♯ happy - pills . mp3

i like the scars because i like the stories. bravery, stupidity, pain—none of them come free  –  s.p.

[julianapolskis]

RHYS MCKINLEY   –   closefears‌.

“ wouldn’t waste a perfectly good pick-up line at group therapy ” rhys offers, standing his ground. “ and mine are better than that. ” they’re not. rhys has never even used a pick-up line, probably never would - at least not seriously. rhys is a lot of things - tacky isn’t one of them. “ okay, so we haven’t met. but i have seen you before. in the hospital. ” rhys wonders briefly if it’s rude to just air some stranger’s dirty laundry in public, but pushes the thought away. it’s just them in here anyways, and, to be fair, rhys was airing his own too. to strangers, he didn’t show any signs of poor health. minus the giant scar he wore on his chest, of course, but that wasn’t outwardly advertised, always covered by a worn-out t-shirt. “ or maybe not. maybe it’s a pick-up line. ” rhys shrugs and turns on his heel like he’s headed towards the door. “ guess we’ll never know. ”

     he could wait outside, avoid the conversation altogether   –   and that’s what he’s tempted to. the discussion of his diagnosis is one he’d like to evade, especially in the context of a  FOGGY FORECAST.  it’s ironic, really, because isn’t that why he’s there. he hasn’t talked to the group about it, and he doubts he ever will  –   yet a complete stranger manages to tread the subject.   “   in the hospital.   ”   he repeats, again. there’s a similar tone taken this time, one he’d  UNLIKELY  to rid himself of, it was ingrained into him in a way  :  a condescending nature that pushed itself to the forefront no matter the situation.   “   yeah, right   –   where else!   ”   pause, and he gets up.   “   would’ve preferred the pick-up line.   ”   some truth sticks to it, more than some. TRUTH BE TOLD : he’d rather chop the remained of his leg clean off than discuss his medical history. once upon a time, his cancer was all he was  –  and as desperately as cancer clung to him, he did it. there was no point in  DENYING  when it was right there : the bald elephant in the room, demanding for its presence to be known and felt. things were  DIFFERENT  now. he was different.   “   what brand of  DYING  are you then?   ”   BOLD   –   and brashly so. names had yet to be exchanged and there he was, inquiring of things less than respectful.   “   you sure as fuck weren’t there for the common cold, were you.   ”

[julianapolskis]

RHYS MCKINLEY  –  closefears‌.

it’s rhys’ first night at therapy group and he’s already decided it’ll be his last. after the surgery, things were fine. until rhys started having nightmares that the the donor of his heart was ripping it out of his chest. nancy — grandma, he reminded himself — had insisted he go to therapy. for almost a year he’d been doing phone counseling with sandra, and it had sorta kinda maybe been working. at least the nightmares had slowed down to like, three a week. now, though, sandra was suggesting rhys try real, face-to-face group therapy. so he tried it. it sucked. everyone was old, and sad, and the only two young people spent the whole session silently looking around the room and, like, wishing they were dead or something. probably why they were in therapy. after it ended, everyone started standing, filing towards the exit, but rhys made a beeline instead for the boy still sitting — the one he’d recognized. “ hey, you. ” rhys has his hands in his pockets but he gives a little nod towards him. “ i know you. we’ve met. ” they hadn’t. they’d just seen each other before, passing each other in the hospital hallway like ships in the night, sharing a fleeting look. how very poetic. // starter for @julianapolskis

     he keeps on coming  –  sitting in the same folding chair, listening to the same people, thinking the same things… i’d rather be anywhere but here. and then, like clockwork : the session comes to a close, its participants making runs  (  pacing is more like it. but even that falls short to the leisurely movements made by those older  )  for the door. and like always, julian’s left behind. the end of his mother’s shift  PARALLELS  with the one of therapy, meaning that her car rolls up a punctual eight minutes past. fingertip drags across the screen of his phone, an endless scrolling through  HEX - APPROVED  social medias  –  read : two  –  to pass the time. nothing ever catches his eye, gaze surely lingers on the photos marking the  START  of summer break, but not even pippa espina in a skimpy bathing suit can capture his attention long enough. he closes facebook.    “   i know you. we’ve met.   ”    he repeats, a light scoff added. it was the second time in a matter of days he’d been approached within the group, and like the last  –  julian finds himself engaging, against his better judgment.   “   what’s that, like a  PICK - UP LINE ?   ”   the boy continues, phone locked and slipped back into his pocket, dark eyes on the other. he does recognize him, vaguely, but like he recognizes every face of black spring  –  even if names escape him.

[hotasice]

[julianapolskis]

hotasice‌:

“First of all, Papa Smurf didn’t create Smurfette. Gargamel did. She was sent in as Gargamel’s evil spy with the intention of destroying the Smurf village. But the overwhelming goodness of the Smurf way of life transformed her. And as for the whole gang-bang scenario, it just couldn’t happen. Smurfs are asexual. They don’t even have… reproductive organs under those little, white pants.”

Donnie Darko (2001)

[harrpotter]

[julianapolskis]

harrpotter‌:

It’s probably some kind of side effect from the medication. I’m sure you’re gonna be fine.

[julianapolskis]

PIPPA ESPINA  –  vengefulseas‌.

AS HANDS FIND HER WAIST, her own are enveloped around his neck. It’s that moment, not of lips touching but of drawing him closer — that she feels the first semblance of guilt. The tiny, cold feeling that creeps into the pit of your stomach, the way your heart STINGS when you know you’re doing something wrong. But more powerful than that is the push to continue. The way the shame feels up the emptiness inside her, that of which she’d confided in to him, it is not drops in a well, but buckets of water, making her feel whole.  The connection — the HIGH —she gets from mistakes made: better than anything else could give her. Better than booze, or weed, or the feeling she felt standing on the bridge. She does something to ruin her life further, makes a DOZEN more mistakes, and it’s like she’s fulfilled something. She has everything: she’s young and she’s rich and she possibility at her fingertips. Even if Black Spring is prison — she isn’t rotting there, not really. She could do more, if she REALLY wanted to. But excuses and self hate and an insatiable need for destruction piles up and builds a brick wall around her, a castle without a window for her to peer out of and wait for someone to save her. So even though she wants to say we shouldn’t, she wants to pull away, she wants to run out of her room and out of her house and god fucking knows where … she doesn’t. SHE DOESN’T. Because she wants to kiss him more than that, she wants to hate everything more than that. And so, instead, hands move down from his neck, past his arms, and to the hemline of his shirt, tugging it upwards. 

     his mind’s a  WHIRLWIND  –  thoughts, wants, and consequences all scrambled into one, non - cohesive, cluster - fuck. no pun intended. he should be thinking–clearer, maybe, or at all–but it’s a laborious thing to ask of an inebriated boy. it all moves with a haze, a thick fog engulfing the pair as she tugs at his shirt, and as he shimmies out of it without difficulty. hands previously settled, rested upon her waistline, mimic her movements  –  fingers curving around the hem of her dress, pushing it upward. experience falls short but it is made up, through compliance and through a unrelenting touch. he doesn’t move with hesitance, or with reluctance, rather it’s  DIRECT   –  hands stopping at the height of her thighs, as he positions himself between her thighs.  “  you sure ?  ” it’s a muffled request for  ASSURANCE,  forehead against pippa’s as he catches his breath. 

[julianapolskis]

BECKETT GRAVES  –  closefears·.

patience isn’t a virtue bucket could boast to having, but when he’s able to hold still - to shut his trap for awhile ( and not just because he’s too high to speak ) - it’s always worth it. the words spilling out of juli’s hesitant mouth are shocking, but bucket finds it doesn’t seem like new information. pippa’s been unusually tight-lipped about the party she’d been to, only dropping the most vital information, and now everything clicks in beckett’s head. somehow, he keeps himself from whooping and hollering about juli not being a virgin anymore; it just doesn’t seem like the right time. instead, beckett tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “ yeah? join the club. ” juli’s still just sitting there like he’s admitted to stealing the fucking declaration of independence or something, so bucket sets down his bass and leans forward, elbows on knees. “ alright, so you fucked her. and? was it good? everything you’d dreamed it be? ” 

     HIS FIRST TIME  –  an event that should hold more meaning to him but doesn’t. julian ought to experience some sort of emotion regarding the whole ordeal beyond weirdness related to beckett. someone who hadn’t been there yet in some twisted sense of it, had.  “  well, first off, didn’t dream of doing it with her.  ”  he shoots back.  “  and i don’t know. it was  –  alright, i guess.  ”  there’s a shrug offered along with it, but it’s not much. he knows what beckett wants, and it’s not this  –  it’s dirt, details, a declaration of it being MIND-BLOWING, LIFE-CHANGING, and a ONCE IN A LIFETIME EXPERIENCE. but that was something julian failed to muster, even to exaggerate would be an insincerity and a disservice.  “  i was pretty faded.  ”  it’s an excuse, for all that he can’t give him, and he leans back.

[freaksgifs]

[julianapolskis]

GEORGE AHRENS  –  grghrns‌.

“ You asked, but that … It doesn’t mean you wanted to know. ” Words are small, and small frame feels like it’s getting smaller. Juli sinks down next to her on the steps, and she shifts slightly, suddenly aware of the small space between them. His shoulder brushes hers, and there’s an involuntary shiver from the blonde — shyness creeping inside her and onto her face, as she quickly ducks her head. But he’s never been one for sentimentality, so she’s not surprised when he turns to theatrics — nudging his shoulder gently at his words. “ I know, Jules. I just … ” Pause. “ I don’t want to bother you, y’know ? It’s not … It’s not that big a deal, anyways. I’m fine. ” She shakes her head slowly with a shrug. “ How do you not know your own phone number ? I mean, how do you even talk to people ? ” She teases, in an attempt to change the subject. It doesn’t stick, however, and she offers him a small smile, despite the fact that he breaks eye contact. “ I know. I know. But really, don’t worry about me. I’m fine, I promise. ” She lies through her teeth, and she knows that he knows. But it’s habit, to make sure people aren’t worried about her. To tell them she’s fine, that she’s okay and there’s nothing to worry about. Arms hug knees tightly to her chest, and blonde waves fall in front of her face. The conversation makes her wish the cement would open up and eat her, along with the long-forgotten yogurt.

     he hates it, too, the pity voice. the whole talk was excruciating but the voice… oh, the voice made it painstaking. it’s what forced APATHY onto julian apolskis. a nice kid, diagnosed with cancer–possibly incurable–it caused the people in his surroundings to fall back onto the pity voice as a default. he hated it, still do. it didn’t take him long to realize being an  ASSHOLE  drove them out of it, the urge to debate him dragging them out of a state of empathy by the scruff of their necks. if they couldn’t sympathize, there was no need for the  CONDESCENDING  tones. it was as effective as it was isolating. he’d gone above and beyond to rid himself of it, and now he was offering it without thought.  “  i know, i know… i’m just saying’  –  if you weren’t,  ”  he clears his throat, beating himself up for delving into it to begin with.  “  i’m here for whatever.  ”  a long pause.  “  do you wanna, like, get outta here? drive somewhere?  ”

[jakegyllenhaal]

[julianapolskis]

RHIANNON WU  –  fadinghearth‌.

@julianapolskis​ / SHE FIDDLES WITH THE hair elastic looped around her wrist, snapping black band against skin. One, thwap, two — she YANKS it back again, and releases. Rhiannon has placed herself in the metal folding chair, knees pulled up tightly to her chest, the heels of her feet resting precariously on the edge of the seat. Arms are wrapped around them, and her gaze doesn’t look anywhere but the linoleum floor tiles of Black Spring Elementary’s cafeteria. It still smells like fish sticks and Clorox bleach, and it’s enough to make her NAUSEOUS. Breathe deep through your mouth, yank —— she doesn’t look up at the other, the only person left in the abandoned circle of chairs. Release. 8PM GROUP THERAPY. ALL OVER EIGHTEEN WELCOME. The sign taped to the door was on bright pink printer paper, obnoxious and evident amidst lunch menus and offers of bake sales. But group was long gone, the other stragglers who were waiting for rides long gone. Her father was running late, as per usual, but still wouldn’t let her drive. One year ago, she’d told him. It was a year ago. Things were different. THEY WEREN’T. She’d rammed into a tree without her seatbelt on, effectively totaling the car — but her plan of dying along with the wreckage hadn’t exactly worked, since all she got was a concussion and a broken arm.  It was one in six times she’d tried to kill herself in two years, but perhaps the least effective of any of them. It was too late for her to bike, he’d also rationalized, promising to pick her up on time. Of course, it wasn’t true.  “ You never talk. ” She tells the other, eyes still fixated on the floor. She didn’t either. It isn’t posed as a question, but nevertheless: an answer is sought. 

     a facebook feed dead–a  LAST RESORT  only advanced in times of absolute boredom–julian’s attention remains fickle, easily coerced elsewhere. all a ploy to ignore the other, really, yet her words is cause for an immediate shift of dark eyes. he’d heard her speak before, once or twice, but never was her words meant for him  –  rather hushed, exclusively handed to the leader of the group.  “  neither do you.  ”  he counters, phone slipping back into his pocket. a bit committal to rid himself the buffer of awkward conversation, though intrigue takes over. had she been one of those yapping fucks, or worse–normal–he would’ve opted to waiting outside as a way to avoid it. but she isn’t, so he doesn’t.  “  guess i don’t have anything to say.  ”  his mother would argue that he did, and he’d argue that he didn’t  –  a constant back-and-forth. two years had passed since he’d last voiced his disinterest for, well, life. two years was a long time, and though his stance on the matter hadn’t budged, he’d learned to be  LESS VOCAL  about it. not that it changed much. she was still concerned, rightfully so.  “  you?  ”

[julianapolskis]

so you'd fuck george, and marry her, but you also fucked her best friend and won't give her the time of day? interesting ...

“  –  over killing her. she’s one of my BEST FRIENDS… and after all the shit she’s been through, me fucking her over in a game of FUCK, MARRY, KILL is probably the last thing she needs.

[julianapolskis]

[symbol] why do u hate lesbians?

“  –  you think i hate my own sister?

[julianapolskis]

❖ fmk george, bucket, ur mom

“  –  what the fuck’s wrong with you? i’m not  –  i’m not even gonna DIGNIFY that shit with a response.  –  –  –  i’d marry my mom, and get that shit annulled ASAP, then i’d sleep with george… and freaking  –  kill bucket, i guess. 

[julianapolskis]

❖ ok, concept..... you, pippa, bucket, a bed, some condoms. thots?

“  –  you’re seriously asking if i’d have a THREESOME… with my best friend and pippa espina? fuck, man. i dunno, throw some weed in there, and maybe. shit’s weird. 

[julianapolskis]

fmk : pippa, bucket and ... george

“  –  i’d fuck bucket, marry george and, uh… not really the nicest way of saying THANKS, or whatever, but yeah  –  kill pippa. 

[julianapolskis]

❖ how's it feel not being a virgin anymore?

“  –  like i can conquer the world… what d’ya think? i feel the same i did a month ago.

[julianapolskis]

do you see yourself having a future, with anyone in black spring?

“  –  i don’t see a future, period.