AMERICAN BEAUTY / PSYCHO.

[metvmorqhoses]

forgive me father for i have sinned in all the most exquisite and aesthetically pleasing ways i was capable of

[christempher]

When Chris enters, Josh takes all the effort he can muster to stare — really stare — at him, boring a hole into his vision. It’s foggy, hazy at best, and he begins to realize that perhaps it wasn’t just a trick of the light, or an effect from the lack of sleep; no, he thinks, one hand gripped to the couch cushion with a tight, intense force. With one eye showing only smudges of color and shape, the other shows a full body — a figure, lit against the blackened foreground. He doesn’t need to think to describe this: he sees the motion perfectly clear, and the realization as to why makes him nearly double over in fear. He rises to his feet, standing slowly; once upright, he brings one hand to point at his mouth, tapping against the exposed teeth, his eyes trained on Chris the entire time. The other hand goes to his throat, holding it gingerly as he attempts a few times to speak. The first, only a guttural sort of sound, doesn’t make much progress. The second produces a similar effect. The third, however, he tries slowly, timidly.

      “Hh…hurts,” he says this quietly, but the voice remains recognizable as his own. With his small success, he tries again, producing a similarly soft response. “Had…a nn…nnigh,” he stops, takes a breath, then tries again. “…nightmare.” there are tears pricking at his eyes, only further fogging his vision. He doesn’t seem to mind it too much, only standing there, awkwardly facing his fiance on the floor.

Chris watches Josh move closely - he’s not acting strange, which is a comfort. The vivid look - memory? - of those wendigos on the mountain haunts him. Josh’s movements are slow and steady and still very him, which is a small mercy, he supposes. He avoids looking at the gash on his face, but it’s hard to when Josh is pointing at it; he looks and tries not to throw up, but it’s a close thing.

The noises Josh makes are alarming, and if Chris wasn’t sure that Josh was still himself, he’d be running. Instead he sits up a little as he listens closely; that’s Josh’s voice, it’s unmistakable, and he manages to say a few words. That’s enough to encourage Chris to stand, even though he’s shaky and nervous.

“Hey, Josh, don’t… don’t talk if it hurts, okay?” He doesn’t move closer - he doesn’t trust himself to not lose his balance and collapse with the first step he takes, and he really doesn’t trust himself to look at his mouth close-up just yet. “I had one too. And, uh… Jesus, man.” But he doesn’t want to focus on the physical nightmare that’s happened to the man he loves - he knows there are too many questions that would have no answers - so instead he just breathes out a gentle “you’re still you, that’s… that’s a huge relief.”

[bforedawn]

Chris rises to his feet, though he remains at a fair distance from the monstrosity facing him. Josh supposes that was fair; he was, after all, the personification of the very things that go bump in the night ( the very things he so often teased his fiancé about — look out, Cochise, they’re gonna eat you alive! ). Josh, too, remains still. He looks towards his best friend, fogged vision be damned, and the two paths come to a head in the forefront of his mind. To stay, to run — to give up, to give in. He doesn’t know which would be worse; which, he begged, would lend himself to a calm resolution? Which would be the better ending — to live as a monster, or to die as a human? It would be his final decision in an existence so desolate and dark; he ponders this with a gentle pause, a quiet contemplation. Chris was afraid, that was all that mattered in the end — his fiancé was afraid of him, and he had every right to be ( what’s wrong, Cochise, afraid of a little horror? a little death? ).

“Am I?” he asks this clearly, slowly. He would allow anger to rise, the feeling a slow and dying thing; he would sink teeth bare and deep, ripping and tearing through its thick veil of malevolence. He had every right to be angry — what god would insist on torturing him any further? He was already crazy; he was already gone, and now he would become the beast ( one of us, his sister whispers into his ear. a family, the other chimes ). He knows this is real — can feel the hunger clawing up his throat, savage and desperate — and he decides, then, to take a few fumbling steps back. He can’t think straight — not with Chris so close, not with his heartbeat th-thump, th-thump, th-thumping in his ears. No, he needs to leave; he has to get out of here.

[bforedawn]

Chris woke up from the nightmare he’d been having with a jolt - it was a familiar one, one where he left Josh to die on the mountain they’d spent so many winters on as kids. He’d had it last winter for sure, and he was able to recognize it as just that - a nightmare. Not real.

Knowing that, he got up and shuffled towards the living room; Josh wasn’t in bed beside him, which meant he was probably awake on the couch or in the kitchen. Sure, he knew it was a nightmare, and not reality, but he kind of needed to see Josh alive and safe and okay to feel better.

He nearly passed out when he saw him, sitting on the couch and staring at him.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He leaned back and braced himself against the wall - he wasn’t going to scream. He couldn’t. That would get attention from neighbors and that was the last thing he needed right now. “Jesus Christ, Josh, dude, what the fuck?” He felt his breath coming quicker - was he hyperventilating? He was probably gonna start doing that - and his heart was pounding. Josh looked like he’d…

Like he’d spent a while in the caves on that mountain with the fucking wendigos.

“Okay, babe, Josh, I, uh. I. Wow. Okay. Um.” He tried his hardest to catch his breath; instead, he just slid down the wall and sat on the floor. “What? What the fuck is going on?”

       When Chris enters, Josh takes all the effort he can muster to stare --- really stare --- at him, boring a hole into his vision. It’s foggy, hazy at best, and he begins to realize that perhaps it wasn’t just a trick of the light, or an effect from the lack of sleep; no, he thinks, one hand gripped to the couch cushion with a tight, intense force. With one eye showing only smudges of color and shape, the other shows a full body --- a figure, lit against the blackened foreground. He doesn’t need to think to describe this: he sees the motion perfectly clear, and the realization as to why makes him nearly double over in fear. He rises to his feet, standing slowly; once upright, he brings one hand to point at his mouth, tapping against the exposed teeth, his eyes trained on Chris the entire time. The other hand goes to his throat, holding it gingerly as he attempts a few times to speak. The first, only a guttural sort of sound, doesn’t make much progress. The second produces a similar effect. The third, however, he tries slowly, timidly.

       “Hh...hurts,” he says this quietly, but the voice remains recognizable as his own. With his small success, he tries again, producing a similarly soft response. “Had...a nn...nnigh,” he stops, takes a breath, then tries again. “...nightmare.” there are tears pricking at his eyes, only further fogging his vision. He doesn’t seem to mind it too much, only standing there, awkwardly facing his fiance on the floor.

[bforedawn]

@christempher

       He wakes with an aching hunger, deep and throbbing in the pit of his stomach. In the dim light of the evening, moonlit trickling in from the cracks of closed curtains, he fumbles his way to the kitchen. It is dark, and he waits impatiently for his eyes to adjust; still, something seems off. Wrong, somehow, as if he’d been kicked in the head and left for dead --- it hurts, this starving emptiness, this cavernous solitude. He knows that Chris is here --- can hear his soft breathing, as if amplified in his ears --- and after he tries to eat ( once, twice, three times, it leaves him only nauseous at best ), he decides to lie down on the couch. He lies here, still and petrified, one hand tracing slow lines down the jagged teeth jutting from the side of his mouth, the torn flesh raw and longing. He doesn’t sleep --- doesn’t actually think he could if he tried --- and instead, he simply stares up at the ceiling. He tries closing his eyes, but that only increases the anxiety; he can’t do that, he decides, and inevitably ends up just waiting for his fiance to wake. 

        Finally, he hears shuffling from the bedroom. He hums to himself, an audible groan of sorts as he shifts on the sofa; he moves to sit up, inhaling a sharp breath as he tries to calm himself. He is terrified --- scared that he’s becoming the very monster he dreamt of, devouring someone as if it were his only hope for this minimal survival. Wide eyes --- one glossy and fogged, the other clear as normal --- stare in the direction of the bedroom --- watching, waiting.

[bforedawn]

full headcanon recap under the cut !!

he was diagnosed with major depressive disorder very early on. the first time he visited a psychiatrist was after a particularly nasty incident in sixth grade ( he was seeing things that weren’t exactly real --- to this day, he has never told anyone the truth about this ). he was put on prozac, which gave him a few bad side effects ( particularly nausea and fatigue --- the medication was swapped to cymbalta, which ended up tapering off badly after another incident at school, this time during eighth grade ).

he ended up being switched from SSRIs to MAOIs instead, with his countless doctors insisting SSRIs were ineffective in treating his depression. the only problem here, was that joshua was experiencing much more than just anxiety and depression --- he was, and still is, experiencing delusions, hallucinations ( both auditory and visual ), and frequent episodes of derealization & depersonalization. he has never once told a doctor or therapist about these symptoms, thus the diagnosis of major depressive disorder has persisted.

he was placed in a 30-day residency in a psychiatric ward in the spring of 2014 due to his psychiatrist deeming him a suicide risk. whether or not this is true, josh has never said ( and, preferably, he never will ). he insists the experience was terrible, and will do anything in his power to never have to do it again.

the last medication he was on was phenelzine ( known mostly by the name nardil ), which is an MAOI used to treat depression. he quit this medication cold turkey around the beginning of 2016, and despite having a few more visits with his doctor, ended up ultimately leaving that behind, too. his symptoms continue to persist, and he often tries to hide this by drinking ( that way, if he does say or do something odd, he can blame it on the alcohol rather than his own deteriorating mental health ).

he has an appointment this coming thursday with a new psychiatrist at the same office he used to go to. he plans on telling them about his symptoms --- all of his symptoms --- and, for the first time ever, actually getting medication that treats everything he experiences. he feels an obligation to do this now --- he has a wedding to attend, a fiance to be there for. he’s always felt partially obligated to being there for chris, and now even more so.

[cursedimages]

[bforedawn]

       The party was perfect, friends and acquaintances gathered in the apartment his parents still pay for, watching a television his boyfriend definitely didn’t need to buy. He’d been drinking for most of the evening, downing champagne as if the world were about to end; his stomach still turned at most foods, and although he wasn’t sure why, he didn’t think it too important to figure out. Not tonight, at least. He’s all smiles and laughs and, as the clock strikes midnight, his grins into a kiss with the man he’s been attached to for so long now. They kiss, and Chris pulls away.

        “Happy new year, Josh.” 

        Chris keeps his voice low, going on and on about how long they’d been friends: seventeen years, to be exact, and the truth behind this is astounding. Josh is just amazed he’s been alive that long, that he’s somehow survived into adulthood. He isn’t the dorky third grader that first met Chris so many years ago, nor is he as innocent as he once was. Still, he appreciates this, whatever this is. His grin falters, confusion beginning to clearly coat his expression as his boyfriend continues on; he knew this wasn’t a break-up. It couldn’t be. Maybe, he thinks, Chris is just getting sentimental. He’s been known to do that, after all. They lace their fingers together, and the one-sided conversation drags on.

         Seven months. That’s how long they’ve been apart --- seven months, out of a total of seventeen fucking years. Josh thinks it’s insane --- thinks this is insane, how intimately they stand while his boyfriend quietly rambles on and on. He simply listens, waiting for the punch line --- waiting for the ending, the reason behind all of this. He isn’t sure there is one, isn’t sure Chris had a plan when he started, but he still waits. He listens, nods along; as if on cue, he smiles at the comment regarding how he lights up a room with the gesture. This, whatever it is, is nice. Chris was the emotional side of this relationship --- he always had been. Josh was the brawn, the prankster --- Chris was the brains, the logical one in the group. They balanced each other out; if Josh were braver, he would’ve interjected, insisted they complete each other. Insisted beyond doubt that they were meant to be together forever --- you’re not alone, Chris says, and never will be.

          Never. Josh liked the sound of that. Before he can think on this anymore, though, Chris releases his hand and drops to one knee. He keeps talking, but Josh can feel the room start to close in; he can feel the attention of every pair of eyes, every friend or acquaintance --- he blinks, watches with a confused expression at first. He pulls in a quiet breath, shakes his head a little; it looks like he’s going to say no, standing there in awkward silence for a moment, before he ultimately breaks out in a smile.

         “What the hell, bro?” he mutters this under his breath, grinning like an idiot as he looks down at his best friend. “Of course --- Jesus, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

[bforedawn]

          He wakes in the dead of the night, and he swears there is something beneath his skin.

          His skin is crawling, uncomfortable and unnatural; he sits up in bed, stares in the dark. His vision is a little hazy, the dim light a probable cause; the warmth at his side is nearly incomparable, and he rushes to get out of bed as soon as he processes this. He moves out of bed quickly and quietly, shuffling his way towards the kitchen. Even in the dim light of the moon, he feels his skin burning from exposure; he opens the fridge, busying himself with heating up any leftovers he can grab. He isn’t sure why, but he’s so goddamn hungry.

          ( --- the sky is bright, the moon screaming radiance upon the family cabin up in the woods. Everyone is here --- everyone except Hannah, and Beth; they were never found. ) 

          “No...no, no,” he mutters this softly, desperately, grabbing his food from the microwave; he stands in the kitchen as he eats, devouring it as if carnivorous and feral. Still, his mind and memory march on.

         ( --- “well, he’s definitely off his meds.” )

         ( --- “do you enjoy feeling terrorized? humiliated? I mean, panicked?” )

         ( --- “you’re a goddamn murderer, is what you are!” )

         “No!” he says it louder this time, tossing his plate and fork onto the counter; it’s picked clean already, and he backs up until he’s pressed up against the back of the couch. He looks around, as if expecting someone to run in and call it a prank, to tell him it isn’t real --- still, his skin crawls, as if it weren’t meant to be this way. “ -- no, no. Not again, not again...”

         ( --- “we were all alone down there.” )

         ( --- “all alone.” )

         ( --- “why didn’t you save us, Josh?” )

         ( --- “WHY DID YOU WANT US TO DIE?” )

         He drops to the floor, resting against the back of the couch; the room is quiet --- silent --- but he hears them. God, he hears them --- Mike, and Hannah, and Beth, and Chris --- god, he hears Chris, and he looks towards the bedroom; it remains dark. Quiet, and he knows that Chris is still sleeping. He holds his head in his hands, he closes his eyes. “ --- stop...stop, I didn’t kill anybody, this isn’t real. This isn’t...this can’t be real...” 

        ( --- “why didn’t you save us, Josh?” )

        ( --- “WHY DID YOU WANT US TO DIE?” )

        “...this isn’t REAL!” 

[slimyswampghost]

07/27/06 - Two teenagers go missing after breaking into the “Neb’s Fun World” bowling in Oshawa, Ontario. A friend finds a cell phone while looking for them and turns it into the police after finding this photo. Upon investigation, “The Smile Room” is not a part of the building.

[dailyrami]

[bforedawn]

Chris laughs and lets himself fall to the side when Josh gently punches him. “I know! Her and I are soulmates. We’re kindred spirits, this cat and I.”

When Josh makes the crass joke - and really, Chris should’ve expected that, it was Josh after all - Chris cackled, way too loud for the tiny space they were in. “Oh my god, dude, I can’t believe you, holy shit.” It’s a reminder of why he loves him so much; the terrible jokes and endless teasing are his favorite parts of Josh. That hadn’t changed in all the years he’d known him.

He presses a gentle kiss to Josh’s cheek. Just because he can. “When we move into a bigger place someday - like, if we ever move back to LA? We should totally get a dog too. That way the girls are safe.”

Before he can fumble over his words making sure Josh knew they didn’t have to move if he didn’t want to, they’re being summoned by one of the volunteers, and Chris takes Josh’s hand to pull him along. He was excited, so what?

The room they enter is big and full of toys and cat trees, and a large assortment of kittens are milling around being cute as hell. He gasps. “Oh my god, dude, look at them.”

         The cackle is music to his ears, and he’s probably a bit too proud of himself for being the cause of it. He gets a kiss on the cheek as revenge, and he’s especially proud of that part; Chris mentions moving back out to LA, and Josh tells himself he won’t get bitter about it. Not here, not now. He would definitely not be moving out to LA anytime soon --- not until his parents stopped bothering him, and not unless he could have the whole gang there with him, too --- but that is a discussion for another time. They are quickly summoned to follow behind one of the volunteers, and Josh is ever thankful for his boyfriend taking his hand; it helped to snap him out of his own mind, and he will forever be thankful for this.

         The room is large, various kittens running around and meowing at anything that moves --- Josh wouldn’t admit that his heart grew seven sizes on this day, but it definitely did. “Holy shit,” he mutters this under his breath, wide gaze watching a huddle of kittens just a few feet away. “Bro, I want all of them.” 

[bforedawn]

So Chris’ life had gotten to this bizarre, perfect place and he couldn’t really believe it was real sometimes. He had an internship lined up. He was on track to graduate. There was a ring safely hidden in his suitcase in his closet. It was Christmastime, and he was spending it with the love of his life.

And then Josh was like hey, let’s get a cat, and Chris was pretty sure all his dreams were coming true.

That’s how they found themselves at the local animal shelter, Chris scrolling through the senior cats on his phone while they waited to be let in to the room with all the kittens. “Yo, Josh, if they don’t have one that looks like an Elvira to you, there’s this old lady cat named Mittens and apparently she yells for attention whenever she sees anyone. I think I might be in love with her.”

        Chris was scrolling through cats on his phone, and Josh was busy watching people enter and exit the building and various rooms; he didn’t necessarily enjoy being social with strangers, and being off his medication especially didn’t make this any easier, but he was determined to be okay. Just for today. The people here seemed nice enough, eager to give them the cat of their dreams; to be honest, Josh didn’t dream of cats. He wanted a dog, but a dog would probably fuck with the spiders too much. The girls were the priorities here, as he so lovingly told Chris earlier in the day, and so they sat in idle wait, patiently biding time until they could interact with all of the cute little kittens this place had to offer.

         “Bro, that’s what you do!” he’s teasing --- really, he is --- and a gentle punch on the arm accompanies the words. He’s smiling now, even though he’s pretty sure they weren’t going to adopt the old lady cat of Chris’ dreams. “I didn’t think you were into pussy, anyway.” 

[6675636b736f6369657479-deactiva]

(੭•̀ᴗ•̀)੭

[ruinedchildhood]

[meganscheekgrab]

When that beat dropped!!

[brianabreeze-deactivated2019010]

Meeee🙋🏾‍♀️🙋🏾‍♀️🙋🏾‍♀️

[kuboe-deactivated20231023-deact]

tbh(thinkin bout Halloween)

[christempher]

hey why am i dating someone who loves scary shit when i, in fact, do not love scary shit

our anniversary is gonna give me nightmares

[bforedawn]

is it gonna be too scary for you? ;)

[christempher]

yes, actually?

i’m doing it because i’m The Best Boyfriend Ever™

[bforedawn]

i get to be the big protective boyfriend, nice

[christempher]

hey why am i dating someone who loves scary shit when i, in fact, do not love scary shit

our anniversary is gonna give me nightmares

[bforedawn]

is it gonna be too scary for you? ;)