the question. He couldn’t afford to be low energy, he had learned the hard way that his low-energy was someone else’s rude. “You want a La Croix too?” the man was disinterested, Louis could tell. “Nah, mate, I want a real one. Listen, I’ll give you the money, just get me something strong,” Louis grabbed his wallet and got out the cash. “Uh...” the PA froze. The man looked scared out of his wits. Louis sighed. The team around here still treated him like he was an eighteen year kid, chasing after every illicit thrill he could find. A moment later the PA said, “I don’t drink so... uh... if you told me what you wanted.” Louis sighed. The universe had a plan to ruin his day didn’t it. “Let’s go with a bottle of gin.” Louis came back to the dressing room and sunk into the couch, letting music from his headphones flood over him. He tried not to let his mind wander not to the changes he still had to make to his music, not to the fact that it had been almost two weeks since he’d last talked to Liam, not to dinner tonight and especially not to the other side of the building where in a near identical dressing room, he’d be there. Existing. Happy. Alone. ^^ An hour and a half a bottle of gin later, Louis finally felt okay. He knew his body well enough to drink enough to control his spiral but not enough to be considered too drunk for judging. He could very easily pass as sober and happy. Good ol’ friendly Louis. He popped in a mint to cover up the smell. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out his thoughts. His thoughts put up a difficult fight however, everything from his songs to dinner made his head hurt. He gave up the rest and checked his phone instead. Reminders filled the notifications of his phone. Call Liam. Don’t freak out. Don’t get drunk!!!!! He chuckled at the last one, at least he wasn’t wasted. He was doing fine. He shut his eyes again, one last attempt at a nap before his call time. <creak> Louis looked over to the whining door and his memories came alive. "Hey, I... uh... wanted to come over and say-" Louis blinked slow, twice, not quite ready to trust his eyes. Maybe the alcohol had gotten to him, maybe this was a dream. But no, Harry continued speaking and Louis tried to stare at the brick wall behind him. Tried. Harry's eyes were hard to compete against. -catch up." Harry looked over at Louis raising his eyebrows. Louis stood up, Harry moved forward with his arms wide, for what looked to be a hug and Louis stumbled backwards. Harry looked sheepish, and put his arms back to his side. They were both quiet for a moment, taking each other in. Louis could smell the faint whiff of Harry's cologne mixed with his hairspray, he wanted to envelop himself in that but he stabilized himself on the armrest of the couch instead. Louis felt Harry’s gaze following him. He was always like that watching not like a hawk, but a resting lion, preferring to know everything. It had always been that way, where Louis was impulsive, saying the first thing that came to his mind and Harry was the opposite. He’d observe, think and then act. Even during the X-factor days, he’d sit in a corner observing the competition, taking his time to process before deciding, how they’d tackle the week. It felt intrusive. Louis finally broke the silence,"What do you want?" Harry smiled wide. Louis couldn't think of a more assholeish move. "I wanted to catch up," his eyes were practically twinkling as if he had walked straight out of a disney movie. "I'm busy," Louis repeated the mantra in his head. "Doing what?" "Not being here," Louis started to walk past Harry to the door to leave but after a few steps, he felt an hand on his arm. His heart stopped for a second. It felt wrong. Louis shook it off. "One conversation, we can at least manage that can't we? Nothing personal, just show stuff." Louis rolled his eyes. The snark came out without intention, "Didn't know you cared so much about X factor?" “No one cares as much as you do though, that's why you're drunk right now ain’t it?” Harry shot back. Louis had to smile, it’d been too long since he heard that biting tone, one that Louis knew he had instilled in Harry. He was too polite otherwise, it was a bore. Louis shrugged. “I thought you were doing better,” he spoke slow, as if he was talking t0 a nervous fan, not wanting to spook them. Louis didn’t respond. Harry didn’t push. Harry nodded leading Louis to the couch. He looked more tense now, holding his hand together in front of him, "The producers want is to do a duet together,” he said, slow and calculating. Louis almost laughed at the intensity of Harry’s voice. He didn't know what he had expected but this was downright trivial, compared to the seriousness of Harry’s tone. Louis felt a sliver of guilt, for being a dick about it. Though, not enough to apologize "Sure, it'll make the people happy won't it, you can pick the song, just tell Natalia before the show okay, can't have me forgetting the lyrics. Doing it without rehearsal might be better, more natural?” Louis was aware of his ramble and he didn’t know whether it was the alcohol, his desire to be alone or his fear of what would happen if he wasn’t. Harry looked a little bit like a kicked puppy. He seemed resigned to the situation. He finally said, “You want to hang out, after the show?” “Sure,” Louis states, getting up and and nudging Harry to the door. Harry left and Louis’ phone buzzed. Natalia had sent a text, it read “we still going out tonight?” “ofc. i’ll see u right after the show, its gonna be litt” ^^ Louis’ appreciation for EDM grew by the second. He knew why it annoyed people, the stereotype of the DJ pressing a button at a live concert was one he too had joked about. Tonight however, Louis could kiss the DJ, the rhythmic beats permeating the crowd, every beat drop acted as an adrenaline rush to the crowd. They were at the fingertips of the DJ and Louis was right along with them. He saw Natalia across the dance floor, at the bar, doing shots with a guy who’d been chatting her up. That was her escape, this was his. The club was popular, but not snobbish and each person looking for salvation in the music. The music let them breathe, saved the drowning souls who’d otherwise end up alone. Louis danced letting the music take him over.

He felt eyes on him, he met them, they were electric blue, one’s Louis could get lost in. He had dark hair that tempted him to run his hands through, he was the type of beautiful you could lose yourself in. The guy bit the inside of his lip and looked him up and down. It was a look Louis had often seen, it said everything. Louis took him in. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt that left little to the imagination. The guy moved closer, leaned over and whispered, “Hi.” His voice sounded smooth, as if it was music itself. Louis took in a quick breath. He usually wouldn’t do this, not in public, not with a guy and certainly with a stranger but he still had a long day and the meeting with Harry had him missing the gentle bliss of waking up next to a warm body in bed. Louis smiled and let the guy grab his hand and move in closer. The guy leaned over and his lips brushed against Louis’ cheek. The guy raised his brow and his eyes shifted to the door. Louis got the message loud and clear and he grabbed his hand to lead him out to the street from a side entrance. Walking out of the club, away from the neon lights the guy said his name, “Jamie.” “Hi Jamie,” Louis whispered, staring at the beautiful man in front of him. he must have been staring for too long at his lips because the next thing he knew he felt soft lips on his own. He was caught off-guard but it felt good. To touch, to be touched was a treasure. Louis could smell the fruity smell of his shampoo as he ran his fingers through his hair. He pulled back a second later and smiled. His eyes moved down for a second and Louis’ jaw dropped. Four words. It was four words that could destroy him. He needed to find Natalia. Fuck. This boy was looking at him with wide eyes, as if he’d given him the world, and maybe he thought Louis had. “Fuck,” Louis exclaimed at the world. Jamie caught on quick. “I swear I won’t say anything, I really admire your music-” Louis couldn’t meet his eyes. His eyes did not leave the white, too tight T-shirt the boy was wearing. ‘Treat people with kindness’ it mocked. This was the fucking kindness Harry fucking Styles had brought to his life. Louis grabbed the boy by the neck of his shirt and let his panic take over, “You ever so much as breathe about this-”. “I won’t, I swear, Louis I really like you.” Fuck. What was Louis doing? He should’ve been smarter. This was weak. Simon could never find out. The boy at least looked scared out of his wits though the allure of money could make anyone talk. “How old are you?” Louis asked, letting go of the boy’s shirt. His eyes dropped and he was biting his lip, as if he was holding back tears. “Twenty,” he could barely say it. Louis rubbed his temple. This was a kid. What the fuck was he doing? “Wait here,” Louis told the kid, going back into the club. He knew the kid could take off, but Louis trusted that he wouldn’t. He found Natalia where he had left her, still at the bar, laughing along with a guy that looked like a model. Louis signalled to her that he wanted to talk and a few minutes later, the stood outside the washrooms, the only place, where they could possibly hear each other in a conversation. Louis explained the situation to her and watched her face go from curiosity to shock to terror and then annoyance and finally resignation. She pursed her lips and Louis could picture the pencil behind her ear, one that would show up whenever she was in planning mode. She paced around a little and then said, “Right, the kid is getting VIP tickets, merch or whatever the fuck kids like these days.” “He won’t say anything,” Louis said. She gave him a look that told him to shut up. “You go hang out at the bar, flirt with a girl, leave with her through the front, There’s always paps around this place so be spotted together, if not just fucking put up a photo with her on Instagram. Create a narrative, okay, I’m gonna go take care of the kid,” Natalia was already on her phone, figuring out the bribe, or the “gifts” as she’d say. “I’m sorry,” Louis said. She shrugged and simply said, “Take care of yourself tonight.” ^^ Louis woke up to his phone buzzing. He wanted to throw it against the wall. He was hungover, the past day had caught up to him and his body hurt all over. He checked his phone and saw a string of messages from Natalia. “the kid signed an NDA, thankfully no one saw. i’m so fucking hungover. i’m taking the morning off.” Louis laughed, she deserved it. He thought that’d be all she’d say but another message followed. “i got a message from Ronnie, harry’s manager? apparently you agreed to meet harry to discuss a collab, lmk if you want me to set it up, i’ll do it after my nap.” Louis knew he’d technically agreed to hang out but he hoped his absence yesterday had sent a clear message.

Yesterday may have been petty, but the sentiment was real. “no no no no no no no, ugh why can’t he leave me alone,” Louis texted back. He receives back a heart emoji, followed by a simple, “i think he misses you”. Louis groaned. He was too hungover for this. In a few hours, he’d be too sober for this, and after a few hours after, too drunk. He crawled out of bed, racking his brain to remember if he had anything that might be constituted a breakfast food in his fridge. He at least knows he has some fruits he could put in a smoothie. His fridge is sparse, nothing pops out, that he’d like to eat. He checks the freezer and finds a box of frozen waffles and sighed. At least the sugar would improve his mood. He pops two in the toaster and soon a sweet smell fills his kitchen. It reminds him of something it shouldn’t. A different apartment, a different year, the same delicious smell in his kitchen as Louis tried to mix pancake batter while Harry kept tickling him. They giggled into each other until Louis retaliated by grabbing some all- purpose flour and applying it to Harry’s face. He could still remember his curls tinted white, while Louis laughed. Harry grabbed the wooden spoon and out of Louis’ hand and splashed some batter on Louis. They had ended up a laughing mess. Louis could only hear the remnants of their joined laughter. Noise that he should’ve treasured. Looking around now, he realized how sparse and hollow his kitchen was. He hadn’t even put up a fridge magnet. The waffle was too hard, but Louis appreciated the maple syrup. They had fed each other pancakes, after remaking the batter. It was cheesy but Louis had loved Harry liked that. Smiling, joking and trying to convince Louis that his favourite pancake topping was marmite. He didn’t know that in the future he’d treasure the presence of Harry’s dimples in his life. That even when they were together, Harry would scowl more, have worry lines on his forehead and never let go enough, for his dimples to make a presence. Louis added strawberries to the second waffle. It was a blissful morning. Even as Louis thought about it, he knew that was an exaggeration. Lies and exaggeration, both stitched by the same thread. The morning was bliss, bliss until Harry suddenly pulled away from Louis’ kiss. “I think I saw a camera flash,” Harry’s voice was high, from panic. “Fuck them,” Louis response was automatic, rolling his eyes at the press trying to get some fodder for their “paper”. He saw Harry’s brow furrow. “I think i’m gonna go,” he admitted. The words punched him in the gut. “I thought we were spending the day together?” It was childish the way he’d asked, his voice almost breaking as he choked out the question. It had been a too long since they hadn’t gotten a day together, one in their own bed, after the craziness of tour, alone, with nothing to do but to be with each other. Harry had shifted nervously, and promised to call him before leaving. Louis had smashed the empty plate onto the ground and then cut himself picking up the pieces. Louis traced over his finger now, where there was a very faint scar, reminding him of why everything went to shit. It was upsetting, in a way, that Louis wanted to smile recalling the story, that little details came to him despite the distance. Harry used to hum while he cooked, he’d call him anything under the sun, from sweetheart to honey to sugar, he’d whisper “thank you” after Louis would kiss him and Louis would know that this was meant to be. The tears started before Louis could stop them. He wanted to smash a plate. ^^ The coffee shop was very... Harry. The decor was minimal, the counters marble and the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans permeated the air. A soft, indie song was playing in the background. Harry would’ve teased him for calling it indie, go on a tangent about how that word means basically nothing because any song not strictly pop was labeled as indie. Louis would’ve laughed then, he was sure. Louis perused the menu, there were some photos of the drinks, all with latte art and a few with gold flakes that based on the price Louis knew must be real gold. It wasn’t a surprise that Harry chose this place, he always did appreciate decadence. I In other words, this place was pretentious. The people around him were all dressed to the tens. Louis shuffled in his seat, he had sat in the corner so he wouldn’t be spotted, but the walls were mostly glass making anonymity difficult. He felt out of place in his Adidas tracksuit. Despite his fame and affluence there was something about this place that made him uncomfortable. Louis could feel eyes on him, but these weren’t the wondering eyes of people who’d nudge to their friends trying to confirm whether they had spotted a celebrity in the wild or just stared at a regular guy for ten minutes. An older woman sitting at a table near him huffed. Louis knew it was directed at him, because he looked like he belonged in a club, not in a place that had the pace of an old age home. Louis checked the time again. Harry was late. Maybe the universe was testing Louis, how long would he wait for him before he left? How much did he care? He decided to scroll through Instagram while waiting. His hands shook while he scrolled, his body giving away the knots that were forming in his stomach. The cafe door opened and Louis looked up. He took in a sharp breath. He noticed the white shirt before anything else, it was tight, a grey coat hanging off his body. He looked comfortable, a little bit more relaxed than when they saw each other on set. They caught eyes and Harry made his way to the table. “Sorry, did I make you wait? You should have ordered,” Harry rushed out, mumbling through some of the sentence. “I didn’t know what you wanted.” Louis responded. It was colder than he anticipated, he smiled to make up for it. “Uh.. I can go order, and let me cover it, for being late. They have a really good green tea here. And for you?” Louis kept himself composed. Of course he wanted to pay, that’s what the did with girls too, flash his money to make the other person feel special. Or smaller. He wanted to remind Harry that he had money too, he could buy the bistro if they were comparing wallets. That was unfair, his sister often told him about love languages and how buying things might be hers, Louis knew it was because she wanted some more pocket money to spend on her friends but it must have stuck, because he didn’t snap at Harry. “Espresso is good,” Louis said, it felt odd, conversing about something so normal. They weren’t talking about love, the band or anything bigger than a cup of coffee. Harry raised his brow, “Um.. you don’t want milk or sugar?” “I take it black now,” Louis responded. It felt like a confession. Louis browsed as Harry ordered, the outside world taken over by the golden glow of a sunset. He was reminded of a few years ago, on a tour bus. He wouldn’t be able to name the tour they were on, the city, or even the country they were going through but he remembered Harry, fallen asleep leaning on the window, his curls almost covering his face. He was skinnier then, smaller too and the golden light on Harry made Louis’s heart skip a beat. Harry carried Louis’ drink a minute later, he was followed by a barista carrying Harry’s tea. It smelled like a freshly mowed lawn. The barista also carried a plate that had a slice of chocolate cake on it. “Thought you’d like it,” Harry said, “unless you don’t like chocolate anymore.” Louis doesn’t know what he means by that, whether its a jab or a regular statement. He ignores it. “So, Ronnie mentioned something about you working on a new album, how’s that going?” Louis had a strategy, keep it polite, keep it professional, don’t notice the was Harry’s curls drop in front of his face and definitely resist the urge to tuck it behind his ear. Harry fixed his curls as he talked, “It’s going really well. Yours? Will I be hearing it soon?” Louis tightens his grip on the small cup he’s holding, “Uhh... eventually.” “I liked the singles by the way, I’m sure your album will be brilliant. And from someone who’s done it solo, don’t chase perfection, okay? There were some songs I really doubted but they ended up being people’s favourite,” Harry smiled as he spoke. Smiled as if he was unaware of the weight of every word he said piercing Louis’ heart. It had been two years. Harry wrote an album. He established himself as an artist, respected even outside their core audience. Louis... didn’t move on. Their breakup hadn’t been like the snap of a twig, it was more akin to a fallen leaf decaying away. Harry had rested in the soil and sprouted again, Louis had floated away. “I didn’t hear your album.” The words should have left a residue of awkwardness at the table but Harry laughed. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, I swear. Anyway on the new album, you should do a duet with me.” Louis gasped, “What? “You have to admit it, there was a spark,” Harry spoke with surety and conviction. “You’re imagining things,” Louis kept a straight face, hoping his face wasn’t betraying him. He made eye contact with Harry to sell the lie, but it didn’t work. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? I know you,” Harry raises his voice, disbelieving,“Oh my god I saw that bloody look on your face.” Louis bit the inside of lip, “What look?” “The one where you make the other person feel like they’re lucky to be near you, like they’re part of some secret club. I know that look. And I know you-” “-You knew me. Harry, look you wanted a meeting, I gave you that, I even came all the way too this posh ass coffee place so just tell me what on earth do you want from me? Harry still felt foreign on his tongue, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said his name out loud, let alone to his face. They were quiet for a moment. Louis noticed the song playing in the background, it was classical, something he’d never hear. “Call me Haz,” it was casual the way Harry say to a reporter who he was trying to make a good impression on. Louis didn’t know whether that ever worked but Harry’s eyes were almost pleading. “Haz, I don’t think I have anything left to give you.” the words were almost easy to say, perhaps because it had been years, years spent practicing, endless days spent repeating the same conversation in his head. In all the scenarios he imagined this reunion, he’d been smiling. He’d be smiling ,drawn in by the charm dripping of off Harry’s lips or the familiarity of his drawl as he spoke. Louis would chide himself after for letting a drink or two relive memories that he’d rather not remember. He was always smiling, and Harry was too and suddenly he was back to being the naive, eighteen year old who’d think only of the now and kiss Haz. “Lou, please tell me I’m not delusional. That we have,” he seemed to be editing himself as he spoke, “we had something real, we could do that again.” Louis remained silent. Harry continued, “We can be friends, if you’d rather I promise I’ll respect your boundaries. All i want is you in my life, however much you want.” The silence that followed was deafening. It was after that long silence that Louis stated, “We weren’t good for each other.” “You only remember the bad parts,” Harry said raising his brow. Harry was always the optimist and he seemed to be reminding Louis of that. “You only remember the good bits, do you really think we can just be friends?” There was an edge to his voice, a bitterness that came out during the question. Louis used to hate that, but it was honest. He wasn’t pretending that they had a future. “Yeah, I want to make music with you, go on tour again, isn’t that something you want?” Harry asked. “And you’ll be okay with just that?” Louis doubted everything coming out of Harry’s mouth. He knew him too well, to not know when Harry regret this later. He nodded, “I would respect what you wanted.” Louis wanted to scoff. “Harry who are you kidding? The rumours would be everywhere, rumours you hated. And look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t want us to be back together every time we were in the same fucking room,” Louis raised his voice now, getting passionate “Look X-factor is great for you, but you’re better than that, you’re so fucking good. Why don’t you embrace that?” “This is not about my career.” “What’s it about then?” “Let’s say I say yes, I open for you, or we make an album together, we go on tour together and you see me with someone else, then what?” “I know you hook up with women.” “Let’s say its a guy,” “I’d handle it.”

“Would you? Or would you be hurt over not being with me? Because I’d be hurt if the tables were turned.” “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “You still love me, it’d kill you to see me with someone else, I know you’re carrying a torch for me because I’m carrying one for you too.” “We could be together then, do it in secret but not have that pressure that we did. Be free for once, can’t we be happy?” It was a plea, the way Harry said. Teary eyes and voice breaking, his heart was breaking. “You can’t make blue and red out of purple, love. We can’t go back.” They sat there for a long time, in silence. Louis didn’t know whether he had any tears left in him, though he felt the urge to bawl. Harry looked about the same. The barista came over and asked if they wanted something else. Louis ordered another piece of cake, he hoped it was delicious enough to bury some of their sadness. It was awkward. It was awkward and weird and Louis felt sweat go down on the back of his neck. The class clown in him wanted to crack a joke, tease Harry about the dwindling quality of his tattoos, to say something. He swallowed. “How’s your mum doing?” he asked. “You’re changing the topic, just like that?” “I still care about you,” Louis smiled, “I’ve never stopped.” Harry turns his head, looking away for a second , “You fuckin- do you hear yourself? What the hell have you become? You were always the one fighting, fighting for the rest of us to have control, to fucking do what we’re good at, create shit we were proud of and now what? You’re not proud of me anymore?” Louis clutched the fork tighter. Through gritted teeth he said, “The world out there are vultures, ready to attack. Do I think about being with you? Every goddamn day, but you know we can’t do this, we can’t be some joke that everyone points at, I want you to be more, go be a fucking legend.” “Don’t give me that bullshit, you’re a coward, every single time I’ve performed I’ve been up there posing with the flag, and in those moments all I’m thinking about is how much I want you there next to me, don’t you dare tell me we can’t have it all, our happiness is not conditional,” Harry declared. He was angry, passionate and looked like he wanted to strangle Louis. Louis paused, running his hands through his hair, looking up to see expectant eyes, “You’re going to do great things, Haz. With or without me,” he looked down to the floor, which felt too clean for a coffee shop. “With, it’s not a question, it’ll always be with you. I’m ready to face whoever the fuck comes between us, I’ll quit being in the public eye, work in a bakery in the middle of nowhere, if it meant that we were still together,” he rambled, clearly frustrated. Louis hated being frustrating, but Harry was trying to save him, withhout wearing his own oxygen mask.

“There you go again, giving up parts of yourself for me, I want you to have the life you dreamed of as a kid, I want you to travel the world, make music, act, be wild, be the success story you were meant to be. You don’t need me holding you back, love.” Louis smiled, it was unconvincing but necessary. Harry pulled back, “Are you happy, Louis?” Louis blinked in surprise. “You tell me you’re happy and I’ll back off. I’ll be professional, won’t even be an acquaintance, I’ll be the perfect ex if you tell me that you’re happy.” “I’m hap-” Louis started, then paused. Was he happy? He was doing alright. He was struggling, sure but who doesn’t sometimes? He wasn’t depressed, he had seen friends go though that he didn’t lock himself in his room everyday. He was on the telly for goodness sake, he was doing fine. Was he happy? He liked his music, he liked his sisters and he was happy that he had friends in his life. Was he happy? Harry raised a brow, challenging Louis. “Why the fuck does it matter?” Louis demanded.

“It matters because I care, and you should too.”

“Haz, you’re making this harder than it has to be.”

“Look, you don’t want me caring about you, fine, but at least care about yourself, you were happy back then and now,” Harry paused and his silence gave everything away.

Louis scoffed. And then he coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like tears.

“Fucking hell, you’re actually concerned aren’t you,” Louis said in a disbelieving tone.

Harry reached out, left his hand on the table and ran his thumb up and down his index finger. It was a gesture Louis knew too well, their way of comfort in public, were even without touch the other could feel held.

Louis smiled at its familiarity.

He had to face the music.

“I don’t think I’ve been happy since,” Louis admitted, “I don’t know if you’ll make me happy, it was shit before, apart from us, but right now I don’t know if I can handle that,” his breathing gets heavier, “it was so much work.”

Louis could tell he was on the brink of tears. He felt a hand on his knee, underneath the table. They didn’t do that before; at least not when they were alone and in public. He must have longed for it once, now it just hurt.

“Louis, do you want to be happy?” Harry asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Louis rolled his eyes at the question.

“Then that’s enough.”

“We’re not getting back together, I can’t promise that we ever will get back together, you should probably move on,” Louis stated.

“That’s okay, you should focus on getting better, sorting out your head, see a therapist maybe, and I want to be a friend, to help you through that.”

It’s painful to hear.

It feels like pity.

He looks at Harry, whose eyes are wide and teary and he knows its concern, not pity.

“Thank you, Haz, for everything,” Louis said in a soft voice.

p, li { white-space: pre-wrap; }

#larry fic #one direction fic #larry stylinson #hope you enjoy :D

7 notes · View notes

liv-andletdie · 6 years

Note

4, 13, 49, 53, 60 For all them Cub Kids

Thanks for the questions (I know you said in a different message to ignore 49 and 53 but they’re really fun questions so I’m doing them oops)

Alexei

4) Does anyone have a crush on your character? Is your character aware of this?A lot of people get crushes on Alexei, especially when he reaches his 20th year. He’s an alright looking kid but he’s just got one of those faces that doesn’t get “handsome” till he matures. And then there’s definitely some giggles from a few of the ladies at court when he enters a room, but he’s not really aware of them. Zelda will sometimes joke that he’s got lots of admirers, he just brushes her off mostly.

13) What would your character die for? His family. Without a doubt. He doesn’t have to think twice about it, if his family is in danger he’ll want to be on the front line risking everything to make sure they are safe. (He’s particularly protective over Julius and Nutty) 49) How does your character stand politically? He’s not really political until he starts to work in the army and he starts talking to his fellow soldiers. He then realizes that there’s a lot that not’s perfect in Hyrule (and honestly what country is perfect?) but he starts campaigning for better pay for some of the soldiers, more leave time for those who’s families don’t live in Castle Town, Maternal and Paternal leave for soldiers who are starting a family, that kind of stuff. 53) What clubs would your character join? If he went to my school growing up he’d have been that one kid who was great at sports and who all the teachers liked, so any club he’d join would reflect that. We didn’t have a fencing club at my school but that’s something that he would find interesting I feel.

60) If you could title your character’s life, what would you title it? You know I’m not great with titles (”Paint me like one of your Zora girls” is the best example of that) But I’m guessing… if it were a novel or a play it might be.. Idk “The wolf and the sword” relating to his relationship with his father and his talent with the blade.

Rest of the cubs under the cut

Augustine

4) Does anyone have a crush on your character? Is your character aware of this? It’s actually another OC Pierre, Shad and Ashei’s son, grew up really close with Tina and Alexei (he’s the closest in age to both of them, only being a year younger than Alexei and an year older than Augustine) He’s not sure but at some point, probably around the time he reached 17, he started seeing Augustine as more than a friend and then everything got quite awkward because didn’t want to proclaim his feelings for her and end up getting rejected and ruining their friendship. So for the longest time he just sat and had a crush on her in silence. Did Augustine know? No. He hid his feelings that well, and she’s that blind to people being attracted to her, that she just thought he was coming down with a chest cold or something.

13) What would your character die for? She’s the same as Alexei. She would die for her family. Except while Alexei is protective of Julius and Nutty, She is very protective of him. Her big brother. 49) How does your character stand politically? She’s trained to take the throne so she’s been taught to be impartial and to work only with the facts presented to her (obviously a lot of facts never reach royal ears, despite how long they are, and no action is taken) She’s like her mother in the way that everything she does is for Hyrule. Zelda takes the stand that she was placed on the throne to protect her people, and if they are unhappy then it’s her fault and if they want her gone they are within their rights to do so. It’s a privilege not a right. And she’s passed that philosophy onto Augustine.53) What clubs would your character join? ALL OF THE DANCE CLUBS! Mostly things like Ballet and Ballroom dance (waltz in particular) but she wouldn’t be averse to joining the tap club. Heck she might even join Zumba if she was in my school.

60) If you could title your character’s life, what would you title it? Now this one was actually easy! “Silver slippers, silver tongue” as it represents her political powers and her love of dance

Marta

4) Does anyone have a crush on your character? Is your character aware of this? Marta is actually the most “beautiful” of the cubs (not that she believes it) so when she reaches marrying age they find that she gets a lot of suitors asking for her hand despite maybe only having met her at a few parties. She’s aware of people’s “affections” towards her but only because they don’t tend to hide them. She’s not a big fan of big romantic gestures from men, and for the longest time she fully believes that she just doesn’t like romantic gestures… until one of the ladies gives her a rose and she just about dies on the spot.

13) What would your character die for? Family again but aside from that her animals. She counts them as part of the family (she’s the only cub that Epona will let touch her for an extended period of time, putting her in a very unique club that only has Link and Ilia as members) When she raises her first colt at 10 with her father she realized that this was “where the Goddesses have put me, this is my job” 49) How does your character stand politically? Augustine looks after the people of Hyrule, Marta looks after the animals. She’s a huge advocate for animal rights and is very VERY outspoken about it. She works hard to make sure that all animals are looked after and are cared for properly. But don’t get the wrong idea, she’s not like PETA, she doesn’t spread dumb rumors like “Sheep die from being sheared” “People milk cows till they bleed” “They tear babies away from their mothers to sell them” You’ve got to remember that her father was a Goatherd for the first half of his life, she’s seen how ranches work first hand and the care that the animals are given. She just wants to do more to help.53) What clubs would your character join? Is there such thing as a gardening club? Well if there was she would be the president of that club! They have a little herb garden in Ordon and it’s always her favourite place to be when they visit family down there.

60) If you could title your character’s life, what would you title it? Marta in the middle I’m kidding. This one is tricky one hm… “Roses and Violets” as Roses are her favourite flowers and I’ll let you research Violets.

Julius

4) Does anyone have a crush on your character? Is your character aware of this? It takes a while for him to really grow into his features, he looks more like Zelda so people tend to say he’s very “beautiful” and that’s attractive to some and not as important to others. He is quite unconcerned if people find him attractive or not, sometimes he receives the odd “love letter” from a member of court but he never really ruminates on them for long. He’s got more important things to worry over in his eyes.

13) What would your character die for? Marta. Out of everyone in the family he’s closest to her. Don’t get me wrong he loves his family with all his heart, but she’s the one he would die for. She raised his horse, she takes him out shooting, she reads to him when he’s having weak days, she teaches him how to sew. They also the closest in age, being just over a year apart. 49) How does your character stand politically? He’s very much like Augustine in the idea that his main concern should be Hyrule as a whole, however he is very passionate about healthcare and what could be done to improve it. He’s talked to Alexei a lot about creating a program that entitles the soldiers and their families to free healthcare, and he’s even broached the topic with Augustine. He feels that he’s lucky to get the support he has from Royal doctors and medics, but he wishes that the people would be able to get the same level of care as he does. 53) What clubs would your character join? Archery and riding. It’s his favourite things to do because a lot of the time they don’t require anyone else. He needs help getting into his saddle some days but once he’s up there he’s free. And that freedom and independence is something that he really cherishes

60) If you could title your character’s life, what would you title it? “One step at a time” It’s his personal mantra to himself everyday, to keep going to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Natalya (Nutty)

4) Does anyone have a crush on your character? Is your character aware of this? She’s quite similar to Julius in that she feels like there’s more important things in her life than finding romance. She’s had a few people develop “crushes” on her in the way that you develop a crush on a celebrity.

13) What would your character die for? Her parents. As the youngest she’s not under the same kind of pressure as Augustine or Alexei so she tends to notice a little more. She see’s the kind of work that Zelda and Link do and how they struggle with the difficult decisions that they have to make. It’s not easy running a country, it’s not easy running an Army, and it’s not easy trying to do both of those things with 5 children. You can’t solve every problem and Natalya see’s how that weighs on her mothers heart. She’d do anything for her and Link. 49) How does your character stand politically? She’s the most apolitical of the bunch. Obviously if there is an issue she can see she’ll want to do something to help, but it’s not on the forefront of her mind. Her biggest concern is trying to make sure her older siblings and her parents don’t die of stress! 53) What clubs would your character join? Music clubs. Music is her main passion in life, having started learning different instruments from a very young age. She prides herself on being able to write and play songs and it’s one of the ways she bonds with Augustine. To her it’s more than just making pretty sounds, it’s a way to help the ones she loves relax and feel happy. She wrote a lullaby for Link and will play it to him sometimes when he’s had a very, very, long day.

60) If you could title your character’s life, what would you title it? “The Little Songbird” for a lot of obvious reasons but the main one being that it’s one of Link’s nicknames for her.

#tp zelink #TP Zelink cubs #i love these babies so much

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bookofsul · 7 years

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So this is probably really odd to ask but whatever. I got accepted into an art school and i've been going there since 4 weeks. So far so good. But i get really bad anxiety if i am not able to do somethig right/ as good as anyone else :/ of course im jealous if someone is better than me but i thik i could handle that (if it'd JUST that) i have anxiety abt almost anything and it really depresses me when i feel like im not good in enough in sth i normally love doning :( So.. do you have any advice?

Yes I do. Stop listening to the BS that comes from the part of your genes that keeps you rather in ‘shitty but safe’ stagnation than let you fail. (They are mean and don’t consider winning!)

In short, don’t stress too much on it, things will be just fine as long as you keep going! A bit longer below the cut.

My art school career started with “I was the second to last accepted” to high school. I knew that I could draw ‘better’ than the other kids in my elementary school class simply because I had an interest and I was drawing almost every day, but it still put me on the end of the scale in an open competition. When I got in I felt like I hit the jackpot and I will be surrounded with similar minded folks and how awesome it will be. The truth is, I had a couple of friends and the others I can’t even remember the name of but things were great. Until you start to struggle for whatever reason, it’s more often than not that you’ll get a mean comment on ‘how bad x is on your drawing’. And from those friends, that hurt. It’s not the constructive criticism kind of deal, but the one that is aimed to break down your self confidence and faith in yourself in order to make themselves feel better. After a while I figured that I’m not interested in their opinion, so I politely asked them not to give me feedback, since I’m my worst critic. I knew that some of them were in my level or above, but that just put me into a competitive mindset that I can do better. And so I did. Talent is nothing but hard work. When you think that other people’s work is intimidating, then you are getting a mental block via your genes that I have described above. But if you keep trying, you can get to awesomeness!

After high school (all of those above) I went to an other art based institute to become a teacher whom is able to instruct and communicate trough their thoughts due to the fact that our teacher was an artist who was an egotistic asshole, forcing his shit on people without letting you develop. I thought that in the university it will be different, but guess what, all the people there were the same kind of deal. I feel like I learned nothing aside of the teaching part. They assigned me to do things I was not interested in at all and trying to crush my beliefs that “digital art is no true art and has no value”. We got homework which you could interpret as you liked, and let me tell you, they did freak me out. I’m not saying that you don’t need to do things you don’t like, but the amount is very questionable and opinionated. I hated drawing. It was a forced thing and I saw that the output I was doing was crap because I couldn’t even motivate myself to care. It was still good enough to keep a B+ average, and where I felt like I’m not learning, I stopped trying to challenge myself to try being better. I usually had at least one figure whom I wanted to impress, and I put all my creative efforts into that particular class. The rest I kinda “survived”.

And, let me tell you a story related specifically to your problem. I had a class where we had to “solve painter’s problems”. Whatever the fuck that meant. We had to paint a figure and environment in the mandatory classes which was utterly boring (same 60yo lady over the 5 years I had there). Same pose, same lights, I could paint it from my memory from various angles. it was some new level of boring. But we had this “solve a painter’s problem” deal and I had no fucking idea what did the teacher meant and the explanations made NO SENSE to me or my friend. The others started bringing in sketches and loose works to ask the teacher’s opinion, and they were so far away from anything I’d call art that I started freaking out. I can’t do this shit. I can’t purposely, by force, paint metaphysical images by the number of 30 mini (A6), 15 small (A4) 10 medium (A3) and 4 large (A2) by the end of the semester. I had two weeks left, and I had NO IDEA what the hell to do. I was very frustrated, I wanted to quit, I wanted to fuck it all, because everyone else’s modern junk was looking so abstract and I CANNOT do that! I was sitting over the canvas and out of sheer frustration I started hammering it with random colors I had on my brush (it was rather small, like the back of a pencil), and I was crying and I was ready to give up. And from beyond my tears, the images looked kind of…Interesting. So I blew my nose and I kept doing this, first trying to make a shape or a form and afterwards not even giving a damn. I just had to make something and fuck me if it’s not going to be good enough. I tried my best. If it’s not enough, it’s just ONE person’s opinion anyway from 6 billion so WHY should I CARE. (Yes, even if they are professionals or teachers or whatever)So I bring in the images and I’m so nervous I nearly pass out. Long story short the teacher nearly passed out too, but from euphoria, how amazing my shit was. He was legit pissed that my works from the class were medicore but THOSE WERE SO GOOD IT WAS PREPOSTEROUS. I got an A, and my friend who watched from the door nearly pissed herself from trying not to laugh. (she also asked me to bring some to an other class to an other teacher and that guy also got his mind blown).

Now some can say that I had to get to a mindset that made me do this (and we should listen to the advices blaady bladyy blaaa). But frankly, I don’t want to be stressed about creating art, I want to enjoy it. People don’t like it? Why should I care as long as I’m having fun and developing to my liking? Art supposed to be self expression, not forced upon anyone by any means. When I make commissions, I’m trying to please ONE person, and that’s the commissioner. If anyone else is happy too, that’s a bonus. My best art pieces were gifts, because I wanted to give with them, and they were driven by love/joy/unicorn fart rather than pressure. Love makes everything better!

You’ll never be able to please everyone. It’s impossible. Start with believing in yourself and look for the themes/materials that MAKE YOU HAPPY. That make you grow and leaves you feeling productive. If it’s drawing, painting, writing, making music, cooking food, sewing, fixing up shit, BRINGING OUT THE TRASH, whatever floats your boat. Aim for the little things that make you happy. There is no point to compare yourself to others, and trust me when I say this, the more your skill grows the less intimidating they will be, because you’ll have the eyes to see the flaws that everyone does. The images we like the most are made with little accidents. If you feel like crap about your art, listen some Bob Ross and follow his work. Surround yourself with the material that makes you feel good, or things you want to aim for. If you have a particular picture you think it’s just the best shit, put it to your desktop til you find something that is even more awesome. Your eyes will remember the details that you can recall any time. Out of your comfort zone? DO NOT TAKE IT TOO SERIOUS. I mean it’s obviously gonna be crap in the first dozen times. But You’ll get there, just keep going, and don’t give up! Be your own worst critiq and don’t let anyone make you feel bad about your work. You have to accept the fact that you won’t make a masterpiece with every single stroke you make, and that’s fine. Aim for perfection, but don’t be a perfectionist.

My personal mantra is: “I cannot please everyone with my work, but I do my best anyway, and my aim is personal growth trough things that make me happy.”I’m honestly very honored that you people think my opinion is worth asking for. The fun fact is that my most common advice is “don’t give a shit about other people’s opinion”. :’D No, ofc you should care a bit, but only just an itty bitty tiiny wiiny bit. As long as you stay happy!

#askbox #text post #arting problems #just dun give a crap!#♥

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sdhs-connormurphy · 7 years

Text

Therapy Session 2

(Long self-para under the cut. TW for therapy and general anger management talk)

Connor couldn’t concentrate the whole week. All he kept thinking about was therapy group, and those men, and how comfortable he felt with all of them despite only knowing them for an hour. The week flew by in a blur. Not much had changed anyhow. Mom and Dad still yelled, Zoe still tried too hard, teachers still kept an eye on him, and the other kids at school still avoided him. The only thing that really stood out was Connor convincing Zoe to forge Mom and Dad’s signatures taking a lot less convincing than he expected.

As quick as it had gone, Thursday came again. Connor bussed himself out to Clemens Community Centre with his folder in hand. He waved to Anna and found Peggy at the door to the therapy room.

“Hey Connor, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine Peggy. Thanks,” Connor smiled as he grabbed the consent form out of his folder. “Here’s my form.”

Peggy smiled in return and ushered him into the room, where he took his usual seat in between her and Jacob. He was greeted with a few waves and hellos. Connor smiled back.

“Hello gentlemen, welcome back. I’m glad to see that you’ve all returned and handed in your consent forms. How is everyone feeling?”

Connor bit his lip and looked around the room. Everyone else seemed to be just as uncomfortable as he was. Russell shifted in his chair, Carlos wasn’t looking anyone in the eye, Thad glanced around the group to see who would speak first. Jacob raised a hand non-committedly. “I got mad at a co-worker. Almost got myself fired like an idiot.”

Immediately, the tension in the room released.

“I got mad at my wife.”

“My girlfriend and I had another fight.”

“I fought with my parents, again,” Connor added.

Peggy nodded. “Thank you for being honest. Jacob, you said you got mad at a co-worker?”

“Yeah. He didn’t get any of his shit handed in on time, so I went off on him. We needed that for a presentation tomorrow, now everything’s behind. I yelled at him, the boss was walking by, almost got my ass fired.”

Connor shivered. That sounded like every group project he had ever been a part of in his life.

“What about that made you angry?”

“I already said, we needed his numbers for the presentation, now we don’t have it, so we aren’t ready. I hate it when people don’t do what they’re supposed to.”

“Me too,” Dennis added. “I hate it when I ask someone to do something, and they don’t. I might as well have just done it myself and saved my breath.”

“Exactly!” Jacob cut back in. “And I just got so mad—“

“Where did you feel that anger?” Peggy asked.

“Sorry?”

“When your co-worker told you he didn’t get his part of the presentation done, and you were getting angry, where did you feel the anger start?”

Jacob looked around to the group. Connor shrugged. He had no idea what Peggy meant by her question. Nobody else seemed to know either.

“Did you feel it in your chest? Your stomach?”

“My head,” Jacob answered. “Felt like my brain started boiling and I had to let it out.”

Peggy nodded. “Okay. So when you feel angry, Jacob, you feel it in your head. What about everyone else? Connor, when you fight with your parents or your sister, where do you feel the anger?”

“My hands,” Connor answered without giving it a second thought. “I feel like I have to throw something, or pull out my hair, or…” Hit your fucking sister. Your best friend since she was born. The only person you would ever consider dying for. “…yeah.” He looked down at his feet.

Peggy looked at him with soft, understanding eyes. “Thank you, Connor.” She posed the question to the rest of the group, but Connor only half listened. He couldn’t stop staring at his hands: the lines and curves of his palms, his nails, the nail polish, the ridges of his knuckles. He also couldn’t stop thinking about what Jacob had told him the week earlier. What other terrible things would he do?

He noticed Peggy stand and to the easel and pad of paper. He looked over as she wrote ‘Signs of Anger’ on the first sheet. “Okay, so what I’m hearing is that a lot of you notice similar things when you get angry. Jacob, you mentioned feeling like your brain’s boiling, and Thad, you mentioned feeling like you’re going to throw up.” She wrote those on the board. “Who else?”

“I need to stand up, I need to move. I’ve just got too much energy to know what to do with,” Connor spoke up. Peggy wrote it down.

“I can’t control how loud I am,” Russell added. “Everyone thinks I’m yelling at them, which makes me madder. More yelling, more anger, and it all just comes out.”

“I’m the opposite, I go quiet,” Thad replied.

Peggy nodded. “That’s a good point, not all these signs are the same for everyone. Once you know your own anger signs, you can start taking steps toward managing it more effectively.

“I don’t want to just manage my anger though,” Carlos piped up. Connor looked over, startled, he had almost forgotten that the other man was there. “I want to stop being angry. Every day I fight with my wife, and I can see my daughter get so scared of me when we start yelling. I don’t want my little girl to be scared of me anymore.”

Peggy nodded and looked as if she was about to respond, but Robert began speaking instead. “You can’t stop being angry though. Anger is a normal thing. Have you seen Inside Out?” Carlos nodded. “My son loves that movie, but the whole point is that we need all those emotions, cause they’re all important. Feeling anger is okay, but we can’t let it control us, you know?” Robert stopped and looked over the group sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t need to apologize here, Robert. This is a space to share our feelings. How do you feel about what Robert said, Carlos?” Connor looked over at Carlos, prepared to leap out of the way if a fight broke out.

“It sounds all well and good, but when I realize my daughter’s been hiding under her bed for the past hour it isn’t that comforting,” Carlos replied. Dennis, Thad, and Russell nodded. “I just want to know why I get so damn mad all the time.”

“Me too,” Connor murmured. He understood what both men meant. “I hate being angry.”

Peggy nodded. “Yes, sometimes anger can be very harmful. But it can be helpful too, with limits.”

“I know,” Carlos replied. “If people never got angry nothing would change. I know all that stuff. But my problem isn’t that I get angry, my problem is that I always seem to blow past anger limits and hurt people I don’t want to hurt.”

The group fell silent. Connor looked down at his hands again. He knew that feeling all too well.

“Carlos, it sounds like you feel like your anger seems to sneak up on you,” Peggy said, breaking the silence. Carlos nodded. “Do other people feel that way?”

Connor nodded and murmured, “Yeah.” All the time. “It’s like a switch flips. In school we learned about the way the brain works when its threatened. They called it the Fight or Flight response. And I couldn’t help but laugh. The Fight response, that’s all me.”

The group laughed and voiced their agreement. Peggy smiled. “Do you feel like that’s always the best response?”

“Hell no!” Connor shook his head. “I’d love to just be able to walk away whenever something makes me mad. But if it’s like, in school or something, I can’t.”

“What do you usually do in that situation?”

Connor shrugged. “Just hold it in, I guess. I don’t know, I should probably learn some kind of deep breathing exercise or something.”

Peggy smiled. “That’s a perfect segue into what I wanted to talk about in our last forty-five minutes.” She grabbed some worksheets out of her folder and handed them out to the group. “This therapy is meant to help you discover the roots of your anger and how to best manage it. But until then, as you mentioned Connor, I wanted to teach you all some quick ways to keep your anger under control. These aren’t be-all-end-all magic solutions, but they are designed to help you in the moment. First, we have heart-belly breathing…”

Peggy led them through heart-belly breathing, then down the list of relaxation techniques. None of them particularly struck Connor as more helpful than any of the others, except for one. Imagery. Peggy instructed them to close their eyes and imagine that they were in their favorite place, a place that made them feel calm. Connor immediately found himself thinking of the orchard where his family would hunt Easter eggs in the spring, picnic in the summer, and apple-pick in the fall. He felt the wind whistle through his hair and the trees and his toes. He smelled the fresh life around him. The warmth of the sun settled in his heart. He felt…calm. So unbelievably calm.

He opened his eyes and saw the other men around him. Some seemed lost in a similar state of bliss. Peggy murmured, “I will control my anger. My anger will not control me.”

“I will control my anger. My anger will not control me,” the group repeated their mantra.

Peggy thanked them and Connor stuck around after all the other men left.

“Did you want to speak with me about something, Connor?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just wondering, Peggy, you mentioned leaving the situation? But a lot of times I find myself getting angry at school, and I can’t leave without my teachers noticing. Is it…well, would you be able to write me a note to give to my teachers? So I can prove it?”

“Of course. Is it okay if I give it to you next week?”

Connor scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“Is it really?” Peggy raised an eyebrow.

Connor laughed. “Yes, really. I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week.”

Connor smiled and dashed out of the room, barely making the bus in time. He settled into his seat and texted Zoe.

‘Hey, Zoe? Do you want to go to the orchard this weekend?’

#therapy #tw: therapy #tw: sibling abuse #tw: anger management

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yainterrobang · 7 years

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A Variety of Brains: Books with Anxious Main Characters

Welcome to A Variety of Brains. Are you looking for a neurodiverse book? I’ve got it listed for you. This week, I'm spotlighting anxious main characters.

A lot of these may not be good representation. It could even be most of them, but that’s not my call to make. On my last few major lists like this for YA Interrobang, I pulled any books I knew were problematic, but I hesitate to do that with this one, simply because neurodiversity in itself is incredibly diverse. Take, for example, the way that anxiety manifests itself varies from person to person.

Some experiences will feel true to some readers, but those same experiences could be triggering for others. I don’t want to deny anyone the chance to find themselves in the pages. Before picking up any of these books, please look at reviews, ask friends, make sure that what’s in these pages won’t harm you. I can’t tell you what won’t work for you, what will hurt you, and I can’t vet all of these books. Please, please be careful.

10 Things I Can See From Here by Carrie Mac Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers Release date: February 28 2017 Maeve has heard it all before. She’s been struggling with severe anxiety for a long time, and as much as she wishes it was something she could just talk herself out of, it’s not. To add to her troubles, her mom—the only one who really gets what Maeve goes through—is leaving for six months, so Maeve will be sent to live with her dad in Vancouver. Vancouver brings a slew of new worries, but Maeve finds brief moments of calm with Salix, a local girl who doesn’t seem to worry about anything. Between her dad’s wavering sobriety, her very pregnant stepmom insisting on a home birth, and her bumbling courtship with Salix, this summer brings more catastrophes than even Maeve could have foreseen

The Avery Shaw Experiment by Kelly Oram Publisher: Bluefields Release date: May 4 2013 The state science fair is coming up and Avery decides to use her broken heart as the topic of her experiment. She’s going to find the cure. By forcing herself to experience the seven stages of grief through a series of social tests, she believes she will be able to get over Aiden Kennedy and make herself ready to love again. But she can’t do this experiment alone, and her ex-partner is the one who broke her heart. Avery finds the solution to her troubles in the form of Aiden’s older brother, Grayson. He’s in need of a good tutor and some serious extra credit. But when Avery recruits the lovable Grayson to be her “objective outside observer,” she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for, because Grayson has a theory of his own: Avery needs to live. And if there’s one thing Grayson Kennedy is good at, it’s living life to the fullest.

Before She Ignites by Jodi Meadows Publisher: Katherine Tegen Release date: September 12 2017 Since the day Mira Minkoba was born, she’s been told she’s special. Important. Perfect. She’s known across the Fallen Isles not just for her beauty, but for the Mira Treaty named after her, a peace agreement which united the seven islands against their enemies on the mainland. But Mira has never felt as perfect as everyone says. She counts compulsively. She struggles with crippling anxiety. And she’s far too interested in dragons for a girl of her station. Then Mira discovers an explosive secret that challenges everything she and the Treaty stand for. Betrayed by the very people she spent her life serving, Mira is sentenced to the Pit – the deadliest prison in the Fallen Isles.

The Boyfriend List by E. Lockhart Publisher: Delacorte Books for Young Readers Release date: March 22 2005 Ruby Oliver is 15 and has a shrink. She knows it’s unusual, but give her a break—she’s had a rough 10 days. In the past 10 days she: lost her boyfriend, lost her best friend,lost all her other friends, did something suspicious with a boy, did something advanced with a boy, had an argument with a boy, drank her first beer, got caught by her mom, had a panic attack), lost a lacrosse game, failed a math test), hurt Meghan’s feelings, became a social outcast and had graffiti written about her in the girls’ bathroom. But don’t worry—Ruby lives to tell the tale. And make more lists.

Don’t Touch by Rachel M. Wilson Publisher: HarperTeen Release date: September 2 2014 Caddie has a history of playing games in her head to cope with her surroundings—but it's never been this bad before. When her parents split up, don't touch becomes Caddie's mantra. She knows it doesn't make sense, but her games have never been logical. Soon, despite Alabama's humidity, she's covering every inch of her skin and wearing evening gloves to school. And that's where things get tricky. Even though Caddie's the new girl, it's hard to pass off her compulsions as artistic quirks. Her drama class is all about interacting with her scene partners, especially Peter, who's auditioning for the role of Hamlet. Caddie desperately wants to play Ophelia, but if she does, she'll have to touch Peter . . . and kiss him. Part of Caddie would love nothing more than to kiss Peter—but the other part isn't sure she's brave enough to let herself fall.

Dr. Bird’s Advice for Sad Poets by Evan Roskos Publisher: HMH Books for Young Readers Release date: March 5 2013 Sixteen-year-old James Whitman has been yawping (à la Whitman) at his abusive father ever since he kicked his beloved older sister, Jorie, out of the house. James’s painful struggle with anxiety and depression—along with his ongoing quest to understand what led to his self-destructive sister’s exile—make for a heart-rending read, but his wild, exuberant Whitmanization of the world and keen sense of humor keep this emotionally charged debut novel buoyant.

Every Exquisite Thing by Matthew Quick Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers Release date: May 31 2016 Star athlete and straight-A student Nanette O’Hare has played the role of dutiful daughter for as long as she can remember. But one day, a beloved teacher gives her his worn copy of The Bubblegum Reaper and the rebel within Nanette awakens. As the new and outspoken Nanette attempts to insert her true self into the world with wild abandon, she befriends the reclusive author and falls in love with a young, troubled poet. Forced to make some hard choices that bring devastating consequences, Nanette learns the hard way that rebellion can sometimes come at a high price.

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell Publisher: St. Martin’s Griffin Release date: September 10 2013 For Cath, being a fan is her life—and she’s really good at it. She and her twin sister, Wren, ensconced themselves in the Simon Snow series when they were just kids; it’s what got them through their mother leaving. Cath’s sister has mostly grown away from fandom, but Cath can’t let go. Now that they’re going to college, Wren has told Cath she doesn’t want to be roommates. Cath is on her own, completely outside of her comfort zone. She’s got a surly roommate with a charming, always-around boyfriend, a fiction-writing professor who thinks fan fiction is the end of the civilized world, a handsome classmate and she can’t stop worrying about her dad, who’s never really been alone. For Cath, the question is: Can she do this? Is she ready to start living her own life? And does she even want to move on if it means leaving Simon Snow behind?

Finding Audrey by Sophie Kinsella Publisher: Delacorte Books for Young Readers Release date: June 9 2015 An anxiety disorder disrupts fourteen-year-old Audrey’s daily life. She has been making slow but steady progress with Dr. Sarah, but when Audrey meets Linus, her brother’s gaming teammate, she is energized. She connects with him. Audrey can talk through her fears with Linus in a way she’s never been able to do with anyone before. As their friendship deepens and her recovery gains momentum, a sweet romantic connection develops, one that helps not just Audrey but also her entire family.

Harmonic Feedback by Tara Kelly Publisher: Henry Holt & Co Release date: May 25 2010 Sixteen-year-old, music-obsessed Drea doesn't have friends. Having just moved to the latest in a string of new towns, Drea meets two other outsiders. And Naomi and Justin seem to actually like Drea. Justin, against all odds, may even like like Drea. It's obvious that Drea can't hide behind her sound equipment anymore. But just when she's found not one but two true friends, can she stand to lose one of them?

How I Made it to Eighteen by Tracy White Publisher: Roaring Brook Press Release date: June 8 2010 How do you know if you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown? For seventeen-year-old Stacy Black, it all begins with the smashing of a window. After putting her fist through the glass, she checks into a mental hospital. Stacy hates it there but despite herself slowly realizes she has to face the reasons for her depression to stop from self-destructing. How I Made it to Eighteen is a frank portrait of what it's like to struggle with self-esteem, body image issues, drug addiction, and anxiety.

How It Feels to Fly by Kathryn Holmes Publisher: HarperTeen Release date: June 14 2016 For as long as Samantha can remember, she’s wanted to be a professional ballerina. Then her body betrayed her. The result: crippling anxiety about her appearance. On her dance teacher’s recommendation, Sam is sent to a summer treatment camp for teens who are struggling with mental and emotional obstacles. If she can make progress, she’ll be allowed to attend a crucial ballet intensive. But when asked to open up to complete strangers, Sam can’t cope. With her future uncertain and her body against her, will Sam give in to the anxiety that imprisons her?

I Don’t Want to Be Crazy by Samantha Schutz Publisher: Push Release date: July 1 2006 When Samantha Schutz first left home for college, she was excited by the possibilities -- freedom from parents, freedom from a boyfriend who was reckless with her affections, freedom from the person she was supposed to be. At first, she reveled in the independence ... but as pressures increased, she began to suffer anxiety attacks that would leave her mentally shaken and physically incapacitated. Thus, began a hard road of discovery and coping, powerfully rendered in this poetry memoir.

Isla and the Happily Ever After by Stephanie Perkins Publisher: Dutton Release date: August 14 2014 Hopeless romantic Isla has had a crush on introspective cartoonist Josh since their first year at the School of America in Paris. And after a chance encounter in Manhattan over the summer, romance might be closer than Isla imagined. But as they begin their senior year back in France, Isla and Josh are forced to confront the challenges every young couple must face, including family drama, uncertainty about their college futures, and the very real possibility of being apart.

It’s All Your Fault by Paul Rudnick Publisher: Scholastic Press Release date: January 26 2016 My name is Caitlin and up until forty-eight hours ago I had never: Tasted alcohol, kissed a boy, sang in public at the top of my lungs, kidnapped anyone or stolen a convertible. Now I’m in jail and I have no idea what I’m going to tell: The police, my parents, the mayor, all of those camera crews and everyone on Twitter. I have just noticed that: My nose is pierced and I have—WAIT? IS THAT A TATTOO? I blame one person for this entire insane weekend: My famous cousin. Who is also my former best friend. Who I have HATED for the past four years. Who I miss like crazy.

The Nature of Jade by Deb Caletti Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers Release date: February 27 2007 Jade DeLuna is too young to die. She knows this, and yet she can't quite believe it. Since being diagnosed with Panic Disorder, she's trying her best to stay calm, and visiting the elephants at the nearby zoo seems to help. That's why Jade keeps the live zoo webcam on in her room, and that's where she first sees the boy in the red jacket. A boy carrying a baby. His name is Sebastian, and he is raising his son alone. Jade is drawn into Sebastian's cozy life with his son and his activist grandmother on their Seattle houseboat, and before she knows it, she's in love. Jade knows the situation is beyond complicated, but she hasn't felt this safe in a long time. She owes it all to Sebastian, her boy with the great heart. Her boy who is hiding a terrible secret. A secret that will force Jade to decide between what is right, and what feels right.

The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness Publisher: HarperTeen Release date: October 6 2015 What if you aren’t the Chosen One? What if you’re like Mikey? Who just wants to graduate and go to prom and maybe finally work up the courage to ask Henna out before someone goes and blows up the high school. Because sometimes there are problems bigger than this week’s end of the world, and sometimes you just have to find the extraordinary in your ordinary life. Even if your best friend is worshipped by mountain lions.

Shackled by Tom Leveen Publisher: Simon Pulse Release date: August 18 2015 After years of therapy, medication, and even a stint in a mental hospital, Pell’s finally ready to re-enter the world of the living. Pelly has been suffering from severe panic attacks ever since her best friend, Tara, disappeared six years ago. And her plan seems to be working, until an unkempt girl accompanied by an older man walks into the coffee shop where she works. Pelly thinks she’s seen a ghost, until the girl mouths “help me” on the way out, and Pelly knows she’s just seen Tara.

The Smaller Evil by Stephanie Kuehn Publisher: Dutton Books for Young Readers Release date: August 2 2016 Arman Dukoff is struggling with severe anxiety and a history of self-loathing when he arrives at an expensive self-help retreat in the remote hills of Big Sur. He’s taken a huge risk—and two-thousand dollars from his meth-head stepfather—for a chance to "evolve," as Beau, the retreat leader, says. Beau is complicated, but more than anyone he's ever met, Beau makes Arman feel something other than what he usually feels—worthless. Arman believes for a moment that he can get better. But the program is a blur of jargon, bizarre rituals, and incomprehensible encounters with a beautiful girl. Arman is certain he's failing everything. But Beau disagrees and then, in an instant, Beau is gone.

Under Rose-Tainted Skies by Louise Gornall Publisher: Clarion Books Release date: January 3 2017 At seventeen, Norah has accepted that the four walls of her house delineate her life. She knows that fearing everything from inland tsunamis to odd numbers is irrational, but her mind insists the world outside is too big, too dangerous. So she stays safe inside, watching others’ lives through her windows and social media feed. But when Luke arrives on her doorstep, he doesn’t see a girl defined by medical terms and mental health. Instead, he sees a girl who is funny, smart, and brave. And Norah likes what he sees. Their friendship turns deeper, but Norah knows Luke deserves a normal girl. One who can walk beneath the open sky. One who is unafraid of kissing. One who isn’t so screwed up. Can she let him go for his own good—or can Norah learn to see herself through Luke’s eyes?

Underwater by Marisa Reichardt Publisher: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux Books for Young Readers Release date: January 12 2016 Morgan didn’t mean to do anything wrong that day. Actually, she meant to do something right. But her kind act inadvertently played a role in a deadly tragedy. Morgan must learn to forgive—first someone who did something that might be unforgivable, and then herself. But Morgan can’t move on. She can’t even move beyond the front door of the apartment she shares with her mother and little brother. When it seems Morgan can’t hold her breath any longer, a new boy moves in next door. Evan reminds her of the salty ocean air and the rush she used to get from swimming. He might be just what she needs to help her reconnect with the world outside.

The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli Publisher: Balzer + Bray Release date: April 11 2017 Molly Peskin-Suso’s crushed on twenty-six guys…but has kissed exactly none. Her twin sister Cassie’s advice isn’t that helpful. It’s easy for her to say: she’s had flings with lots of girls. She’s fearless and effortlessly svelte, while Molly is introverted and what their grandma calls zaftig. Then Cassie meets Mina, and for the first time ever, Cassie is falling in love. While Molly is happy for her, she can’t help but feel lonelier than ever. But Cassie and Mina are determined to end Molly’s string of unrequited crushes once and for all. They decide to set her up with Mina’s friend Will, who is ridiculously good-looking, flirty, and seems to be into Molly. Perfect, right? But as Molly spends more time with Reid, her cute, nerdy co-worker, her feelings get all kinds of complicated. Now she has to decide whether to follow everyone’s advice…or follow her own heart.

Virtuosity by Jessica Martinez Publisher: Simon Pulse Release date: October 18 2011 Now is not the time for Carmen to fall in love. And Jeremy is hands-down the wrong guy for her to fall for. He is infuriating, arrogant, and the only person who can stand in the way of Carmen getting the one thing she wants most: to win the prestigious Guarneri competition. Carmen's whole life is violin, and until she met Jeremy, her whole focus was winning. But nobody else understands her--and riles her up--like he does. Still, she can't trust him with her biggest secret: She is so desperate to win she takes anti-anxiety drugs to perform, and what started as an easy fix has become a hungry addiction. Sometimes, being on top just means you have a long way to fall

Will & Whit by Laura Lee Gulledge Publisher: Amulet Release date: May 7 2013 Wilhelmina “Will” Huckstep is a creative soul struggling to come to terms with a family tragedy. She crafts whimsical lamps, in part to deal with her fear of the dark. As she wraps up another summer in her mountain town, she longs for unplugged adventures with her fellow creative friends. Little does she know that she will get her wish in the form of an arts carnival and a blackout, courtesy of a hurricane named Whitney, which forces Will to face her fear of darkness.

See our list of characters dealing with addiction.

#ya lit #ya books #the upside of unrequited #isla and the happily ever after #rainbow rowell #list of the week #list #a variety of brains

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