Tier 3+ Story 📜 "The Magician" (PART II - Act 20) (Patreon)

Content (for the whole story): original content, w/w, cryptid (?) pregnancy, nb(?)preg, sexual & kink awakening, stuffing, nausea, gender ambiguity, birth, transphobia, dysphoria, depression & suicidal thoughts, parental conflicts, use of alcohol and other drugs, demons

Quicklinks: Read all from the start | Act 1-3 | Act 4 | Act 5 | Act 6 | Act 7 | Act 8 | Act9 | Act 10 | Act 11 | Act 12 | Act 13 | Act 14 l Act 15 | Act 16 | Act 17 | Act 18 | Act 19 

Before you begin I want to remind you of the content warnings. This chapter is especially tough. Please proceed with caution, and if you're affected, please know that you're strong and not alone, and that I - and Schpog - are proud of you for still being here.

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T H E  ☆ M A G I C I A N

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P A R T - II

Act 20

Mel, 14 years earlier

Mel closed his eyes, feeling the cool night air breeze caressing his cheeks and hair. It felt soothing.

Las Vegas at night was absolutely marvelous. This was a good place to contemplate. Or more to come to terms with reality, as no contemplation was needed anymore.

He had to face it. At least one time.

Everything he learned, everything he fought for, everything he had to forgo, everyone he had left behind to reach his goal; It was all in vain. He would never be a prestigious magician. It was all for nothing.

He had given it all. It just wasn’t enough. It would never be. He was partially living on the street for almost three years now, and if anything, things were getting worse every month. Less gigs. Less people tossing him some coins for his street magic. Fewer locations willing to showcase his acts, even when he offered to perform for free.

It was his own fault really. He had been overconfident and cocky, even thinking he might be the next Houdini one day. He should’ve known better. In this time and age, with so many digital tricks and special effects and TV fantasy, people weren’t interested in magic and wonder in the analogue world anymore. And even if they were, he was one out of thousands of performers.

His parents have been right. They always had been.

Darkness took his heart in its brutal grip and clenched so tightly it physically hurt.

He had disgraced them. Had betrayed them. Mel has been their ticket to a brighter future and good sunset years, and he has ripped that off their hands.

Coming from a lower class background, they had been working hard for their whole life to provide Mel the most fertile ground: a good private school, private tuition in ballet, several languages, riding, fine arts, social etiquettes. Later he had found out that they even had been bribing people to get him access to high society events, because they always preached: Luck is key to success in this world; The more influential people you know, the luckier you are.

Now standing in front of the pile of shards that used to be his life he understood that they had been right all along.

He had broken their hearts. Not just once, but twice. He also remembered the exact moment it happened. How would he ever be able to forget? It was burnt into his mind like a branding iron in flesh.

The first was when he was 14 and had told them that he wasn’t a girl. They were able to deal with that eventually somehow - albeit barely - because for them it was all about success. They had to come to the conclusion that a son had more chances in life than a daughter. Though he had seen the pain in their shocked eyes when he finally shared how he had always felt.

The second time was when he turned 18. He had been practicing illusions in secret for almost ten years by then, knowing fully that his parents wouldn’t be fond of it. They wanted him to become a lawyer, a doctor, a professor, a rich businessman, famous artist or maybe reconsider and marry an influential man.

But he didn’t want to lie to them and himself anymore. So he had studied hard to at least finish the school they had paid for, and with that done, being a legal adult by then, he finally revealed his deepest wish to them.

He had prepared a whole big show, just for them. His first ever. Put his whole heart into it, with impressive decorations and overwhelming tricks, so that it would hopefully enable them to feel his passion. To make them understand he was meant to be a magician.

They were laughing at first, marveling at his tricks. But they soon felt that it wasn’t a simple little performance their son had put together in just a few days. They realized the dedication and slowly understood that Mel had been doing this for a long time by then. Once the show ended and Mel proposed to them his aspiration of career - that was when their heart broke a second time. This time beyond repair.

For a week they had tried to fix it. All three of them. Mel by explaining himself, his desires and wishes over and over. His parents by trying to talk sense into him; They were warning, begging, yelling. Mel soon understood: He could either live a life that made them happy, or one that made him happy. There was no compromise.

So with a heavy heart, he had left them. Right where they had started, in their lower class life with underpaid jobs and no savings. He had stolen 18 years from them.

Mel felt tears running down his cheeks, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t care about that.

He was defeated. Too weak to continue fighting or wearing any kind of persona, as performers had to. The world was allowed to see him cry.

Yesterday there was still hope running through his veins. But it couldn’t have been much, in retrospect, considering that one simple interview had been the final straw.

I had been supposed to be just a simple talk with the manager of a cheap club. Mel wanted to perform there and came over to present his repertoire and talk about the details. The manager had listened in silence for almost thirty minutes - then, when Mel finally had finished, he took a long breath and said: “There’s nothing special about you.”

He was a stranger. A nobody, hosting a shady, run down club without any aspiration. It shouldn’t have hurt so much, what such a person thought about Mel; Yet exactly because of who he was it hurt more than anything Mel had heard in his last three years in Vegas.

“Sorry kid, but it’s the truth. You know how many performers want my stage? You’d be surprised. You’re ok, but you’re lacking a special… you know, something. You either have it, kid, or you don’t. A word of free advice: Give up. Look for a secure job while you still can. You look like shit, to be frank. You won’t make it much longer. I have seen hundreds of people like you gone to waste. I only mean well, kiddo. It’s a tough life.”

That was when Mel understood that he had hit rock bottom.

Without another word, Mel had left his rundown office and somehow found himself in an even more shabby bar, exchanging all of his savings - which was almost nothing - for hard alcohol. He had proceeded by puking out said alcohol in the most shabby public bathroom ever, then tumbled into some back alleys, bypassed some obstacles, climbed some ladders - until he finally was here, on the rooftop of who-knew-what building, watching the beautiful, mesmerizing lights afar and passing by on the road below, in this city he had always dreamed of as a child.

As much as he wanted to hate it, he couldn’t. He still loved Las Vegas, in all its cruelty.

Absent-mindedly, more out of a habit than anything else, he took out his phone to check his messages. The clock showed 1:49 AM. Nobody had called, nobody had texted.

Was this really how life was supposed to be? Success at the price of your hopes, wishes and even yourself? Or to be yourself and be miserable?

Maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there still was a chance to be yourself and at least somewhat fulfilled. Maybe if Mel made it a hobby and looked for a job that satisfied his parents. That might be a compromise, right?

He looked at his phone again. It must’ve been around noon now in the Netherlands. His parents would be awake.

For the first time in three years he dialed his old phone number again, hoping it was still the same.

A connection was established.

Then, somebody picked up.

“Yes?”

He recognized his mothers voice instantly. Tears started to run down his face again. Oh, how he wished to be held by her again in this moment.

“Mother, it’s me,” he said in Dutch. It felt a little strange, since he hadn’t talked a single word in his language for over three years now.

The phone went silent.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called for so long. I … I just wanted to hear your voice…”

Still silence. She was denying his request.

“And…” he continued anxiously, “I … I was hoping we could… maybe… be in contact again.”

Finally she answered, but her words hit like a fist.

“Who am I talking to?”

Mel grabbed the fabric of his chest. “Mother, you know who -”

“Answer my question.”

“Your child.”

“No. Your name.”

Mel’s mouth went dry and his fingers started to shake. No, not this… Not now.

“Mother, please -”

“State your name.”

“It’s not important right now -”

“It is to me. I need to know if I’m talking to my beloved daughter █████, or to the alleged man who took her away from me and destroyed my life.”

Mel couldn’t stop crying.

“Mother, I beg you, listen -”

“No. You are a stranger. Don’t call again, unless you finally understand what you have done to us and give me back my daughter. Goodbye.”

A beeping signal indicated that the call had ended.

Slowly, Mel lowered his hand.

The last strings of hope were severed. The burning pain had turned into an overarching, unbearable firestorm that burnt everything into the ground. There was nothing left to do.

He stepped on the edge of the rooftop.

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Act 20½ - Intermission

Demon

The time has come. Finally.

The demon had been following this idiot around for almost half a year now. It had been entertaining at first, but had gone pretty boring towards the end now, since he lost his will to truly fight. To be honest he was surprised - no, even impressed - at how long he had managed to pull through.

He was an interesting one. Well, of course he was, or else the demon wouldn’t waste her damn time with him. What made him special was that, unlike many others who wished for fame, he was actually working hard for it. Like, really hard. And he was skilled, charming and not bad looking, either. But the poor dude was insanely unlucky and a little dumb. Well, gullible. He constantly met the wrong people, made the wrong choices and just refused to learn about the darkness in people’s hearts. He missed bite. Self-assertion. He was too kind. That damn fool even made shows without any sort of payment, not realizing how that slowly destroyed his reputation. For what the demon knew, he probably wouldn’t even run after a thief when they’d take all of his daily earnings, thinking that ‘they have a reason to do something like that’.

With this attitude, his downfall was deemed to happen. Especially in showbiz.

At first the demon watched in amusement. To pass time. He was its personal soap opera.

But in the last months he kinda grew on her. Like … an annoying animal you didn’t like at first, but

get accustomed to. You’d miss it if it’d be gone.

So she changed her plans and decided to do something drastic about it. Something the demon originally never, ever wanted to do again. Something that he most likely wouldn’t have agreed to until today.

Now, the moment has come.

▶️ NEXT CHAPTER 

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Story written by RoseVirage
Proof Reader: Doombeez, xtrachubbybunny Dutch Consultant: EN_NSFW, Emotional Support Reader: Serialfiller1, xtrachubbybunny

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