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allondonboy · 7 years

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Medicine for the Soul

Chapter 1 - Allegro molto appassionato: solo (AO3)

Summary: After Jeremiah's death, Alex thinks they've put down their violin for good. In their first year of college and with a lot of prodding from Kara, Lucy and Maggie, they pick it up again and discover that music really is medicine for the soul. a.k.a. the completely unwarranted college, music, and nb!Alex AU.

Notes: With many thanks to Sky @icoulddancettothisbeat for betaing and brainstorming with me. If you're interested, the versions of the Mendelssohn concerto I've been listening to are by David Garrett and Julia Fischer. Title inspired by Nathan West's tattoo because it's awesome. Chapter titles come from the arrangement of the concerto for flute because that's the one I've got.

@onefootone this is the nb!Alex college au you asked to be sent the link for, hope that’s still okay :)

They hear segments of songs everywhere, and it aches inside their chest.

They try and soothe it by playing playlists on loop, moving between genres and composers and bands in the desperate hope that merely listening will fill this void.

But no. The humming, yes, more, but every time they dare to murmur a line of lyrics a shot of anxiety cuts it short because what if people hear?

They crave it, Alex craves the freedom of playing, bow in hand, fingertips dancing on the strings with just enough pressure to get that note – there, but right now there’s an internal battle inside them between this craving and the crippling fear of being judged.

Three days later and Alex is kneeling in front of their bed, staring at their violin case. Shut.

They run their hands over the top and let the memories flood over them.

“I want a sticker, I want a sticker like that, Dad!” Alex bounces on their toes and gestures excitedly to the cellist just disappearing into the auditorium with a case covered in tour stickers and, more importantly, one saying May the Fourth be with you.

Jeremiah keeps hold of Alex’s other hand as they’re shepherded through to the foyer with the other early arrivals.

“Tell you what, Al,” he says, ruffling their hair. “For every year you keep playing, I’ll get you a sticker.”

A week later, Alex comes home to find an envelope on the table with their name on, and their shriek of excitement at their very first sticker makes Jeremiah laugh and Eliza beam and they both look on proudly as Alex gives them a mini recital.

Alex picks at the corner of that sticker, then presses it down where the adhesive has failed from being moved from case to case. It’s faded now, and half covered by Utah Youth Orchestra 2004. Fifteen in all: ten from Jeremiah, handed to them religiously on the same date every year, and four for each year they were in the UYO.

The final one sits at the head of the case and Alex feels a familiar lump lodge itself in their throat as they turn their head to trace the familiar words.

“I’m so proud of you, Alex.” Jeremiah picks them up and spins them round. Their usual protests of “I’m eleven, Dad!” don’t feature as they grin up at him and hug him tight.

“Thanks,” they say somewhat abashedly, and blush. Jeremiah tries to ruffle their hair but they dance out of the way with a laugh. He reaches into his back pocket and slips out a familiar envelope.

“Here. An extra one.”

I play the violin. What’s your superpower?

The irony.

A burst of anger courses through Alex and they shove the case to the back of the bed, curling up on the floor, fists pushing into the floor, then their eyes, then wrapping around their biceps to squeeze out the pain, the memories.

Alex forgets about their violin for a busy five and a bit days until a laundry crisis has them hunting for socks in every nook and cranny of their half of the room. Under their bed they find three (where the other one went they have no idea), and their slightly crushed music folder.

If found, please return to Alex Danvers stares up at them in Alex’s childish scrawl, and they flip it open to see a page of technical exercises with pencil scratchings all over it. They slide it out and a grin slips across their lips before they can stop it. They settle on their bed, socks forgotten, and lean back against the wall with a pencil in their left hand, fingers tapping out patterns as they run their eyes down the notes.

They get half way down the page and toss it aside, flicking through the folder and letting their grin turn into a full-blown smile at what is pretty much a comprehensive history of their musical career. When they get to the end of the books at the back of the folder their heart shudders and they swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Carefully, they extract the book and run their fingers over the title, slowly opening it up and seeing another Alex Danvers in neater handwriting, then they turn the page to the start of the piece.

At the site of the familiar notes Alex’s heart squeezes again and they’re back in Abravanel Hall watching the soloist, slack-jawed, as she plays notes Alex can only dream of reaching let alone mastering with such warmth.

“Alex?” It takes Jeremiah a moment to notice the lack of small child behind him and he heads back along the row to put a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“I want to sound like that.” It’s a whisper and he almost doesn’t catch it, but then he does and he folds out the seat again to sit next to them. “She sounded like magic.”

“You can sound like that, if you put the hours in.”

Alex nods slowly. “Lots of practice. More than for surfing, maybe.”

“You can still surf, Al.”

“Of course I can still surf,” Alex scoffs, giving Jeremiah such a dirty look he has to fight to keep a straight face.

Alex’s heart is playing tug of war between happiness and sorrow, and they rub at their eyes with one hand as they take in the markings they’ve left all over the concerto. Despite having made them more or less ten years ago they can remember making the vast majority of them.

Aim HERE! is written above a particularly fast passage.

Freefall! and an arrow mark one of their favourite runs.

Soft, slow are framed by a mass of notes about phrasing.

The third movement is entirely blank, and Alex gives it no more than a cursory glance before setting the music down.

“I did some research, Dad, and I think this is the best one to get,” Alex says as they spin on the computer chair. Jeremiah leans down and scrolls through the description.

“Have you spoken to your teacher about learning this?” he asks, and Alex shrugs.

“If she doesn’t want to teach me to play it I can teach myself. Just needs lots of practice, right?” they say and look up at him with such wide eyes Jeremiah can’t help but smile.

“Budge.” Alex hops out of the chair and lets their dad sit down. “Remember that she’s the expert. If she thinks you’re not ready, work with her. This is a really famous concerto, Alex. I don’t think there are many nine-year-olds who’d be able to play it.”

The next day, Alex wakes up to an orchestra playing itself in circles in their head. They groan, hear Lucy groan in reply, and cover their head with their pillow in an attempt to go back to sleep.

They give up after ten minutes of a concerto so familiar they catch themselves humming it as they grab their running clothes and change, deliberately selecting a Bare Naked Ladies playlist on their phone as they head out.

Mendelssohn was not going to ruin the day before it had even started.

Alex’s teacher whistles. “Mendelssohn in E Minor? Alex, that’s - ”

“I can do it.” Alex has their hands deep in their pockets and their shoulders back, chin jutted out almost defiantly as their teacher sighs and puts down the music.

“I’m not saying you can’t, but pieces like this require a certain level of…experience. Musical maturity.”

“I’ll get experience, then. And Mom says I’m mature for my age.”

Their teacher laughs. “As true as I’m sure that is, this isn’t a piece you can just pick up and play. From where you are now, this is going to take years.”

Except their teacher doesn’t know that you should never hint to Alex Danvers that they can’t do something – especially not nine-year-old Alex Danvers with a steely glint in their eye.

The run doesn’t help. Or, it helps in every way except getting the Mendelssohn out of their head, and Alex starts to curse their irritatingly good memory as they make their way to labs, fingers absently starting to tap out the notes on their thigh until they notice and dig their nails into their palm instead.

It’s a long day. A frustrating day, because 9-to-5 labs and basic lab safety means no listening to anything other than the whirr of the fume hoods and the gurgle of the rotary evaporator (shit the gurgle of the rotary evaporator) while Mendelssohn drives them to snap at anyone who tells them that their solution shouldn’t be that colour. They know it shouldn’t – it’s not their fault that down down up down trill and slide, down is being drilled into their head without their permission.

It appears their face says it all and Lucy silently hands them a fresh cup of coffee once they’ve shrugged out of their lab coat and packed Lucy’s stuff into their bag so she doesn’t have to lug it down to ROTC training.

“Donuts?”

Alex nods grimly. “Donuts.”

Lucy claps them on the shoulder and jogs off, leaving Alex to jab headphones in their ears and storm off to the library, music uncomfortably loud and yet still not distracting enough.

Their seat in the library is thankfully empty. Disregarding whatever pecking order there might be in the communal study spaces, Alex had already stared down several, surprisingly less stressed older students who had dared to sit at the table they had claimed as theirs on the first day of classes.

Their seat is free, but their table is decidedly not. Alex ignores the prickle of irritation on the back of their neck as they take in just how much of the surface space is being taken up by the other person’s sprawled textbooks, and subtly shifts them towards the centre of the table as they unload their notes.

The girl makes an apologetic noise and tugs her notes further towards her, and Alex wastes no more than a glance on her before they settle back to get started on their report.

Alex is annotating a graph when their phone bleeps, and they see the screen flash once before it goes dead. They curse under their breath, causing the girl to briefly flick her eyes up to theirs, and then they’re fumbling in their bag for their charger – damn.

They were in such a hurry they didn’t grab it from their desk, and now they’ve got nothing filling their head to soak up distractions like a sponge, and speaking of distractions –

“Fuck.” They drop their head to the table and this time the girl looks up properly just as Alex lets out a quiet groan as their brain picks up the concerto.

Again.

Alex stares at their violin.

It’s beautiful. Sleek wood, carrying a scent that reminds them so much of home, looking just like it did the last time they put it away.

Alex’s hand shakes as they pick it up and give the A string an experimental twang. They wince at the resulting soggy thwump that is most definitely not an A, and carefully wind the tuning peg until the string sits somewhere in the region of the right note – they’ve never had perfect pitch, not like Kara.

They quickly tune the other strings, thankfully not quite as bad as the first, and apply resin to the now pretty old horsehair of their bow after the customary puffy sneeze as the resin case releases a cloud of dust.

Alex tucks the violin under their chin and takes a deep breath. They explore the strings with their fingers as their hand falls instinctively into the right position and they straighten their back, drop their shoulders, close their eyes.

They bring the bow to the strings, slowly, carefully, and pull a note out of the violin so hesitantly that for a moment Alex thinks they’ve missed the violin altogether.

But no – it’s there, just quiet, wobbly, like a new-born foal trying to find its feet for the first time.

Alex feels their face relax into what Jeremiah jokingly called their ‘practice frown’, and they play a couple of scales and arpeggios more confidently, fingertips deftly finding the notes with only a couple of slips and it feels incredible. Liberating.

Alex huffs out a sigh and frowns harder, reaching way back into their memory to find the shorter pieces they used to play – ah.

The violin is back up instantly and their fingers are flying through a series of jigs they had fallen in love with once their teacher had convinced them that practicing the same concerto over and over again was a sure-fire way to never finish learning it.

“You’ll get bored if you only practice this and your scales.”

“No I won’t.” Alex is almost bouncing as they pack their music away, eyes shining after a particularly productive lesson.

“You will, Alex.”

“Nope!”

Three lessons later they arrive, and fidget when their teacher asks them how much practice they got done.

“Um,” they begin, and she gives them a knowing smile.

“I looked out some of my old favourites for you,” she says, and reaches into her tattered bag to pass them a bundle of well-thumbed books. “Have a flick through those when you get home, and choose a couple that you want to learn. We’ve got to keep a busy mind like yours entertained, after all.”

Alex blushes and nods, slipping the books into their bag.

“I don’t want to stop playing the Mendelssohn though,” they say, getting their violin out.

“Think of it instead as furthering your musical education. When you perform, you want to bring together all your technique and all your understanding – and remember when I said you needed musical experience for this piece? This is what I meant. Dabble in other composers, try out different styles. You might find something you like more.”

Alex pffts, causing their teacher to laugh.

“Evening, Danvers.”

Alex nearly drops their violin at Lucy’s voice. They go to shove it back in the case but remember at the last second that it is in fact a very precious instrument, so they put it down firmly instead. Lucy pauses as she grabs her towel and waves a hand in Alex’s general direction.

“You don’t have to stop on my account,” she says, but Alex is already unclipping their shoulder rest and loosening their bow, and before Lucy is out the door the violin is back under their bed and they’ve reburied their face in their pillow.

#nb!alex #sanvers fic #sanvers #alex danvers #sanvers au #my fic #medicine for the soul

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thecosmiccuttlefish · 7 years

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This Post Was A Long Time Coming

I can’t handle eating disorders. They’re the worst. I hate them I hate them I hate them, and FRANKLY I don’t see how I can exercise ever and be recovered. What does recovery look like? Well, I think it looks like me not thinking about eating disorders.

Eating eating eating. How can I “eat healthy” and not have an eating disorder? I don’t know.

Last last night was crazy.

Clementine and I went downtown, had sushi. My mum said I didn’t have enough to eat. I ordered more than my quinoa cone and soup, a salmon roll and some of Julia’s “hideous” cream cheese roll.

Then we went down the street, in the cold, to a strip club. I said I was going to eat more, I didn’t.

It was “ladies night” and the club was on the second floor of a building. Right underneath a “Polish Rub” massage parlor. I was expecting some stingy, scary, place. So, much to my relief when I got there there was a cluster of late 20-40 year old women. All laughing joyously as wine had already coursed through their system. A couple gay men as well. We waited in a clean and bright lobby in front of an elevator. In preparation they had sent the ladies back down.

Eventually we all decided to “storm the upstairs” and so up we went. We paid, they scanned our ID’s and we found seats. The chairs were set up around a large stage in a circular fashion. Soon, a socitally-pretty blonde girl in a strap-y white flowing dress came and offered us drinks. Julia ordered a gin and tonic. I wasn’t sure what to get at first (I was thinking calories). A eastern european woman and her husband sat beside julia. “Suckkksss for youuuuu” I said smiling as the man sat next to her. “Margooo” She said in a pleading voice. The woman received a what looked like a margarita that was green, and sparking. When I asked what it was she said that she had asked for “Something sweet.”. She asked I could try if I liked, I declined. Her husband had ordered some non-alcoholic beverage as well.

Eventually, I followed Julia’s lead. The Society Approved Pretty Girl (SAPG) waitress kind of approached me and said “One bill? Or two?” Okay. So if Clementine and I are in some lesbian relationship, or I’m trying in vain to woo her by taking her to a male strip show, I’m the butch. Or, I exude the dominant personality vibe. Was what I gained from that interaction. Once the SAPG asked if this was our first time (and we told her it was) she took a liking to us. She gave us the tip that if we went and purchased a bunch of one dollar bills, and folded them over the barrier between the table and the stage, the strippers would come and pay extra close attention to us.

Later, when our water split on our ones’. She came and mopped up. “I’m not done” said she. She returned with a pile of napkins and one by one placed the bills in between the sheets, pressed them, then pulled them out for us to continue sticking into stripper’s butt cracks and the like.

I saw a guy walk around with a tacky white shirt and glasses. I thought he was a dancer. Clementine corrected me. “Nah. I think he’s like their announcer or pimp.” She’s surprisingly intuitive sometimes.

Eventually the men came out, one by one and began to perform for us.

The first guy was a cop. He came out with a big bag of props and began to dance around circle stage. The lovely middle aged people from the lobby were seated from 1-4 o’clock (If clementine and I were somewhere around 5) Past the drink couple was a group of women including this one who interested me. She did this thing where she placed her chin on her hands and would just watch the dancer like her stare alone could seduce them. She bit her lip turn her gaze upwards and give money. Like she was in control or something. I don’t know. I kept string back at her, judging her silently. Cop guy was pretty cool. He was the best dancer skill wise. He had fire, and impressive pole acrobatics. This could be to make up for the fact that his penis was small.

(That’s right, they go full nudity.)

I was really getting into it, or trying to at least, so I took the pretty server’s advice and folded bills over the ledge. The guy came around and took his towel and put it around my head and waggled his penis around. Wow.

At the end when I threw him an extra dolla’ bill he kissed my hand and said: “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

Then a cowboy, who didn't have many moves but a very big penis.

Then some inconspicuous SWAT team guy with the color scheme of an edgy lifeguard. Black and red. This guy’s name was Casanova. He was the “hottest” according to the pretty server who told us told us this ahead of time upon Clementine’s inquiry.

During the whole night the flamboyant MC was announcing between performances “If any of you would like a private dance from any of these fine gentlemen, you can do so for only twenty five dollars!” I was thinking about it the entire time. Clementine and I joked about it, she even pondered if we could get one together and by the end I was so... revved up, it was clear I was the most into the idea, so I told clementine: “Wait here.” and I went and withdrew $25 from the ATM with the ludicrous withdrawal charge of $5.

Then, began to make my way across the short room, past scantly dressed ladies and female strippers who were beginning to make their presence known for the start of their show. The first one was dressed like a bride, I believe. I tapped the MC, the sunglassed man, the flamboyant fella’, on the shoulder of his white T-shirt.“Hi... Um, I’d like to have a private dance.”I held out my meager offering of dollar bills.“Sure darling, who with?”“Um... Casanova. Please.”“Alright.” He touched me on the back and sat me down in a booth. “Wait here. I’ll go tell him.”So I sat on the booth until MC mcDazzle returned.“Casanova is coming soon. He just has a lot of lotion on him right now and is trying to wash it off. Wait here.”

“Oh okay.”

Watching the current female stripper who was in the middle of lighting a heart she drew on the stage with alcohol on fire, and Clementine observe her nonchalantly made me wonder if I had made a mistake, If I should stay and watch this snazzy show, but I didn't have much time to think it over though, because soon came someone to tell me I couldn’t sit at the private booth unless I’d paid for it, and then not long after that came Casanova.“Are you Margo?” He said, touching me gently.I smiled. “Yes.” He smiled “Follow me.”

He then lead me back past the dressing rooms to a lounge lit with neon lights and consisted of several nooks. Each with a couch and a curtain, which was rung like a shower curtain protecting it. Carmelo sat me down and I looked to the left, where I just saw into another nook. Two girls were being entertained by one dancer. “Shoot.” I thought. “I could’ve brought Clementine.” The dancer was the first one, the policeman now dressed down, who looked over to Casanova and said something which imbued me with the impression that the girls were the least of their concerns, and they (the policeman dancer in particular) were more concerned with money and physical sensation than anything else.The retired police man said something like: “So, do I just go out there and like... ask them? I've had like three girls already!!!” Something like that?Then my personal S.W.A.T man, who imbued with me the sense that he was macho, experienced, and didn't give a darn care about what the other dancer said or did.Then, my dear Casanova closed the curtain and focused on me.

“Is this your first time?” My genie from a passion bottle inquired

“Yes...” I responded.

Casanova smiled knowingly.

“Are you nervous?”

I wasn't nervous, but to play his game of misogyny and predictability for some reason I can’t fathom I smiled as sweetly as I could and said “Yes.”

“Why are you nervous?” A smile crept on Casanova’s lips. “I’m getting naked for you.” I smiled in return. My willingness to buy into his preplanned Q and A had worked. I had pleased my fairy god stripper. He began to get naked. He swayed his hips and gently pushed my shoulders into the seat. “Just relax.” He told me.

And with articles of clothing falling on the floor like snowflakes, or male ejaculation choose your own adventure, my dear sweet titillating Casanova began to dance.

Now you have to understand, here he is, dancing for a skinny girl, suffering from anorexia who has a muted sense of humor but no hormones. For him, I imagine it was like throwing hay at a dead hamster. Unenjoyable and lifeless as that metaphor. The stripper equivalent of putting paper into a jammed scanner. Limp and lifeless as his penis.

He was good humored though, as I began my Q an A

“So.” I asked. “Do you like your job?”

“If I didn’t like it then I wouldn’t be doing it...” he purred.

“Where did you learn to dance?”

“I don’t know.... when I was a kid on the street I would dance. I just learned.”

He leaned over me. Swung his penis around. I was entranced by his abdominal muscles.

“Can I touch?”

“Sure.”

So I awkwardly ran my hands along his saucy obliques.

The *ttch tch tch* was playing in the background. The purple and blues of the mood lit room created an intriguing ambiance, and I was entertained to say the least by my macho man candy for hire.

Soon though, he pulled me up gently by the hand and said “Thank you.”

With that, I stumbled back out to the club and sat down on my stool just in time to catch the stipper with black hair and a tight body slide slip out of a kiddie pool and slide across the the soaped stage flat belly first.

“How was it?” asked Clementine.

“It was good.” I told her.

We watched the ladies for a bit and mused at how much more talented they were than the men, and how much more fun they were to watch.

Near the end of our stay, Cassanova came by our table and made small talk with Clementine. I could tell by the way he looked at her, and the amount of eye contact he made with my friend that he favored her.

He passed her his phone. “Here. Put in your number.” Clementine did so,

then he passed it to me and requested I do the same.

Now why, I gave into the whims of this man, I don’t even know. I was being seduced. But I gave in.

Have you read the book “The Game”? Highly recommend. It’s about that shit. manipulation and the rest.

Then he leaned over to Clementine and I and said “Give me a kiss.”

Clementine kissed him on his cheek. Lo and behold, so did I.

I can’t believe I give into this shit!

He did give us the name of a good club though, I believe it was called the “Temple”

Anywhoo, we walked down the streets afterwards and was looking for the club. There was people trying to sell us bracelets, getting us in for cheaper into other clubs that looked all rainbow in their spelling, which was kind of confusing because why would they be selling it to us for cheaper if they couldn't make a profit.

Interesting fact, it seemed to me that the clubs were very divided by race. Like, skin tone. The first club we passed by was the white young people club. Then the club with people selling wrist bands outside was definitely lots of Asian people.

Anyways, eventually we got to the Temple. What a place. It was definitely the black people club.

I was struck my the hired dancers dancing against the walls. It was cool to see them, how they made eye contact with each other to take breaks.

I asked for something to drink at the bar, something “sweet”

The guy just looked at me. “We don’t really do that here.” He said.

He attempted to make something sweetish, and charged me 11 dollars for it. I barley even touched it. Alcohol has calories...

We danced. Clementine kept asking me if I was okay, like if I was on drugs or something. I was just spacing out and taking it all in. What did it mean? It felt like entire world was in this club! But it wasn't. Not even a fragment of the city was here. The rest were at home, working, with families, sleeping, relaxing. What was everyone running from?

We grinded with some guys. I saw a tall, guy with freckles across the dance floor, my kind of catch, but I grimaced as I saw he was towing a cute girl by the hand.

It didn't take long for clementine to lock eyes with some guy and get swept away. Grind fest.

Eventually we broke away and I worked up the courage to ask these guys to play pool.

More hired ladies came through the dance floor with champagne bottles in holders that looked like jet planes.

Clementine came to me and said the guy wanted to take her somewhere.

“Maybe not.” I suggested.

She went anyways.

I figured I was a bad friend for letting her go or something. But I almost didn't care, I was disassociating all over the place. It was so loud..

I played more pool, then went back on the dance floor and looked at this one twitchy guy who was making eye contact with me on the regular. So, I made eye contact with him eventually and got to moving in. “Do you want to dance?” He asked. “Sure.” I responded.

His dancing was just as twitchy as his eye contact. He wasn't even grinding to the music. Eventually I just turned around and said “Thank You.”

Clementine found me, thank god. the guy still in tow and who did we happen to run into but the tall attractive guy with freckles. But it wasn't any guy. It was Damien. Damien Stork from High School. This guy I had this massive crush on and wore lose shirts around but he was kind of an asshole and couldn't accept when he had been tagged and disobeyed his parents. But boy was he smat.

I asked him, trying to look as attractive as possible next to his perfect attractive friends “What are you doing now?” “Stocks” “Of course you are.”

Of course Damien Stork is doing freakin’ stocks. What else would be be doing?

“How is that?”

“It’s crazy,” said Damien, his eyes alight. “You’ll make 300,000 one day and loose 200,000 the next.”

He is highly ADHD. I remember my parents telling me this, I also know they refused to medicate him. So there. Though... I think he asked for it... begged for it?

Anyways, eventually his beautiful girl friend dragged him away and we went back to dancing.

Somewhere in there a stout asian man grabbed Clementine and talked to her. She later told me he was asking her questions like “Can I ask you a few questions” and “What is your favorite color” ect. He wanted her to come to a ranch in the country??? Sugar baby? Soon we left.

We went to the bathroom and Clementine asked if I wanted to go... I kind of wanted to stay till closing. To see what it was like, but we determined it wasn't until a few hours at least. 4am? So we left. While getting our jackets Clementine embraced with her man for a long kiss. He wanted to take her home, then we went home.

We saw Damien and his girl outside.

The taxi driver... I felt like he ripped us off somehow. Something to do with him turning off the money counter display... but I can’t remember why?

I collapsed, but felt oddly rested the next day.

In the morning I felt violated, the strip club part especially, but it’s okay now. Now it just feels like a story.

#life #story #long post

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