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ladykailitha · 11 months

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Royal Pain Part 9

Hello! Thank you so much for the out pouring of support last time. I love that everyone loved the tattoo idea. If you want to see a basic idea of what it would look like, check the reblogs of part 8 (though if I had the energy I would throw into an editing program I’d skinny up the sword a bit and make the wings wider).

We meet the candidates for the apprenticeship and we learn the history of Jeff’s tattoo (warning for racism and bad cops) and Eddie’s reason for the wings.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Steve walked back to the front the little paper in his shaking hands.

“I’ve already had a couple people this morning asking about the apprentice gig,” Robin told him. “When should I have them come in?”

Steve rubbed him bottom lip thoughtfully. “I don’t have to go to Dustin’s until 5pm on Sunday, so have them all come at 10am then.”

Robin nodded. “He choose a design then?” she asked, nodded to the paper in his hand.

Steve nodded back his lips pressed together as he handed it to her to scan.

She looked down at it in shock. “He picked this one?”

Steve nodded again, unsure if he could trust himself to speak.

“This is going to take a long time and a lot of money,” Robin whispered. “He’s aware of that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve croaked. “He knows. He was very insistent and is able to pay for it. All of it.”

Robin nodded. “Then let’s get this bad boy printed for him then.”

She printed it into three pieces. One for each wing and one for the sword.

When he came back into the room, Eddie was laying on his chest with his shirt off. Steve licked his lips as his eyes trailed down the plains of Eddie’s back to where it dipped into the man’s jeans.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought it was going to be.

“Okay,” Steve said after taking a moment to compose himself. “What we are going to do is trace the outlines and then we’ll spend two to three hours each week, working on it. It will probably take about ten to twelve weeks, doing it once a week. So if you want to move it up two days a week, I would recommend that.”

Eddie twisted to face him. “Yeah, I figured it was going to take some time. When I set up my appointments with Robin, I’ll make sure to do twice a week.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said, pulling on the latex gloves and sitting down. He scooted as close to Eddie as he could and picked his gun.

“You know,” he murmured over the sound of the gun. “I don’t think you ever said why you wanted the tattoo so badly you waited to find the right person to do it for you. And thanks for trusting me with it by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Eddie said. “The work you did on Jeff’s tattoo was phenomenal. It was a very personal tattoo for him and you made it special. Did he tell you how got the scar he wanted you to cover up?”

Steve hummed, placing the first stencil down. “Yeah, something about how when Miranda and him first starting dating, someone called the cops on him, thinking he was kidnapping her. And how despite both of them saying they were on a date and Jeff having his hands up, the cop still fired, hitting his right arm.”

Eddie nodded. “It was messed up. He thought for sure Miranda was going to book it, but they stayed together and it’s been five years now.”

“So he got it for the fifth anniversary?” Steve asked, concentrating on the outline.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “It was Miranda’s suggestion, actually.”

“They seem like great people.”

Eddie smiled fondly. “The best. I think he’s still working up the courage to ask her to marry him.”

Steve laughed. “He better hurry up otherwise Robin might try and steal her from him.”

Eddie laughed too. “Well considering they both swing for both teams, she might actually have a chance.”

“Oh god,” Steve said as he finished the first wing. “Don’t tell Robin that. She might actually try. And I don’t want to mess up a good thing, you know?”

“Fair.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip a moment. “But, yeah, the tattoo. It’s to commemorate a poor boy from the trailer park making it in the big city to play music for a living. Actually fucking making it.”

Steve smiled. “And the bat wings were for the aesthetic?”

“Hell yeah they are,” Eddie replied with a grin. “But, holy shit, Stevie. The sword of fucking Kas...it’s like you read my mind or some shit.”

Steve lifted the gun as he laughed. “Nah, I just listened when you and Dustin talked about it.”

Eddie adjusted himself in the chair and loosened the muscles in his shoulders a bit. He settled and nodded. “You did really good, sweetheart. I love it.”

They just fell into conversation as easy as breathing and far too soon Steve was done with the outline.

Steve pulled off his gloves, having set aside the gun already. “Go on, it’s not much to look at right now, but the bare bones are pretty fucking all right.’’

Eddie immediately bounced to his feet to go look in the mirror. He turned every direction and after a moment of watching him Steve stood up with a large hand mirror and tilted it until Eddie could see his back.

Eddie let out a gasp. “Holy fucking shit. This is going to be so epic. I can’t wait!”

Steve smiled fondly. “I’m glad it’s starting out okay, at least.”

Eddie grinned at him through the mirror. “It’s absolutely wicked.”

“Do you have someone who can rub the lotion on your back?” Steve asked, biting his bottom lip.

Eddie nodded. “The guys have offered to take turns helping me with it until it’s done.”

Steve hummed. He was a little disappointed. He was going to offer to do it for him. But it was a bit of a relief, knowing Eddie had such good friends that were willing to take care of him.

“That’s sweet of them,” he murmured, taking the time to gently wrap the tattoo the best he could in Saran wrap to protect it on the way home.

Eddie scoffed. “They only offered because they’re excitable children who want a sneak peak at the tattoo before anyone else.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, okay. That sounds like what I’d seen of them.”

Eddie turned around once Steve was done and grinned at him. “Am I going to see you at Nightmare Holes again this weekend?”

Steve winced. “I want to but I can’t this weekend. I’m meeting a couple people on Sunday morning morning and I cannot be hungover for that.’

Eddie huffed out a small chuckle. “Maybe.”

Steve shoved at him playfully. “I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you come over again next Monday and I’ll make dinner for us again.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great, wha’cha making?”

“What do you like?” Steve asked as he cleaned up. “Italian, Chinese, Mexican? Something else? I’m sure I could find a good recipe in time.”

Eddie tapped his lip with his index finger thoughtfully. “Can you do sesame chicken?”

Steve grinned. “Oh, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I love sesame chicken and have a kick ass recipe, I think you’ll love.”

Eddie grinned back. “Can’t wait pretty boy.”

Steve flicked his cleaning rag at Eddie’s ass. “Now go on, some of us poor schlubs have to work hard for our living, rock star.��

Eddie laughed in delight as he skipped away from Steve’s deadly aim with his rag. He got to the door and saluted, before turning on his heel and walking back to the front desk, shirt in hand.

Steve picked up a dozen donuts and coffees for him and Robin. Robin had already gone in to open the shop for the interviewees so he felt he owed it to her to at least get her coffee and donuts.

When he got to the shop he was a little surprised how many cars were out front. They couldn’t all be there for the apprenticeship, could they? He walked into see the entire waiting room filled with applicants.

He turned to Robin and she looked as shocked as he was. He set the donuts in front Robin’s desk and handed her the coffee.

“Hello,” he said turning around to greet the...he quickly counted, the six hopefuls. “I’m Steve Harrington and welcome to Royal Pain. You’re all welcome to have a donut and we have water and paper cups over to the side.” He gestured to where it was and most head turned to see where he meant.

“Is this really a tattoo parlor, man?” one of the applicants asked. He was what Steve would have stereotyped a California surfer boy. Bleach blond hair that fell to his shoulders, tanned skin, dark blue eyes that were currently glaring at Steve.

Steve let his shoulders roll back as he regarded the man in question. “What? The bright, colorful design precludes it from being a place people come to get tattoos, how?”

The guy leveled another glare at Steve and then leapt to his feet. “Whatever, this blows. I’m out of here.” He stormed out, pushing the door so hard it clanged against the wall harshly.

Steve looked at the remaining five. “Anyone else have a problem with the aesthetics?”

There were people that exchanged glances, but they ended up all shaking their heads no.

“Good.”

A pretty blonde girl with bright green eyes and a sparkling smile raised her hand.

“Yes?” Steve asked pointing at her.

“Not to be lumped in with the asshole that just left,” she began shyly, “but I really don’t see any tattoos on you and, well...”

Steve grinned. “And it makes it a little hard to trust me as a tattoo artist, right?”

She nodded, her high pony tail bouncing as she did.

Robin rolled her eyes, but wisely said nothing. Steve showed her his right forearm. “I didn’t do this one, this is the first tattoo I got though.” It was of a small vanilla ice cream cone. “I got this after my first real job at an ice cream shop that burned down.”

A lot of eyebrows shot up at that, but no one uttered a word.

He pulled at his collar showing a female robin on his shoulder right below the clavicle. “Got this one when my best friend turned twenty-one. She has a matching tattoo in the same place.”

He pulled up his shirt to show a lion devouring a bloody heart on his right side. “My friends called my lion-hearted, my detractors called me a bleeding heart, so I got this.”

Steve put his shirt down. “Yeah, I don’t look like your stereotypical tattoo artist that has their whole body covered in tats. But I’m one of those weirdos that only gets a tattoo if it means something to me. But make no mistake I’m good. I have had this shop for three years and only been a tattooist for five. And I’m taking on apprentices because this shop is so busy I need the help to lighten the load.”

The girl blushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, heaving a heavy sigh. “People who look like me don’t usually become tattoo artists and I think that’s stupid. It shouldn’t just be a certain kind of person that has dyed black hair, piercings, and their body of work all over their body.”

She nodded. “I get what you mean.”

Steve smiled at her. “I figured you would.” He knew that if she was any good, he was going to pick her, hands down.

“Right,” he said turning his attention back to everyone. “I wasn’t expecting so many of you and I realize that isn’t fair to you. If you have somewhere else to be today, make an appointment with Robin,” he cocked his head her direction, “and I’ll meet with you personally at another time. But otherwise, I’ll have Robin call you in the order you arrived and we’ll talk in my room.”

He clapped his hands. “First, let’s give you a tour of the place and if you decide it’s not for you. No hard feelings. Except that guy.” He winked at them and they laughed.

He showed them his room and the other rooms that would be for the apprentices to practice in or once they got their own chair if they stayed, it would become their room.

One of the other guys decided that it wasn’t for him and Steve was left with four remaining hopefuls.

And what a strange bunch they were, too. He had the prep girl, but he also had a native boy that while he didn’t look the part of the surfer dude, embodied it with his very soul. If the guy got brought on, Steve would have to pull him aside and make sure he didn’t do marijuana at work, because the guy looked a little baked at the moment. He also had a Goth chick complete with the tattoos and piercings, and dyed black hair. She stuck out like a sore thumb, if Steve was honest. And the final hopeful was this squirrely looking guy with dark wavy brown hair.

All of them had more tattoos than Steve did.

He sighed to himself. He wasn’t sure this was going to work out. He knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, better than most, but still as he looked at the remaining applicants he felt a little disappointed.

He sighed and went back to the office to wait for Robin to call the first one in. It was going to be a long day.

***

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Look, I love Robin with all my heart, but we all know the reason she didn’t ask Vickie out wasn’t that she had a boyfriend, but that her partner was a boy. She would 100% back off if told to, but she would so go for it if she thought had a chance. (Looking at you Ronance shippers, if you think that Robin was flirting with Nancy in the Upside Down, Nancy was still with Jonathan at the time.)

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#My writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

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beezusvreeland · 6 months

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dear reader - chapter 8

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

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Chapter 8

Miguel tried to make as little noise as possible while he moved through the kitchen trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. You were asleep on the couch, mouth slightly opened and body curled to the side. Before getting up from the floor, Miguel spent a few minutes observing your sleepy figure breathing in and out. He was mesmerized by how relaxed you looked. It was so rare to see you like this. Always the one taking care of everything and everyone, including him. How was Miguel realizing that just now? The two of you had been friends for so long.

In fact, your restlessness had been something Miguel and the boys regularly used to tease and poke fun at you. “Just relax, darling”, Hobie would say, and they would go on insinuating that having a more active sex life could make things better for you. You would roll your eyes at them and say: “I’m not taking advice from a bunch of manwhores. Except you, Pav, you are a gentleman”.

Sometimes Miguel would keep at it, just to see how far he could go, what it would take for you to break. He didn’t mean any harm by it, he just got a kick out of watching you, always so proper and poised, losing your composure. Your cheeks turning red, lips pouting and your speech getting faster and confusing the more bothered you felt. It was funny then.

But things have changed since Miguel started reading your column. Or rather, his perception of you. There was so much more to you. It was fascinating to learn more about the way you saw the world, with so many nuances and big feelings and the way you were able to express it through your writing. How could one be so sensitive and articulate at the same time? If the therapy sessions with doctor Octavius taught him anything, it was the fact that discussing feelings and analyzing his own memories and actions was extremely hard. Probably one of the hardest things Miguel has ever done.

In his science and objectivity brain, he thought therapy would be like any other doctor’s appointment: get in, talk about what’s wrong, get a prescription and get out. Doctor Octavius very patiently explained that his practice worked with a different approach.

“Our process isn’t fast or linear. I can’t tell you how long it will take, it’s different for each patient. Some people come in for a few sessions and feel like that’s enough, others have been in therapy for their entire lives”, the doctor explained. “What I can tell you with certainty is that this is a safe space for you to express yourself. It’s an hour of the week all to yourself, without phones, notifications or other people’s demands. And you are free to leave and never come back if you feel that this method doesn’t make sense to you. But I hope you at least give our dynamic a chance.”

He did. There were only a handful of people in his life that he actually liked and doctor Octavius was becoming one of them. Also, Miguel didn’t have any more energy to try and find someone new. That’s why Lyla would work with him for the rest of his life, if it was up to him. She just got it. And he really appreciated that.

For the first time in his life, he was revisiting his childhood. Miguel and his younger brother, Gabriel, were raised by a single mother who overworked herself to get food on the table. There wasn’t time to discuss emotions, anything other than survival felt trivial. She did the best she could, he knew that now. But when he won his first science fair, in second grade, the young boy became addicted to the attention and praise he got from classmates and adults. Over the years, Miguel realized that if he kept focused on school, winning scholarship after scholarship, things would be better, there were so many other opportunities out there.

And he got them, while distancing himself from his origins, reinventing himself. Now that he achieved the things he wanted the most, like the cars, the house in an expensive neighborhood and the big office with a leather couch, it all just felt…empty.

“Miguel?”

You enter the kitchen with a yawn, scratching your eyes. The power was still out and the house was poorly lit by the moon and a big flashlight Miguel found in his basement.

“Gosh, that was one hell of a nap”, you stretched your arms up. “It might enter my top 3 list of best naps I’ve ever had.”

“I can tell by the drool on your mouth.”

Your hand immediately went to your mouth. There was nothing there.

“Ha-ha.”

“That was too easy”, Miguel grinned, pleased with how rested you looked and that this interaction felt more like the ones the two of you used to have. It was familiar, comforting even. Like the scent of the vanilla soap his mom used to wear or the two friendly slaps Hobie would give his back every time they met.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“What are we having for dinner?”

“Cheese, bread and olives”, he said. “Don’t look at me like that, without electricity the options were very limited.”

“I’m honestly shocked that you actually eat bread and cheese. Doesn’t that offend your gym diet or whatever?”

“We all have guilty pleasures, cariño, mine happen to be carbs and Gossip Girl.”

Your lack of response alerted Miguel of what he had just said. Nobody knew about his recent obsession with the show beyond Lyla. What if you somehow connected the dots that he started watching it after reading your column? What if you actually found out he read your column? He wasn’t supposed to know that you were the one behind “Dear reader”.

“Wait, what?”, a smile took over your face. “Did I just hear it right?”

His body relaxed with your amusement. Maybe it would be better for him just to admit and run with it.

“I hate Serena van der Woodsen”, Miguel declared.

“I don’t even know how to react to this revelation”, you leaned on the counter for support, expression still stunned and amused. “How did this even happen?”

“She slept with her best friend’s boyfriend, disappeared, then came back like nothing happened, always runs away from conflict and every single time she speaks like talking to other people was exhausting and…”

“Okay, obviously there is a lot to unpack here”, you grabbed the cheeseboard on top of the counter and gave it to Miguel, who started to cut the cheese. “How do you even know what Gossip Girl is?”

He freezed for a second.

“Did Lyla put you to it?”, you chuckled. “What can’t she do?”

“Sí…it was Lyla. I lost a bet”, it was the best he could come up with at that moment.

You nodded, smirking.

“So you hate Serena, huh? Who else do you hate?”

Miguel put the knife on the sink and turned to you.

“Who don’t I hate? They’re terrible, all of them, Chuck, Dan, Vanessa, the parents…”

You laughed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“That’s what makes them so entertaining, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, you got a point, cariño”, he stopped for a moment and added: “I do like Dorota, though”.

“Blair’s maid?”

“She is not just a maid, she is basically a mother figure for Blair.”

“Dorota is also in most of Blair’s schemes…”

“Nuh-uh, cariño. Most times she tries to put some sense in that girl’s head.”

You frowned your brows, smiling.

“I can’t believe this is a conversation we’re actually having. When did you go soft, mr. O’Hara?”

“I’m not soft.”

“Uh, yes you are. You’re a big soft softie, defending characters of a TV show made for teens that ended a decade ago”, you mocked.

Miguel gave you a serious look. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me, my friend”, you pretended to lock your mouth with an imaginary key.

Opening it again with the same imaginary key, you added: “But in case I’m ever offered a lot of money to sell any of your secrets to a corporate spy, this is the one I’m going to choose”.

“I forgot you started hallucinating when you get hungry, cariño.”

“Just think about it, they’ll think they’re stealing sensitive data from your research at Alchemax, but it’s actually just a sheet ranking the Gossip Girl characters you hate from most to least hated.”

“Why can’t you just be angry when hungry like most people?”

“It’s a brilliant plan, you’ll be thanking me someday. Hopefully at the IgNobel ceremony. You’ll have to take me to that, by the way.”

“You know it’s the Nobel prize, right?”

“Yes yes, I’m not stupid, I’m just hungry”, you give his shoulder a playful slap. “The IgNobel is another science award, but for more…unusual findings. Studies about the brain chemistry of people who see Jesus on toasts or a theory that humans developed beards to protect themselves from getting punched on the face?

“Cariño, Jesus…”

“Do you see him on toast too?”

“Enough weird science, let’s eat.”

“I’ll send you the link, it happens every year and it’s actually really funny. I’m sure Alchemax could send some stuff for consideration.”

Miguel actually laughs at that. He pretended to hate your energy bursts, but he loved it. You were a sweet drunk and a funny hungry person.

“You know what? I might actually look into it.”

Miguel brought the cheeseboard to the living room and opened a red wine that, judging by the label, was probably very expensive. You sat on the floor and toasted, then started eating.

It felt nice. Just to be there eating good food with you and enjoying a comfortable silence. And you looked so pretty with your new haircut and eyes closed while savoring the meal…

A loud sound made the two of you jump. An electronic song started playing from somewhere in the room.

“Shit, it’s my phone”, you got up to find it in your purse.

When you did, you looked at the screen and smiled.

“I have to take this, I’ll be right back”, you said, going to the next room.

The little bubble you lived in for a few hours burst. Miguel thought it was a little weird, you had a tendency to forget your phone completely while spending quality time with your friends. Maybe it was a work thing or your family checking in with you after the storm.

It had been a few minutes since you left when he started to feel uneasy. He got his phone from his pocket. A few texts in the friends’ group chat and one from Lyla:

ARE YOU ALIVE??????!

Sí, he answered, knowing that she hated monosyllabic answers.

But it had been ten minutes then and he had reorganized the cheese on the board, drank more wine and stretched his body and you still hadn’t come back.

I’m at my place with y/n.

I KNEW IT, SHE IS THE ONE YOU’VE BEEN PINING FOR!!! AAAA

No, just friends

OH, PLEASE, MIGUEL, IF I WERE STUPID YOU WOULDN’T HAVE HIRED ME

Qué

UGH REALLY?

PENDEJO

Don’t use my language against me

OH I WILL IF THAT’S WHAT MAKES YOU LISTEN TO REASON

…

YOU CAN’T JUST THROW THE INFO THAT YOU’RE TOGETHER AND LEAVE ME HERE

Just friends

UGH

IS SHE NEXT TO YOU RIGHT NOW?

No, she’s been on the phone

It’s been almost 15 minutes now

SHIT

What’s that supposed to mean?

???

Lyla???

????????

Damn it, Lyla!!!!

SHE PROBABLY HAS A BOYFRIEND AND I’M GUESSING IT ISN’T YOU

Nonsense

FOR THE FIRST TIME YOU’LL HAVE TO WORK FOR IT

IN THE DATING DEPARTMENT

…

KEEP ME INFORMED

***

Dear reader,

Intimacy can mean different things for each person. It’s something that, as women, we start building with one another since childhood. We all remember our very best friends, who we shared moments and secrets that we remember to this day. Or that one girl in middle school that we were friends with for only a few months that might as well have been years, because it caused a huge impact on us. They taught me how to be vulnerable and resilient. In many ways, those friendships were my first loves.

Recently, my editor sent me an infographic with data about you, dear readers. Nothing creepy, just things like age range and general location, you know, information every website collects. I must say, I was surprised to find that 30% of you identify as male. It didn't occur to me that this space would be of interest to you, but I’m glad it is.

Talking about intimacy reminds me of this one guy I was friendly with in college. We met in a class we had together and started talking, which evolved to texting. Our conversations revolved around homework and a sitcom we both watched. To me, it wasn’t something too deep. But to him, it was. He would bring that show up all the time, as if by itself, our one shared interest made us closer than we actually were. Like that was enough for me to fall for him, when he was actually being sort of annoying and creeping me out.

It never occurred to him to ask questions about me or my other interests. It was all about him and his perception, which was more of a fantasy than anything. No wonder so many women are frustrated in their relationships with men: they can’t match the intimacy we’ve built with each other.

However, things have been changing and women are no longer accepting to be alone in their relationships. I know I’m not. So male readers, if you take anything from this column, I hope it is this: open yourselves up, look beyond yourselves and catch up. We’ve been doing the hard work for a very long time.

That’s it for today. Next week, I’ll be answering a few of your questions, make sure to write to me in the box below. The authors shall remain anonymous and, the hate mail, ignored.

Until then, never take advice from someone who’s falling apart.

Love,

The writer

***

You came back to the living room to find Miguel playing a game on his phone. He didn’t look up to you.

“Sorry I took so long, I lost track of time”, you said sitting back on the floor and taking a sip of your glass of wine.

“It’s alright”, Miguel put his phone away. “Was it work?”

“No”, you giggled. “It was Matt, he was checking if was okay after the storm.”

“Matt?”

Miguel had a confused expression on his face, which, by experience, you knew to be fake. He had been there when Foggy talked about your first date with Matt. Why he was pretending like he didn’t know, you had no idea.

“This guy I’m seeing. You know, Foggy’s friend? The lawyer?”

“Ah, right.”

“Things have been going really well.”

Miguel didn’t say a thing, filling his mouth with cheese instead.

“He asked me to go to this fancy auction gala with him as his date. I’m excited for it.”

“Sounds like a swell guy.”

“He is.”

“A lawyer, huh? Which firm does he work in?”

“He has his own, actually.”

“Mmm.”

“Mig, what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing, I’m just eating.”

“You looked less than impressed with what I just told you.”

“How was I supposed to react, cariño?”, he sounded annoyed. As much as you told yourself that you were over him, his tone took you back to the worst days of your infatuation with him, when no matter how much you tried to impress him, he would always end up taking somebody else home.

But the thing is, you were no longer that girl. No matter how hurt you were or how much you liked Miguel, you weren’t taking shit from anyone anymore.

“You were supposed to be happy for me.”

Your delivery was calm and serious, which you could see threw Miguel off. “I have an actual shot at love and someone great who’s willing to give it to me. This never happened to me before. I never felt worthy of it”, you took a deep breath. “Why can’t you root for me like I’ve always rooted for you?”

Looking at Miguel, you didn’t find the big hot shot scientist, but rather just a guy who had no idea of what he was doing.

You got up and went to the bathroom, well aware that you couldn’t be there with him anymore. You couldn’t go backwards and fall apart when Miguel didn’t think highly of you. No matter how much you tried, it just wasn’t going to happen.

You washed your face and threw some water on your neck to relieve some of the tension. When you opened the door, Miguel was waiting for you.

“Miguel…”

“I know, I know, cariño, please, just listen to me?”, he asked and you rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry. Of course I’m rooting for you…I guess I’m just protective of you and you haven’t had many boyfriends, so we never really had to go through this…What I’m saying is, I don’t know the guy, so I was suspicious and I shouldn’t be.”

“I’m a big girl, Miguel. I can handle myself”, sensing he was going to interrupt, you continue. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t use that tone with me ever again. Do you understand?”

“Sí, cariño, lo siento”, he nodded.

[yes, honey, I’m sorry]

“And if not knowing Matt bothers you so much, I’ll bring him to the bar one of these days and introduce you two.”

“Of course.”

You were emotionally drained. It was like having to explain very basic notions regarding people’s feelings to a big man child. In spite of it, you were proud of yourself for standing your ground and demanding the level of care and respect you deserved. A few months ago that would’ve been impossible.

“Cariño”, Miguel called, his big brown eyes filled with regret. “I just wanted to tell you I…”

He was interrupted by a loud noise, followed by people cheering on the street. The lights were back on.

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#dear reader #dear reader fanfic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #spiderverse #gwen stacy #peter b. parker #friends to lovers #oscar isaac fic #Spotify

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Convenience Store

Yandere Goddess x G.N Reader

Genre/Tags: Comedic Horror, Yandere| Mentions of blood and death

Word count: 1k

She's late again.

This is the sixth time in a row that your coworker has shown up late for work. You both work in a crappy convenience store in the middle of nowhere, where you and her are the only employees; aside from constantly changing your manager whom you never hear from unless they're screaming into the telephone.

Ding - Ding

The sliding doors' sensor alerts you to a new arrival with a friendly jingle. You know it could only be one person - since you never actually got any customers. The woman pulls off her coat and baseball cap with the line of "People fear me, Fish want me" crudely drawn on with a marker, and sits both on the floor by the coat rack. She coincidentally happens to be wearing a shirt with the same line and poor penmanship.

She strolls over to the frozen drink machine; creating a concoction of each flavor - and a bottle of an energy supplement. She, at least, makes her way to the counter; finishing the drink in a few gulps. She grins at you, eyes hidden behind red riffs of hair.

"Heya, Y/n. How's my favorite cashier?"

"Hey, Salem."

She scoffs at the nickname. "I told you that's not my name. You know what it is."

You really didn't. She never told you what it was or wore her badge. You started calling her that due to the brand of cigarettes she smoked, and created quite the tab on. You didn't care much either way, especially since you had plans after work.

"Can you hurry up and clock in? I'll be late to my appointment so they can take off this cast."

A day before your first shift, you got into an accident that broke your right arm. They still made you come in the next day, bit Salem was nice enough to draw a skull as well as write her phone number on it. Over the phone your doctor informed you that today was the day. You hope you'll be able to find the hospital in time.

Salem wiping a blood stain off the counter before she leabs against it. "Yeah, it's about that time. I made sure to give the guy who did it an extra swing before I threw him in the woodchipper."

"Thanks?"

She sighs. "I'm gonna miss all this?"

"Are you quiting or something?"

"No, but you are in a way. You're finally waking up."

"What are you talking about?"

Salem pulls out a lighter, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from behind you. "There's something I gotta tell you, Y/n."

"Okay?"

"You're dead."

"...o...kay"

"You were sacrificed by a cult to awake a being of unspeakable power. One they believed could gift them that same power, but it doesn't want that. It just wants to destroy. Been doing that for quite some time now."

"Alright."

"I'm that being, Y/n. I've kept you in this limbo for what feels like months, but has only been 48 hours. It took me a while to figure out how put you back together. It was like working with wet play-doh that kept falling apart and had bones."

"I sorta figured that out by now."

"Right. What you probably haven't figured out is that I'm in love with you. I've done this little song and dance before, but there's something about you that I can shake from my mind. I'm not even technically that God. I'm one of its meals that took over after it was killed. That's how its immortally works. Pretty vicious cycle."

Salem lights her cigarette, taking a long drag as she pats you on the back. "I'm only telling you this as a caution for what you're about to see. It ain't pretty, and I'm not either - but I don't have any plans of letting you go. I've decided to turn a new leaf. Peace and love, and all that. Less someone tries to take ya from me again.. See you in a few, Y/n."

She finally clocks in. You head to the store's exit, a white light beyond its reach. You had questions, but they would have to be left to another time as your body moves on its own. The door chimes once more as you take your final exit.

You wake on the floor of a large cabin; a foul stench in the area and piles of bodies around you. An outstretched arm lies in front of you - and nothing more. A familiar jacket is thrown over your body; your own clothes sticky and cold from the puddles of blood around you - one centering from right beneath you. You slowly sit up, remembering what happened before you died.

You were on your way home from work and had to take a side road due to construction. While making your way, a truck plowed into your car; knocking you out cold. You woke back up right before they slit your throat.

A frightened scream draws your attention to the front of the room; the alter where your life was stolen. A cult member is held in the large fist of a near indescribable figure. Its head scraps the ceiling; back turned so all you can see is the tail coat of its attire and the edge of the mask that hides its upper face. The pinkish tendrils that flow from its head weave together in what you could best describe as a lion's mane. It pulls back the mask that covers its face, a multitude of black tongues sweeping across the cult member's face before separate pairs of jaws are clamp around their body. It drops what's left of the corpse like a discarded rag; turning its head upon you.

It steps forward, a mist enveloping its body as it moves. As the fog shrinks and clears, you're left staring at your old coworker who greets you with a wide grin - fixing her cap on her head as she holds out her arms.

"Welcome back, baby! Gathered a welcoming party just for ya!"

Salem walks over, taking her jacket from your lap and putting it on before offering you her hand.

"Hope you don't forget everything I told you. Let's go get something to eat, I'm starving."

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #yandere x reader #yandere teratophilia #female yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere god #yandere monster #tw yandere #yandere writing #yandere drabble

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terramous · 2 months

Text

scared to live, scared to die

pairing: tk strand/carlos reyes title: noah kahan - northern attitude word count: 2.2k bad things happen bingo: therapy session AO3

Carlos fidgets in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, wiping the sweat from his palms on the denim of his jeans. He feels like he’s on trial.

“So, Carlos, how have you been since our last appointment?”

“Good,” he says, a little too quickly. He presses his palms together as if he were praying and sandwiches them between his thighs. His therapist is nice enough but he’s never sure of what to say when it comes to the questions Candice asks. It’s as if there’s a right answer to everything and as Carlos throws a dart–aiming for right–and it falls into the trash can underneath the dart board.

“Tell me more about ‘good’.”

Fuck. That was not the correct answer. Once again, the dart hits home in a scrunched up ball of paper.

“There’s nothing really to say,” he says. “It’s been okay, not good or bad.”

“And your sleep? Are you still having nightmares?”

Carlos shakes his head, prepared to lie, before changing his mind and nodding. “Yeah.”

Last night was one of the worst. It was the same sensation of drowning but the water was thick like molasses and every movement he made to bring himself closer to the surface, closer to finally being able to take a breath, served only to sink him even further. He’d woken up breathing hard and TK woke up not long after, running a hand in circles between his shoulder blades until he could finally breathe again.

He doesn’t know what he would do without TK. These horrors that seem unbearable were made less so by the presence of his fiancé, he always had someone to lean on and that made all the difference. He couldn’t have faced this alone, couldn’t have spent the sleepless nights with only the shadows for company, couldn’t have done it without someone stronger than him by his side.

“You previously mentioned the theme of drowning. Is it much the same?”

Again, he nods.

“And how many hours do you think you’re getting per night?”

He does the math in his head. He went to bed at 10:30pm but he lay awake listening to TK’s soft snoring until the alarm clock at his side of the bed read 12:07am and again, when he woke up from his nightmare it was 5:24am. He couldn’t get back to sleep after that, so he read the news on his phone (as if he needed more things to be depressed about) and got an early start to his day. He made pancakes for breakfast which TK accepted gratefully with a kiss on the cheek.

TK had stopped asking how much sleep Carlos was getting, they both knew that it was too little but he had gently urged Carlos to try and nap after his therapy appointment. It was easier for Carlos to sleep when it was daytime, sunlight filtering through the loft and casting glow to the dust particles that hung in the air.

“About five and a half hours,” Carlos answers after careful deliberation.

Candice sucks her teeth and scribbles something down on her notepad. “That’s not ideal. Do you want to work on some strategies we can take to help you get more sleep?”

With a sigh, Carlos pulls himself up by the bootstraps and makes eye contact with Candice for the first time in this whole session. Her eyes are glacial. “Actually, I was wondering if there was any medication I could try for it?”

“Certainly. There’s a few different options and different medications will do different things. Whether you need something to help you get to sleep or something to help you stay asleep. I’ll email your care coordinator after our session and get her to reach out to you about scheduling a psychiatrist appointment.”

Psychiatrist. What a scary word.

Carlos has been to see a few psychiatrists in his life. He remembers a nice psychiatrist from when he was young. He was eight and her name was Nicole. She worked with him and his parents to diagnose him with autism. She was nice.

He’d seen two psychiatrists in the past couple of weeks since the kidnapping. The first was the one involved with the crisis team which TK had dragged him to go and see. And after five hours sitting in the hospital waiting room, he finally got to see them and tell them everything that had been going on. The sleepless nights and terrors and the lingering fear that followed him wherever he went. Dr Cooper was his name, he wasn’t very helpful in the grand scheme of things but he did prescribe Carlos antidepressants to hopefully alleviate some of his symptoms, for now it was still too early to tell.

Dr Reese was the other psychiatrist, the one that he saw two weeks ago to check in and see how the meds were going for him. She increased his antidepressants and gave him helpful pamphlets about PTSD and a bunch of cards with different hotlines he could call, including one he could text. 1737. He would have to remember that.

If it were up to him, he would like to go back and see Dr Reese but he knew that likely wasn’t going to be the case. The demand for psychiatrists far outweighed the amount available so it would be a few weeks wait at the least before he got in to see anyone.

“That would be great, thank you,” Carlos said, flashing her a careful smile.

Candice adjusts her position, crossing her left ankle over her right and clicking her pen. The sound grated on Carlos’ nerves like he was a christmas tree strung up with lights. The constant hum of something overwhelming him. God, this hour could not go fast enough.

Eventually the hour does go by fast, when Candice starts unpacking his trauma with him and he feels like he’s going to start dramatically weeping but holds it together so much that the only indication that he feels anything is that his hands won’t stop shaking. But he maintains his composure despite the fact that even he can tell that his voice is flat and lifeless as he just gives his therapist the most basic answers to her questions.

“Today’s session has been kind of full-on, make sure to take it easy on yourself and do something you enjoy to emotionally regulate,” Candice says as she hands him a card with his next appointment time on it. Next Monday, 1pm.

Carlos takes the card and tucks it in his wallet, in front of his debit card that he will need to pay for hospital parking. $2 for an hour, you have got to be joking.

His next stop is the pharmacy. He stands in line with his hands in the pockets of TK’s borrowed hoodie and listens to the terrible radio as it is the only sound in the entire building aside from the squeaking of shoes on linoleum and the scratch of pens on paper. The current song playing is something he knows is Taylor Swift but he tries to think of anything else to distract himself.

In his mind he runs over the process of getting his prescription. He will take one of the cards off the counter when the man in front of him moves up in the line and he will write down his name, phone number, and address, and then he will hand it to the pharmacist and she will give him his antidepressants. Paroxetine, 20mg. Hopefully increasing it means that it will start to help because Carlos is at his wit’s end.

He has to go to the pharmacy twenty minutes away from the loft because the closest one was the one that Darryl used to work at and he refused to ever step foot in that place. He didn’t understand how he could have gotten away with stealing morphine for so long to kill vulnerable women. It’s a hassle but he does it anyway, it makes him feel better.

The man in front of him steps further up the line.

Carlos grabs the card he’s had his eyes glued to for the past three minutes and starts filling out his details. He’s completely zoned out from his surroundings until he hears it. Her voice.

The same voice that talked to him sweetly and crooned over his love for TK as she force-fed him cookies and hit him over the head with a shovel and injected him with a lethal amount of morphine. The woman who feigned empathy for him while keeping him zip tied up in her kitchen.

He can still feel the cool blade of the knife up against his throat.

He snaps to attention, pen and card forgotten.

“Have a nice day, lovely,” she says.

It’s as if all the oxygen in the building has ceased to exist, Carlos tries to breathe it in but his lungs just get heavier and heavier. He needs to get out of here, preferably without her seeing him.

Carefully, Carlos sets down the pen, trying not to make a sound. There’s a slight rattle as the chain on the pen shifts but the card is silent as he slides it into his pocket.

He presses a hand over his heart and he can feel it hammering away.

Out.

He needs to get out.

Ignoring everyone else in the line, Carlos turns and stalks out, mission abandoned. His senses are going haywire, brain on the fritz as he tries to escape. He feels like a caged animal clawing at the bars and lunging at caretakers.

Carlos just keeps pressing on his chest, as if the pressure would make it easier to breathe.

The cold air stings his face as he steps outside sans his prescription. He pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly presses on TK’s contact info, holding the phone up to his ear.

Pick up. Please, pick up.

TK picks up on the third ring with a breathless “hey.”

Carlos’ breath hitches as tears burn in his eyes, distorting his vision. He can’t get any words out.

“What’s up?” TK asks, his voice softer.

“TK.” His voice is strained, sharp and wrought with emotion.

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“I saw her.”

He can hear some shuffling on the other end, maybe TK doing dishes or playing foosball, either way he was interrupting something with his call and that fact alone just made him feel so guilty.

“Saw who, babe?” TK sounds confused but worried. It’s a tone Carlos had seen often in the past few weeks, he’d taken the kidnapping really rough and TK was his rock through all of it. When he was struggling all he needed was his fiancé.

“Trudy.”

“Where are you? I thought you had therapy.”

“I did,” Carlos says. “I’m at the pharmacy.”

“You didn’t see her, babe. She’s in jail, where she belongs.”

“I can still feel her.”

“I know, baby. Do you need me to come?”

“No.” The tears start falling. Carlos wanders down the side of the building, hastily wiping at his eyes with his free hand. They’re hot on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the bitter chill in the air. But Carlos just feels too hot, like he’s burning up a fever. “No, you have to work.”

“I can skive off, no worries.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I feel better already, I think I’m just going to sit in my car for a bit and try again.”

“Okay, if you say so. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“Yes please,” Carlos says, his voice breaking. He turns on his heel and marches back up towards the front doors but passess them, his eyes locked on his blue camaro.

He doesn’t mind if people stare at him, crying outside the pharmacy on a monday afternoon, honestly he doesn’t even care if anyone sees him right now. He has a mission: get to his car and then he’s safe.

When he opens the door, he all but flings himself into the driver’s seat. It still smells like incense from TK’s attempt at cleansing the bad vibes left by his car being dumped while he was kidnapped. Carlos worried that the leather would always smell of the inside of a crystal store.

“How are you doing?” TK asks.

“Better. I’m in the car.”

Over the phone, Carlos can almost see TK’s shoulders lose their tense posture. “That’s good.”

“Thank you.” Carlos wipes the remnants of his tears off of his face with the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. It is TK’s. Purple with orange bleach marks everywhere, the wet patch left by his tears looks like it is an intentional part of the design.

“I’ll always be here if you need me. Always.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“Hey, you’ve dealt with me being a disaster on more than one occasion. I think you’re allowed a moment in the pharmacy.”

“It’s not my best moment.”

“That doesn’t matter,” TK says. “‘Til death do us part.”

Carlos barks out a harsh half-laugh that kind of sounds like he’s being strangled. “We’re not even married yet.”

“But we will be, I’m counting down the days.”

“I’m going to go get my meds now,” Carlos says. “Thank you for staying on the phone with me.”

“Anything you need, I’m here.”

Carlos pulled the latch on the inside of his car and pushed the door open, allowing the cold air to rush into the warmer atmosphere of the car. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos #911ls fic #max.doc #reyesstrand #idk anyone else who is still active :-(

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xieyaohuan · 8 months

Text

I'm having a medical procedure tomorrow, and it's the first time I'm being completely put under since that one time I had surgery when I was 4, and I'm probably making this a much bigger deal than it is, but 1. I'm scared of being put under, 2. I'm scared of what the doctors will find (probably nothing, but this is something I should have done a long time ago, and my dad told me for years to do this, and the doctor gave me a very speedy appointment because they were like: your father was very, very correct, you should have done that a long time ago; anyway, now I'm a bit terrified, not so much of being handed a potential death sentence but on the off-chance that I do get one, how the hell I am going to communicate that to my parents??). And 3. and most mundanely, I'm really not sure how I will deal with these rather complex emotions while working my normal 12-hour-days and also having to meet multiple deadlines before Friday morning. Basically, I will be headed directly from the hospital to a ministry to brief some folks (which is the dumbest idea ever, but I did try to shift it, and I did tell them that if they don't shift it, there's a very real chance I won't be there; anyway, the colleagues will manage without me). Like, this is actually hilarious: I will have to take a taxi because the hospital won't allow me to leave by myself after full anesthesia, but instead of going home to fucking rest like I should, I'll take that taxi to go do a briefing. Despite all this, I will probably get yelled at by my boss for not being able to keep up while dealing with medical issues and existential dread. And last, my two best friends are off the grid on vacation, my other friends in this city only know me as someone who never worries about myself and are surprised I'm even thinking about this, and my parents don't know about the procedure at all because I want to reserve my right to not have to communicate any bad news to them directly should there be any, so I feel like I don't really have anyone to talk to about all this.

#life rant #again this is probably nothing but I do think the concerns are valid and/or it does make sense to worry about this stuff #and I hate not really being able to accommodate my feelings or having someone to talk to about them #:( :( :(

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brave-and-gentle · 17 days

Text

Stitches: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 4

Welcome to - *waves* whatever this is. I originally called it my fluff mini series but I keep extending it.

If this is your first time here, please check out Part 1 Part 2 and Part 3.

If you like this mini series, be sure to check out my original character x Jean fic on Ao3 here

Pairings: femme reader x Jean

Summary: You begin to unravel the mystery of why your "situationship" with Jean hasn't progressed.

Warnings: none here

Word count: ~4.9K

Although you are exhausted after your night with Jean, you hardly sleep that night. Your mind races, twists and turns. You're torn between how much fun you had at the poetry slam and wine bar – very intimate settings – and the obvious way Jean pulled away from you at the very end of the night. It didn't make any sense. Why kiss you several weeks ago, why ask you out like that – and then nothing?

The Thursday work day is brutal. You trudge through your work, mindlessly checking patients in for their appointments, barely able to keep your eyes open until finally, you reach the last hour before the clinic closes.

You're unsure whether to look forward to trivia with your friends tonight. It's another chance to see Jean – another chance to get your hopes up. And you fear you've already gotten them up far too high. Maybe you shouldn't go.

You pull out your phone to find a few unread texts from Sasha that you've purposely ignored.

You should've woken me up this morning – I wanna know how it went last night with Jean!

Girl, do not leave me hanging!!

Spill. The. Tea.

If you don't spill soon I'm going straight to the horse's mouth. Hehe – get it??

Your stomach sinks down to your feet. You twist back and forth in your chair behind the clinic check-in desk. It's hard to let Sasha down.

It was fun. But I don't think he likes me like that. He's just flirty.

She responds immediately.

Girl please. I have never seen Jean be “just flirty” with anyone. You and I both know who he's going to try to sit next to at trivia tonight.

Releasing a sigh, you lean back in your chair. For once, you really don't have the mental energy to hang out with your friends. Missing one night shouldn't be a big deal, right? Everyone missed one every once in a while.

Actually, I don't know if I'll go tonight. I'm pretty tired.

What?? Pleeeeease :) it's more fun with you! :)

An uncontrollable smile spreads across your face. Sasha is all too persuasive, or maybe you're too persuadable. After Historia moved out, you dreaded evenings and weekends without any friends to hang out with. But it didn't take long for Sasha to plead with you to come to trivia with her friends and rave about how much she loved your company. It's nice to know someone wants you there – even if it's not Jean.

Maybe I'll take a nap before.

Yay! I'm working late so I'll head straight to the bar straight after. See you there :)

~ ~ ~

You lie on your bed, phone up to your ear in one hand and your other hand is gesticulating up to the ceiling.

“What does he want from me?” You demand from your best friend even though she's just as clueless as you. “I mean, we kiss the first night we hang out, he paints a fucking picture of me, he practically takes me out on a date – but nothing since that first kiss. Who does that?”

“Well,” Historia says your name in her soft voice, “you know, you've been. . .”

“What?” You demand.

“It's just um. . .oh, don't make me say it!”

“C'mon Historia.” You flip over to your stomach. “You know you can tell me anything. Hit me with it.”

“Well, you've kinda been doing the same thing. Giving mixed signals. You haven't made a move with Jean either, have you? Not since you went to see the ice sculptures?”

Your body tenses. Historia is right. You're just as guilty.

“No,” you answer with force. “I think I used up my bold moves that night.”

“What if you just tell him how you feel?”

“What if I just walk into five lanes of traffic?”

Historia says your name in an exasperated tone.

“What! It'd basically be the same feeling,” you defend.

“You asked my opinion and I gave it.”

“Ugh, yeah I know. It's almost unfair how much Ymir has rubbed off on you.” Historia rarely called you out on your bullshit, so when she did, you knew it was real. You look at your watch. 6:30 pm. You should be walking to trivia now. “Look, I gotta go. I'll catch up with you later?”

“Sure. Just remember – you deserve better. You don't have to take table scraps from anyone.”

You cringe, knowing exactly what Historia is referencing. She held you while you cried after the guy you dated for a year in college dumped you out of the blue because he “just didn't see a future together.” It should've been obvious from the beginning since he hardly ever made an effort to see you. Though it was a couple years ago, the old wound still aches sometimes. Historia and Ymir were your emotional stitches, but there was still a scar.

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly. “Anyways. Say hi to Ymir for me?”

“Always,” Historia says.

~ ~ ~

You rush through the bar doors knowing you're a little late. Trivia hasn't started yet, but all of your new friends are already seated with a drink in front of them. A few perk up to wave and greet you.

“Sorry guys!” You apologize and unwrap your scarf. Trost has slowly been warming up but it's still snowing. You're a little sweaty from running over despite the cold.

“No worries, saved you a seat!” Sasha leans back to wave at you from the middle of the table.

“Thanks,” you breath and take off your hat. You attempt to smooth down your hair while you take a seat next to Sasha. You turn to your left and -

It's Jean.

Of course. Sasha purposely saved you a seat between her and Jean.

Jean is wearing a light purple t-shirt. You've never seen him in a t-shirt before. His biceps are well defined and somehow still tanned despite it being winter.

“You good?” He asks you and tilts his head. You blush, not realizing how hard you were staring.

“Yeah, you uh, have paint on your shirt.” You poke a yellow splotch on his chest and wonder if his chest is as well defined as his biceps. And maybe something else is well defined – no no no, lord, grant me the strength to stop my unholy thoughts, you pray, though you've never been religious.

“Ah, shit.” Jean looks down and dabs the yellow splotch. “It's already dry.”

“Must've been a good time at the studio today?” You ask, attempting to clear your head.

“Yeah, really good,” he nods. “Actually,” he pauses and bites his bottom lip. He finally makes eye contact with you. “Would you mind coming to the studio sometime soon? Maybe tomorrow or Saturday? I have an idea.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And you need me?”

“Yes.” Jean nods with force. “I figured I should ask this time.”

“Oh.” Surprise ripples through your body. Is Jean asking to paint you? You're flustered, unsure how to respond. On one hand, it's flattering that he wants to use you for inspiration again – and involve you. On the other, it seems far too romantic for “friends.”

Pink flushes Jean's face as he waits for you to respond more. “Ah, never mind, it's a dumb idea.” He waves. “You don't have to.”

“No, I uh -”

“Hey everyone!” Eren calls the group to attention. He sits directly across from Jean. “I want to make a toast.” He wraps his arm around Mikasa, who leans into him and smiles. Her black hair falls like a curtain over half her face. Eren raises his drink in the air and waits for everyone else to follow his motion. “To my beautiful girlfriend Mikasa, whose birthday is tomorrow. And – we just celebrated our one-year anniversary. I wouldn't have gotten the guts to finally ask her out if it weren't for you all.”

Your friends give a mix of cheering and “awww.”

“Get a room already!” Connie berates the couple.

You grab the glass of water in front of you and raise it in celebration.

But you notice Eren isn't gazing back at Mikasa like you'd expect. No, his green eyes are piercing straight ahead.

At Jean.

Who is staring right back at Eren. Jean's fist shakes under the table, out of sight for everyone except you.

And in that moment, you realize.

Eren's toast isn't meant to praise Mikasa, though that's how almost everyone was interpreting it. No, it's a taunt.

For Jean.

Who nearly blew up when you two ran into Eren and Mikasa at the ice sculptures. Who insisted you were friends. Who backed away from you after the wine bar.

A burning question crashes down on you.

Does Jean has a thing for Mikasa?

Is that why he's avoided a second kiss?

Your stomach twists and stings. You take a small sip of your water as everyone says “cheers” and wishes Mikasa a happy birthday.

Jean's eyes wander over to you. He puts his beer down.

“Oh hey, you're missing a drink,” he points out. He licks a bit of foam off his upper lip. “Can I grab you anything?” He jabs his thumb at the bar behind him.

“No, I don't want anything,” you say and cross your arms. Jean raises his eyebrows at your curt, yet polite tone.

“Ah, okay.” He turns away and chats with Reiner on his other side. You're actually dying for a drink. Something to dull your senses would be fantastic, but you sit through all the trivia rounds without getting anything out of sheer stubborn will.

It's not about the drink, of course.

Jean doesn't try to talk to you again. It's as if you've built a wall in between the two of you.

And that's how it should be. How it needs to be. You can't delude yourself any longer.

You and Jean are just friends.

Just. Friends.

~ ~ ~

Connie is once again crashing your weekly movie night with Sasha. Though the two of you don't mind too much, you have one rule for Connie: no complaining about the movie choice.

“The Devil Wears Prada? Haven't you seen this a million times?” Connie holds up the battered DVD case like it's the sandwich Sasha forgot under the couch last week.

“Uh uh uh!” You wag the knife you're using to cut green bell peppers at him. “You know the rules, no complaining about our movie choice.”

“Especially since you weren't even invited,” Sasha's voice drips with acid as she gives him the side eye. Beside you, she continues rolling out the pizza dough. Friday night movie nights were your idea – a relaxing night in to recover after the chaos of Thursday night trivia with your new friends.

“Alright, fine fine.” Connie collapses into the couch cushions. “Why do you two like this movie so much anyways?”

“Because!” You erupt, throwing your hands in the air, one of them still wielding the knife. “It's the early 2000s rise of girl boss feminism. Miranda, who symbolizes white girl capitalism, is made out to be the main villain. She is a villain, but the real one, the one we didn't see when we were young, naive girls is Nate – the evil boyfriend who hates Andie for exploring fashion and her feminine side. But!” You pause for dramatic effect. “Andie is also a problem as she trades her relationships for capitalist success. In this essay I will. . .” you trail off and smirk.

“Sheesh,” Connie mutters. “Didn't realize this was an English class. No wonder you and Jean get along.”

“You don't have to be here,” you remind him and ignore the comment about Jean.

“Ugh. Lemme see what our dear Jeanboy is doing tonight.” At the mention of Jean's name, you peer over to watch Connie pull out his phone while you slice another bell pepper.

A sharp sting rips through your thumb.

“Agh!” You yell and pull your thumb away from the knife and cutting board. Distracted by the mention of Jean, you had sliced your thumb instead of the pepper. Sasha grabs a wad of paper towels and hands them to you. You squeeze down on your thumb and blood soaks through the paper towels.

“You good?” Sasha places an arm around you and guides you to sit on the couch next to Connie.

“I think so?” You answer, but your shaking voice tells another story.

“Let's see. . .” Sasha peels back the bloody wad with a gentle touch to reveal a deep cut. Your skin is split wide open and gushes blood.

“Yuck.” Connie leaps off the couch. “That looks nasty. Want me to call Marco? I don't think he's working tonight.”

You shrug, unsure if your cut actually needs stitches. Connie dials up Marco regardless of your indecision.

“Hey Marco – we need your man nurse skills . . .what, no! Not for me.” He clarifies that it's for you.

“Is this a regular occurrence?” You ask Sasha.

“Connie has abused Marco's skills so many times,” she laughs. “He refuses to help him anymore. You're a first timer though, so I'll bet anything he'll be over soon.”

Sure enough, Connie announces that Marco will be over in a few minutes.

“Anyways,” he flops back onto the couch, “I'll stick around until then at least.”

“Good call, literally,” you say.

Your mind wanders back to the reason you were so distracted. Heat rises to your face as you realize these are the safest people to ask what you've been wondering about Jean – and Mikasa.

“Hey. . . can I ask you guys something?”

“Sure!” Sasha beams and wraps another layer of paper towels around your thumb. Connie scrolls aimlessly through Instagram.

“About Jean . . . did he and Mikasa ever. . .you know?” You dance around your question, unsure of how to phrase it. Connie's head jerks up. Your heart pounds in anticipation. Did they date? Did they fuck? You gnaw on the inside of your cheek.

“Mmm, I'm not really sure,” Sasha muses and avoids eye contact. “Jean definitely had a thing for her when they met a couple years ago, but obviously nothing came of it.”

“But nothing happened – at all?” You press.

“Jeanboy doesn't kiss and tell,” Connie sighs. “I asked him once and he almost punched me. So if something did happen, we don't know. He's no fun.”

“Maybe you could ask Marco?” Sasha lightens up. “Those two have been tight forever. He's the only one that would know for sure.”

*knock knock*

“Speak of the devil,” Connie says and gets up to grab the door. “Marco, you've come to save her from bleeding out!”

Marco steps through the door with a small kit in hand.

“Hey,” Marco breathes your name and shivers from the lingering cold. “What happened?” He asks as he strips off his coat. Red from the bitter cold is spread across his freckled face.

“I uh, had an incident with a knife,” you explain and hold out your thumb. Marco walks over to you and Sasha on the couch. You realize he's almost as tall as Jean because as he kneels in front of you, he can still make level eye contact. With a gentle touch, he peels back the paper towel to reveal your wound.

“Yikes,” he frowns, “you're definitely going to need stitches.”

You involuntarily cringe.

“Alright, two options,” Marco continues and sits back on his heels. “I can take you to the urgent care I work at, or if you really trust me, we can do it here.”

“Ten out of ten recommend Doctor Marco!” Connie yells from the kitchen as he rifles through the cupboard for snacks.

“Not a doctor,” Marco mutters and shakes his head. “Anyways, I can do stitches in my sleep, but I can understand if you'd rather go to urgent care.”

“No, I trust you. Plus, I really don't fee like dropping a couple hundred dollars on stitches.” Ironically, the clinic you worked at didn't offer a very good health insurance plan.

“Sounds good,” Marco smiles. “Bathroom okay?”

“Yep.” You stand up and “Woah. . .”

Purple dots cloud your vision. Cotton balls fill your ears.

“Easy there.” Marco grabs your waist to steady you. “Hey Sasha? Connie? Can you go grab her some Gatorade or something?”

“On it!” Sasha jumps off the coach and grabs her purple puffy coat. At the same time, Connie whines, “But it's cold and dark out there!”

“C'mon.” Sasha grabs Connie and drags him to the front door. “Our comrade needs our help.”

“Fine,” he mutters and throws his coat on. “Good luck, you better still be alive when we come back.”

You wave to your friends as they leave.

“What's the Gatorade for?” You ask and steady yourself as your vision restores.

“Mostly to get those two outta here, they're kinda distracting.” Marco rubs the nape of his neck. “But you do also look a little pale. Some sugar and electrolytes should help with that.”

Marco grabs two chairs from the kitchen and places them in front of the bathroom sink.

“This shouldn't take too long. First, let's clean it,” he explains and takes out a packet of antiseptic wipes from his kit. He dabs your wound with a wipe and it instantly stings. You hiss and clench your fist. “That's the worst part – and it's over. Do you normally get squeamish around blood?”

“It's not really the blood,” you explain. “It's more like the anticipation.”

“Ah, anxiety?” He asks and prepares for the stitches. “Armin's like that too,” he chuckles. “He practically passed out during our first nursing rotations in school.”

“Wait, Armin was in nursing school with you?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Nursing school yes, but different ones. We were in the same rotation at the hospital though, that's how we met. I invited him to hang out with us and he brought Eren and Mikasa. That's how we all became friends. Armin ended up on the research of side of things instead, which he's much more suited for. He's brilliant. Oh – you might want to put your head down or look away for this.” Marco pauses and gives you a serious look. “It won't hurt much, but we can't have you passing out.”

“Oh, sure.” You comply and turn your head away, placing your chin on your free hand.

“So that means you all met what – your senior year?”

“Yep.” Marco idly confirms. You feel a gentle tugging on your skin.

“Marco . . . can I ask you a question? A personal one?” The tugging on your skin stops. “Not about you though,” you quickly explain.

“Oh.” The tugging resumes. “Sure.” The question burns on your lips.

“Did anything ever happen between Jean and Mikasa?” The burning on your lips blazes to your cheeks.

“Ah.” Marco clears his throat. “I thought you might ask about that.”

“Really?” Surprise ripples through your body.

“Yeah, Jean's been talking about you a lot lately. I figured something was going on. Anyways. . .” he trails off, concentrating on your last two stitches. “What I can tell you is that Jean was really into her when they first met at that party I mentioned.”

Your stomach turns.

“And did anything ever come of it?”

Marco hesitates.

“Look, I don't know if I should be sharing this with anyone -”

“Please, Marco?” You turn and plead with his light brown eyes. You're so desperate for information that a confession doesn't even phase you. “I like him. And I need to know. . . if he's hung up on someone else. I don't want to waste my time. Or get hurt. Please?”

Marco sighs. “Alright. They went on a date. One date.” He finishes off the stitches and avoids eye contact with you. “Jean asked and she said yes. He didn't tell me a ton, but he came home really happy that night. A couple days later, we all hear that Mikasa and Eren are officially a couple. I asked Jean what happened and he just growled at me. That's all I know.”

Your jaw actually drops. You stare at Marco open mouthed. You barely register that he's done with the stitches as he puts his supplies away. “So she went on a date with Jean and then immediately started dating Eren??”

Marco whips back over to look at you. “Oh, but please don't think poorly of Mikasa! She's not a bad person.” Now it's his turn to plead with you.

You remain silent. It's almost unthinkable. Admittedly you don't know Mikasa very well, but she's always seemed like a kind, introverted soul. What would posses her to do something like that? Flashes of anger heat your body despite Marco's insistence. That must've really hurt Jean.

“You really don't know what happened? Nothing at all?” You press your lips together in a tight line.

“No,” Marco shakes his head and stands up. “I wish I did. Jean was pretty bent out of shape about it for a while, but he's not exactly the kind to easily share his feelings.”

“You got that right,” you huff. “Be honest with me – do you think I'm wasting my time with Jean?”

Marco pauses in thought. He leans against the sink and crosses his arms. “No, not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I get the sense he likes you,” he smiles. “But,” his smile disappears, “I gotta be honest, I couldn't say if he's over Mikasa. It's been about a year, so maybe, but like I said, I don't even know everything that happened.” He shrugs. “But I think it's worth talking to Jean about it. Ask him and he'll probably be more honest with you than with me.”

“Sure,” you nod slowly. “It's just that. . . feelings are hard.” Your gaze lingers on your newly stitched up thumb. Telling Jean you like him and asking about Mikasa feels on par with ripping out your new stitches. And pouring more alcohol into the wound.

“Yeah, I get that,” Marco agrees. “I guess it depends on how much he's worth it to you.”

~ ~ ~

The movie night is a perfect distraction from the ulcer growing in your stomach from thinking about Jean. You and Sasha cackle throughout the movie, quoting lines from memory and imitating Miranda's stern look.

“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.”

“CERULEAN!!”

“Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking.”

Despite Connie's griping, he stays the entire time and as per usual, falls asleep on your couch. After the movie, you crawl into bed and check your phone.

You have an unread text from Jean.

See you tomorrow morning?

You groan. Tomorrow is your scheduled Saturday morning creative date with Jean. Not date, you correct yourself. Your mind wanders back to what Marco said. Was figuring out what's up with Jean worth it to you? With the way he looked at Mikasa and his frustration with Eren, it seemed like he wasn't over what happened – dangerous territory. You weren't in too deep now, you try to convince yourself. You only kissed once. And sure, you're crushing, but crushes fade. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. So you choose to avoid.

I'll have to sit this one out, not feeling great :/

Technically it's the truth. You don't think you'll get much writing done with Jean across the table from you. And you don't feel great – mentally or physically. Overthinking was getting exhausting, and your stitches were aching despite the pain killers Marco gave you. Your phone buzzes.

Ah, that's right, Marco told me about the stitches. That sucks! Do you need anything?

Nope, Sasha's got me covered. Don't need anything.

~ ~ ~

The next few days move at, well – a glacial pace.

You don't write at all.

Your wound under the stitches aches.

You think about Jean and Mikasa the entire time.

On Monday, Jean texts you an interesting article about world building, but you don't respond. In truth, you're dying to talk with him again. You don't realize how much you enjoy his company until you skip your creative date. You miss talking about art and writing with him. You miss that he takes it seriously in a way that your other friends didn't. You miss how open you could be with each other – well, for the most part.

You're taking your lunch break on Wednesday when you get another text from Jean.

Hey, you feeling better? Up for wine and writing/art tonight?

You sigh and tap your fingers over and over again on the table. Maybe the best decision is to cut it off now. The last time you admitted vulnerability, it didn't so well.

After months of dating that guy on your floor in college, you grew tired of only seeing him on his terms. You never felt like you could ask to see him. You were always waiting for him to text you. You even canceled plans with Historia in hopes that he might want to do something. You hated it. You began to hate yourself for how pathetic you became.

So you told him. You told him how you wanted to see each other more. You wanted to actually build a relationship, not just hang out with someone at parties on weekends. Your face burned and your voice shook, but you were proud of yourself for standing up for once.

And then he broke up with you. Right then and there.

And that was it.

You pull yourself back to the present moment and text Jean back.

I have plans tonight, sorry.

Text bubbles pop up and you brace yourself for impact.

Oh, okay.

Your stomach drops. You turn your phone off and shove the rest of your lunch back in the staff fridge. You're being rude to Jean, you know it. You hate yourself for it.

But this is for the best.

~ ~ ~

Once work is finally over, you hop on the train home and stop by the local liquor store. You might not be getting wine with Jean tonight, but you sure as hell want a glass of wine. Or two. Or three. Anything to get Jean off your mind. And with Sasha out tonight with Nicolo, you need a distraction.

As you walk toward the store, you admire at the blush pink sunset. Mid-February is still freezing in Trost, but at least it's now light when you get home, albeit just barely.

You mindlessly roam the aisles until you find the boxed wine section. In college, you and Historia always opted for boxes over bottles. It was the economically smart decision and neither of you were well versed enough in wine to tell much of a difference between a box and a fancy bottle.

Although you prefer a chardonnay, you grab a pink wine knowing that it's Sasha's favorite.

A large hand clamps down on your wrist as you're mere inches away from the box.

“C'mon, you are breaking my heart with that.” You jerk your head up to see what stranger has rudely interrupted you.

But it's no stranger.

It's Jean.

You are quite literally caught red-handed. Or pink-handed.

Despite your internal insistence that you are just friends, that you need to avoid Jean, your heart leaps with affection at the sight of him in his parka and knitted hat. Then your heart squeezes tight with guilt when you remember that you canceled on him tonight – and here you are, at the liquor store getting ready for a night alone.

“Hey, nothing wrong with box wine,” you grin in spite of yourself. You can't help smiling in his presence.

“There is everything wrong with box wine,” Jean groans and tilts his head back, exposing a glimpse of his throat. “I gotta have you over sometime and re-educate you since apparently the wine bar wasn't enough.”

You offer a noncommittal smile in return. “Anyways,” you clear your throat and give your captured wrist a pointed look. Jean releases his grip and you grab the pink box wine. “I gotta get going.”

“Oh, that's right.” Jean adjusts his winter hat, which fails to cover up his lengthening hair. “So uh – what are you up to tonight?”

“Girl's night with Sasha,” you blurt. It's the first thing you think of since she's part of the reason you're getting the pink wine.

Jean frowns. “Doesn't she have a date with Nicolo tonight? He's been telling me for weeks about this concert they're going to tonight.”

“Oh um. . . “ you trail off. Your entire body is frozen like you've stepped outside, blasted by Trost's bitter winter season. Once again, you're caught. You fumble and stutter, struggling to come up with another excuse.

The hurt flashing in Jean's hazel eyes cuts through you like the knife to your thumb. He sees right through your lie.

“Ah.” He rocks back on his heels. “Got it.” He nods and swallows. “Message received.” He turns on his heels and walks away from you.

Desperation surges through your body. You've wounded him, and you want to stitch it up.

“Jean, wait! I didn't mean -” Your protests are useless. Jean has left the liquor store empty handed.

Shit.

You make a bee line to the register to pay for your box wine.

Maybe it'll be four glasses tonight.

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missmyloko · 5 months

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Getting To Know Me - Part 8

On The Third Day of Fun I present... the continuation to the last piece! Sorry if it feels like a bit of a Debbie Downer subject, but I'm really passionate about the subject and wanted to use my platform to get it all out so that others feel like they aren't alone. Continued from Part 1 I still attended school throughout all of this. However, it was around this time that just having drop in appointments with a psychiatrist like, once every 6 months at my doctor's office was going to fly anymore, so I was referred to a psychiatrist at our hospital's outpatient clinic who could look after my medication full time. The wait time at that time was 14 months, and I waited. Thankfully, it was worth it in the end. I had someone who could balance my medications, figure out why I went through them so quickly, and I could see them as often as I needed. On average I was running through an entire course of a medication (ie: from its lowest to its highest dose) in about a year, and that's unusually high. Well, it turns out I wasn't hyper-metabolizing them, but rather hypo-metabolizing them; My medication, once ingested, wasn't done running its course through my body before I took the next dose, so I was actually (unknowingly) over medicating myself. To combat this I now take my major medications every 36 hours so that they have time to work through my body and stop the over medicating (low dose medications that act as augmenters are taken every day though). It was during university that I had my first major depressive episode (that I medically knew of, I probably had them before but just didn't know), which is a time where my depression is just kicking my ass beyond normal reasoning and, because of this, I actually ended up flunking a few of my courses. I had to petition the dean to drop the courses from my record to due health reasons, which was accompanied by a letter and documentation from my psychiatrist stating what was going on and that it wasn't my fault. I ended up having 2 of them during my 6 years of university, so I had to petition twice. While in school I did receive special accommodations from the student wellness center regarding exams and assignments and such, which is a fantastic resource that anyone with mental health issues should take advantage of at their schools, and that definitely helped make life easier during those trying times (heck, it helped even when I was feeling decent). Near the end of my university tenure my psychiatrist and I actually managed to find a medication that really worked for me. I was feeling great, my symptoms were under control, and I was feeling like myself for the first time in a long time. However, it was another medication that no one told me right away would cause weight gain and, since we had now figured out how to make medications last, I was on it for a few years. I only ended up going off the medication 4 years ago, but by that time I had ballooned to over 200lbs (I believe I was around 230ish). Unlike the last time, the weight didn't come off as I had developed thyroid issues (they sadly run in my family on both sides), so I was now a depressed again, overweight wad who had gone past the point of being able to do what I loved: wear kimono. It's ironic that I was in the process of publishing a book about something I could no longer wear, but that's life for you. However, not everything ends badly (heck, there's positives, or else I wouldn't be here telling this tale!). Within the last year I finally have a concrete date set for my book to come out (June 28th, 2024!), I've lost exactly 49lbs since going on Ozempic (and diet changes) and can wear kimono again (yay!), and I'm working with my psychiatrist, who is awesome by the way, on changing my medications to make them work for me by understanding exactly what they do and their side effects beforehand. So, hopefully my tale has opened up some feelings inside of you to know that you're not in this alone, it happens to everyone, it does suck, but it does get better.

#mental health #mental health awareness

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calliedion-dungeon · 9 months

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𖤓Sore Kisses

Chapter 13. These Vultures

Read on ao3 here

Warnings: MDNI +18 [I fucking mean it] Smoking, Heavy Drinking, Fluff and Angst Swearing, Crossdressing, Adult Content, Eventual Smut, Blonde Mary Goore!! Everyone is a Little Shit in here, later it gets all Soft and Smutty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Trope, Slow Burn Romance

Summary: After a failed date, you find yourself free to see Mary after weeks without being able to be together, thanks to your new life after the move. A day in this new routine is suffocating, but the sky opens a little to give you a little light, although not in the way you want.

I'll post this one full length since it's nothing but SFW

A couple of weeks have passed after your move, you have been so busy that you have not even had time to feel bad about it with total freedom, you just go from one place to another, from school to work and from work only to sleep at home and repeat. There are times when it seems like Mary only exists on your phone, at least it's not like talking to a bot, they always keep you up to date with the nonsense that Nick and Frank do, their late night thoughts keep you awake when you have a school project to work on. You both always talk about how one day they’ll keep you company until dawn, but you never actually ask them to come, you’re sure you will do anything except do homework with Mary on your side, or so you assume.

You were behind on some deadlines, but you bought time to hand in your work, you were waiting for a colleague who was supposed to help you with some photographs, you needed someone with narrow shoulders and long hair, you have a very specific idea of what you want the scene to be like; after waiting half an hour in the lobby of your school, you call her non-stop to find out where the hell is she, internally praying that she hasn't forgotten about the appointment. After a few calls that she didn't answer, she sends you messages that she is incapacitated due to a hernia on the back, you can't get mad at her for that, it's out of her control, but you still curse your bad luck and resolve to go back home.

Along the way home you smoke two or more cigarettes, bought yourself a drink, frustrated at not being able to make progress on your tasks, you had even asked for a week's vacation at work to be able to do it, for all to come to nothing, you snort as you approach your door looking at the phone, Mary has sent a text in response to your morning message, an eggplant emoji and a lips emoji next to it, classic, especially when your text was “What did you dream about?”

Many times, when you have a little moment to think, you feel kind of bad for having pressured yourself into doing something physical with Mary. Only because you knew you wouldn't have time later, once you left. But you can't keep punishing yourself for something so superfluous, especially when they still show you that they think about you in the most depraved ways you can't imagine.

In a brief message, you tell Mary your annoyance about what happened with your colleague. For what they answer you.

"Does that mean you can come tonight?" they write back.

"Sure, where to?" you respond while eating something and regret smoking that much.

"To the gig??" the text hits you like a train.

You didn't even have time to feel bad for not remembering, of course, the good side of every bad thing, at least now you have the night free to see them, finally. Your heart jumps out of your chest when it finally dawns on you, the path to the bar is blurry in your memory, because you can't wait.

It took a lot of obstacles and time to get to the bar. You couldn't take the subway because it was too late, taking a vehicle made you quite afraid, you were too far away to be able to call someone to give you a ride; you’re sure that something higher must have been taking care of you because you cannot explain how you arrived at the bar safe and sound, nor why you did not bring something with you to defend yourself, even so, it is always better not to have to use them in mind and just exist with ease, so, even if you have to crawl, you’re determined to be there until it’s over.

As you pass through the people of the crowded place, you stop looking for another familiar face other than theirs, suddenly, someone lifts you into the air, you hit enraged whoever dared to take you like a sack of potatoes over their shoulder; it wasn't for long that you recognized the shirt on the back of the person who carried you. When they put you down and you see that it was indeed Mary, you give them a fake slap while you laugh, they were already ready for that and quickly grab your thighs to pick you up again, you gladly jump and wrap your legs on their waist and your arms around their neck.

“Hi-” you tried to say, touching noses, but their lips interrupted your greeting. You're glad to know that not only you were starving for kissing them, their mouth attacked you sloppily, most likely they also tasted what you ate for breakfast by how deep their tongue got, they were being rough but not as in hurtful, as if he had forgotten how to do it more comfortably, Mary seemed too desperate to care.

You giggled when they go lower to your neck, you’re aware that no one was watching the two of you, although not for long because they soon push you against a wall, pressing with his hip, trying to get as close to you as possible.

“Not here-” you hide your face in their shoulder, coyly trying to remember that you’re not alone in the bar.

Without saying anything yet, Mary slowly lowers you from their arms, not without taking advantage of groping every inch of your legs, without letting go of their neck, you hug them sweetly, fondling your fingers on the back of their head.

“I’ve missed you too, beautiful” It feels like you haven't seen each other in months, maybe longer.

"Oh no..." Only then do you begin to notice his beer breath and his damp hair and shirt “Am I late?”

"Just a little, we're done playing, but we were planning to stay here a little longer."

"Mary, I'm sorry, I didn't realize the time, I came as fast as I could, apart from having forgotten..." you regret out loud.

"It doesn't matter, you're here, now." They hold your face, joining your foreheads, then they guide you by taking your hand to where the others are, already deep into their drinks, there was only the bandmates and their friends, Frank wasn’t there.

Thanks to what they had already been drinking, everyone was much more expressive than usual, even the people who didn't know you celebrated your arrival when Mary shouted out to everybody, you saw Nick too busy counting Cami’s molars with his tongue in a stool far from the table and the sight made you laugh, you were way behind them in terms of intoxication, although, the atmosphere is already pretty hazy.

It was definitely a surprise how Mary was so cheerful as you see them stretching out their arm to take a picture of you two, just when you notice and get closer to hug them tighter, they get distracted by a hand that takes theirs, you two turn around, the strange hand does not let go, it caresses Mary’s arm, you both look at a girl who smiles at Mary, said smile fades when she looks at you holding their arm.

"I'm sorry, are you a couple?" asks the girl as she hesitantly lets go off their hand.

"Something like that" you answer very confused.

"Yeah" Mary drawls, it takes them a while to react and they turn to look at you.

"I mean, yeah?" you try to rectify.

"No?" Mary inquires looking at you confused also.

“Let me know when you’re done riding that, then” says the girl at you when she leaves giving you a side eye. Your face contorted at those words.

Despite being sober enough to not be as expressive in how you feel, you couldn't hide your face and your reaction from Mary. They hold your chin, trying to get your attention, but you turn your face away, not sure why you feel humiliated.

The bar was too noisy to be able to think, much less express yourself as you wanted and you can't do it if you don't think first, you give Mary a hand sign that you'll be back in a moment and then head to the bathrooms of the bar, that long hallway in which the two of you had your first kiss, you almost managed to open the door when they pulled on your arm, asking you what was wrong, unfortunately, no words come out of your mouth.

“You know I don’t care about labels.” They whisper, hinting what you got in mind.

“Me neither, but it’s easier to choose one than having to explain”

“We don’t have to explain shit to anyone, we know what’s up, that matters most.” They hold your arms soothing with their fingers along.

“…I guess” your voice came out hoarse, not letting you say more.

“What’s wrong? You having doubts?” you shake your head vehemently “Hey, if somebody asks, we can just say we’re together. Isn’t it enough?”

“Yeah, sorry, I must be tired. I just didn’t like what that woman said…”

“What did she say? I didn’t hear”

“To tell her when I’m done with you, like… as if I’m the one in shift or something like that”

“Why does it bother you? We don’t have to prove anything to anyone…”

“I know that, damnit! it’s just…” You sound upset.

“Just…?”

“It only reminded me that we haven’t even…” you only sighed as if could be understood by that what you mean “And we haven’t because we barely see each other, I know it’s stupid, but if I keep thinking about that… and I don’t want to ruin the night talking about it”

“Hey, listen, nobody is gonna steal me from you, and vultures are everywhere. Don’t let it get under your skin, sweetheart.” They start giving you little kisses on your face, trying to make you smile. “I mean… we could just go, ya know?” they waggle their eyebrows a couple of times.

“Where?” you ask already getting nervous, making your frustration evaporate in seconds.

“Not my place, Frank’s there, snoring like a bear. Is Jenn back?” Mary smirks at you with impure intentions.

“They were supposed to come back today, but very late” you remember with a curious smile.

“So… what do you say? You think we got time?” they stick to your body, searching for your neck with their teeth.

“I don’t know, aren’t you drunk?” You say unsure, because they’re not making that grimace with his mouth that indicates that they’re getting lost.

“Nuh-uh!” Says in a dramatic tone and laughs afterwards.

“Liar, I don’t believe you.” You tease as you drag each other outside the bar without saying goodbye to the others.

…

During the way there was a small struggle between the two of you in the car because they were trying to put their hands in your pants, the idea of the driver seeing you and taking you out of the car made you too nervous. From a distance it might have looked like they were drunk, it was just that Mary was extra playful tonight, tickling you, kissing your neck in the elevator, "picking" a lint off your blouse or "shaking the dust off your pants” and straight up pinching your butt. You made sure to smile, so that the very few people who saw you, wouldn't think badly that this young metalhead with face paint wasn't bothering you and ruin the night.

Mary wouldn't even let you open the door, because their desperation was such that they pushed you against it to kiss you passionately, and honestly, the closer you were to entering the more you stopped caring, it was almost a mistake to turn around while they were still stuck at your neck like a fly sucking, barely without getting your hair out of the way, they were just already grunting softly, giving you goosebumps, with his arms wrapped around your waist pushing you from behind as you turn the key to the apartment to enter.

“Hey guys! Watcha doin’?” Jenn asks cheerfully from the living room, as soon as you get inside the apartment.

“Jenn! Thank goodness you came back, everything alright? How-how was your thing?” you say in a booming voice, barely stopping yourself from screaming, Mary at least you have the decency to halt.

“You mean work? Meh… boring” says your roommate as they eat a bowl of cereal and watching tv.

“Yeah, night shifts suck, am I right?” says Mary awkwardly hiding their crotch behind you.

“Don’t even get me started, I’ll just devour this and go to bed. You staying the night?” Jenn asks regarding Mary.

“Uh… yeah, you know just… sleep” says Mary in a very fake tone, trying to appear sane “Talk about, uh… the geopolitics during the cold war, ouch!” You elbow them on the ribs.

“If it’s ok with you, I know I didn’t tell you in advance, I thought you were staying late at work” you explain a little calmer.

“Alright, just a reminder that I am a very light sleeper.” You can tell Jenn’s comment has several layers to it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put on some duct tape on her… Ow!” Mary was about to laugh at their own joke until you interrupted with another violent nudge and push them towards your room before they kept talking.

“You crazy kids, goodnight then” Jenn, comprehensive as always, doesn’t meddle much.

“Why don’t you ever shut up?” you tell them as you close the door of your room which is separated from Jenn's room by the kitchen and the living room.

“Why don’t you fucking make me?” says in a flirtatious tone, pulling the hem of your blouse up. In response, you grab them by the chin squeezing their cheeks and kiss them forcefully.

They were moaning because of your bites on their lower lip, you could feel the vibrations of their voice, you guide them towards your bed to sit without removing your lips from them, you tenderly take them by the thighs, they quickly take off your blouse and their shirt. Without giving you a break, they lower their head a little to pull the straps of your bra with their teeth, playing with them a little, both of you giggling. Suddenly you hear them wanting to burp but doesn't, a second later it seems like they’re having trouble breathing, you grab their cheeks, raising their head to ask him if they’re okay, you couldn't do it for a long time because they run off to kneel in your trash can and start vomiting.

“You did lie to me, you’re drunk.” You kneel next to them to brush their hair out of their face.

“I’m sorry, beautiful, I thought I was better than I felt.” They say not facing you yet.

“It’s alright, but don’t ever do that again. Let me help you get up” They didn't really require your help, but either way you wanted to get them cleaned up and forget what happened as quickly as possible, you couldn't help but grumble a little, which they noticed right away, making them feel guilty.

They lament while you accompany them to the bathroom so they can use your mouthwash, they manage to capture your melancholic look in the mirror over the sink while you wipe their face from the paints, shortly after, you get out of there to change your clothes into light pajamas.

“I just wanted to be with you so bad…” Mary whines as they get out of the bathroom, now only wearing their briefs.

“I don’t want it if it’s like this.” You get closer, resting your hands on their shoulders.

“Sorry…” They keep saying. At least Mary lets you guide them to the bed so they can sleep with you, funny enough, you ended up doing what Jenn was told.

“It’s fine, you big moron.” Your voice sounds calmer and happier, you get them to snuggle up with you, carefully you cover them with the blanket.

“Can I get just one little kiss?” Mary says pouting, a face you can't resist, you peck a kiss on their lips, wary that it doesn’t lead to anything else.

In the end you can't say that you're upset, just a little snubbed, but it's not wasted time being with them, the mere fact of being there together is something that at the beginning of the day you didn't have planned, so spending any time with them, especially the entire night is enough to be grateful; you hug their head against your chest and give them a few kisses on the forehead until they slowly fall asleep as they hug tightly your torso.

#Sore Kisses #mary goore #mary goore fanfic #blonde mary goore #mary goore x reader #mary goore repugnant #repugnant band fanfiction #repugnant fanfiction

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vanishingreyes · 10 months

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A Seal Seeks Help || Marcus & Xóchitl

TIMING: Late June. LOCATION: Xóchitl's office. SUMMARY: Marcus comes to see Xóchitl for therapy. CONTENT WARNINGS: Depression.

Marcus stared blankly at his ceiling, unable to bring himself to do much else. It was another day where his mental state was at a particularly low point. He had been having these days much more frequently as of late. But what could he do? He had isolated himself from everyone who ever loved him, abandoned his accomplished career, and was slowly being driven to total madness. And worst of all, it was one of the people in this world who should have had his back no matter what that brought him to this state.

A gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain of remembering or the fact that he hadn’t eaten in 36 hours. Probably the latter, he figured. He managed to drag himself out of bed and take a look at what was in his fridge, which wasn’t much. He hadn’t been to the store in weeks. He decided something had to change. His changes may grow to kill him eventually, but he at least wouldn’t allow himself to be miserable on the way out.

A curious search yielded few viable results, but one looked promising. A clinical psychologist right here in Wicked’s Rest. He wouldn’t have to go far, and they’d be more likely to be sympathetic to concerns that pertain more to the supernatural. Not that he’d jump right in with “I’m actually a seal person and someone here stole my pelt. Also I’m slowly dying without it.” Best not to set off any alarm bells until he could show her he wasn’t actually a crazy person. He took a look at her page and was impressed enough with her credentials to try and book an appointment.

And so, his appointment with Dr. Xóchitl Reyes was booked.

She supposed that she shouldn’t have been surprised when she actually got referrals and her schedule filled up. It was good, it was even necessary if Xóchitl wanted to make a living. She might’ve had a trust fund, but she didn’t want to touch that unless necessary. The fewer questions her moms asked, the better. She didn’t especially relish the fact that she was lying to them, even in the smallest bit, but it would have to do, if she wanted them to believe that she was better.

Her appointment for today was with Marcus Fremont, a lighthouse keeper - his first appointment, he hadn’t been a referral from a past psychologist - which didn’t especially matter one way or the other, but having people who were brand new was something of a thrill for Xóchitl, even if she wouldn’t always fully admit it.

She’d set out the white noise machine outside of her office, before going back in and grabbing a pad of paper - she’d transfer notes over to the computer later on, but Xóchitl figured it was more personal if she wasn’t partially hidden behind a screen. She heard a knock on the door and went over to open it, offering her most reassuring smile. “Marcus, I presume? You can come right in, and sit wherever is most comfortable for you.”

Marcus couldn’t really explain it, but he was feeling very nervous going into his appointment. He hadn’t really opened up to anybody fully in a very long time. It didn’t help that many of the things that were troubling him weren’t exactly “first meeting” discussion topics. He knew he had to be completely vulnerable, but figured it would be best to hold off on any topics related to the supernatural.

Instead, he did acknowledge that he was having many symptoms of depression. If he could find a way to cope mentally, at least clear his mind, he’d be in a better position to reclaim what was rightfully his.

He took a seat down on the couch and looked over at the therapist. She had a kind and welcoming expression that did put him at ease. Maybe he’d be able to make some progress with her after all. After he was seated, she took a seat across from him with a pad of paper. He appreciated the more personal approach, finding it very sterile and impersonal whenever a therapist or doctor just kept their eyes glued to a computer screen while he tried to ask them for help.

“So,” Marcus started, not wanting there to be too much silence in the interaction. He was paying by the hour after all. “Where should we start?”

“I’d just want you to get comfortable here, first.” That was how these things were supposed to start, anyhow. Xóchitl wasn’t going to be able to do a whole lot of good at giving people therapy if they wanted to run screaming from her office. She’d had enough personal experience with therapists, both good and bad, to know that much.

“Anything you want to tell me about why you’re here, if you’ve seen psychologists in the past, or anything like that. Think of it like… a conversation, of sorts.” Xóchitl winced internally at how cliched she felt as though she sounded. Even though she was fairly certain that it was a case of her being overly critical of herself, but still – being over-done on a first session was also not so good.

She wrote the date down on her notepad, before looking back up. “Also, feel free to call me whatever is most comfortable for you - you don’t need to stick with the ‘doctor’ thing if you don’t want, first name is fine, too.”

A conversation certainly sounded more pleasant than a therapy session. Even though Marcus knew that was what he was here for, it was nice to feel comfortable and open to talking about what was going on in his life.

“Well, first of all it’s nice to meet you, Xóchitl, and thank you for making me feel at home a little. I’ve never seen a psychologist or a therapist before, but usually my doctor visits are very ‘down to business’”, he said with a smile. He looked up at her and saw she was at full attention, maintaining eye contact.

“I guess the main reason why I’m here is to help manage symptoms of depression. The usual textbook stuff: difficulty focusing, lack of energy, overall depressed mood, no passion, yada yada yada,” he continued. He wanted to make her aware of what was going on, but still wanted to have a tough and rocky external attitude about it since that was the type of attitude expected of a military man. “It’s really starting to impact my life in a big way. I have important things to do, and I just can’t bring myself to do them at all. I’ve tried meditation and doing things I enjoy to clear my head. Only problem is, even the things that I enjoy are hard to do now. So I was wondering if you had any other advice to help get me out of this hole, so to speak”. It was definitely the most vulnerable he had been with someone since he left the ship. Nobody else in the town really knew what was going on with him, although he was sure his changes hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“It’s nice to meet you too, and oh - of course.” Xóchitl crossed her legs, perhaps in some sort of vague attempt to appear more professional - not that she didn’t think she already was, as-is, but it never hurt to add another layer of professionalism, all while making sure that she didn’t seem too aloof. All of that had to be possible. Even if it wasn’t, she’d make it so.

“I mean, you’re paying for this, and I want it to be your thing. I don’t think it’s very smart of a psychologist to force their beliefs on the people who are coming to see them.” She’d thrown at least one fit when her parents had taken her to a less-than-fabulous one back in Boston. Which Xóchitl figured was a warranted fit, because the woman hadn’t even had any toys in her office, and she was supposed to have worked with children.

“Of course.” Xóchitl’s expression softened as she forced herselfout of her thoughts of the past, and back into the present. She wasn’t going to help anybody if she just kept thinking all about her past and herself. Though she was acutely aware that perhaps sometime between Mackenzie dying and her getting her psych degree she’d stopped entirely hyperfocusing on the people around her (which made the possibility of losing them easier, maybe), she was aware enough to not focus on herself during sessions. After all, the less that people knew about her, the better. “I think talking about it would be the best place to start - to see the foundation of what you know and feel, and we can build up from there.” She let her gaze float off for a moment before she refocused. “Also, this is just the first meeting - we’re not going to figure everything out now, but we can start to work towards you feeling better about yourself. How’s that sound?”

Marcus supposed that made sense. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and no mind was fixed in an hour. Still, he was hoping to get some progress done today. He nodded understandingly at Xochitl and continued.

“Of course, therapy takes time, that’s what everybody always seems to say. I’m just new to this, so not really sure how any of it works.”

That was mostly true. He did have a previous experience with a navy psychologist who was also former military. However, the two of them hadn’t gotten along together very well. Their miracle cure for experiencing trauma and near death was to “take the experience as a new way to appreciate life”. Just drink the experience away and try to muffle the bad times with artificial and shallow good times. Surprisingly, that method didn’t seem to help much. And since then, Marcus had a bit of hesitation when it came to trusting future therapists.

“So, any questions you want to ask me to get started?”

“Well, if you were an expert in how it all worked, I might well be out of a job, so forgive me if I’m at least a bit pleased with the fact that you’re somewhat in the dark about all of this.” Xóchitl raised an eyebrow.

Questions to get started. She knew his name, knew a little bit about his job, but there was always more to find out about that, wasn’t there.

“I’d like to know why you chose your job - if that was something you’d been wanting since childhood, or if you somehow happened upon it… I find that knowing the whys when we can know them can lead us to help figuring out our other whys.” Xóchitl settled back against her chair. “I think a good many things are rooted in our pasts - or at least that’s what some textbooks say - but regardless, I find discussing that helps, and then we can figure out together if struggles are rooted in past, present, or somewhere in between.”

Marcus understood her desire to ask about why he chose his occupation, after all what someone chooses to do for a living can tell you a lot about who they are as a person.

“I chose the Navy because I felt a calling to serve my country. I’ve always loved the water, felt at home in it. So I figured the Navy was the best branch for me to enter into. As for why I chose to man the lighthouse once I got to town, it just seemed like a good fit.” Marcus glanced up to find the woman listening but not offering much of a reaction one way or another. He felt he was good at reading people, so somebody keeping a neutral expression to remain unreadable bothered him a bit. “I knew a lot about ships, relied on the assistance of lighthouses more than once. I’m a strong swimmer in case anybody needed rescuing, too. Plus, the position was available not long after I came to town, seemed like a no-brainer.”

Marcus felt that his childhood was very nice. He had a wealthy, he almost dared to say privileged, upbringing. His parents were very supportive of everything he wanted to do, even if that meant him risking death in foreign waters. They guided him along through his identity as a selkie, and gave him all of the best advice he could have asked for. If only he had taken that advice more seriously.

Instead, Marcus figured his problems are a mix of past and present. His present was messed up because of somebody from his past. Who is now back in his present. Was “the present” just right this minute, or the last few months? Because that’s when everything really started to go downhill.

“I’d say the problem is more rooted in the present, but who knows? Maybe it’s a combination of things”

“I don’t know if I’d call my love for the water something that I feel at home in, but that makes a lot of sense, then, to choose somewhere that you’d always feel sort of close to home, no matter where you were.” She offered him a slight smile, finally, before nodding about the lighthouse choice. “I’m not sure how much I believe in fate, but it seems as though perhaps you were meant to have that position at the lighthouse.” She couldn’t believe in fate too much, because that would’ve meant that her friend was fated to die, or something, and the thought of that was quite nearly unbearable. Xóchitl nodded. “Was it a steep learning curve? The lighthouse, I mean.”

Another nod, another attempt at a comforting smile in his next comment. “If things have only shifted more recently, then that’d make sense. Are you still enjoying your job at the lighthouse, or does it leave something to be desired, does it feel like you aren’t appreciated…” Xóchitl held up her hand, “I’m not being reductive when I ask that, just so you know, I am just trying to explore as many avenues and options as are possible.”

Marcus listened carefully to the woman in front of him, taking in what she had to say. Was it fate that he ended up working at a lighthouse? He remembered his youth, remembered the lighthouse by his old home used to be his favorite place to go. He even befriended the keeper of that lighthouse as well, who only showed him kindness. It could very well be that when he came to Wicked’s Rest he was pulled towards it in some way, but he wasn’t sure if he would call it fate. He didn’t really believe in that sort of thing.

“Not exactly. A lot of it is automated now so it’s mostly maintenance related duties. Thanks to my time in the military working on ships, I’m already pretty mechanically minded. Learning my duties came pretty naturally.”

He thought about his job at the lighthouse a bit more carefully. He was sure the ships and their captains were very thankful to him, but those people often weren’t the town’s residents. He had made a few friends in town, and had some very strange interactions with others. He was a bit irked that people kept greeting him with annoyance whenever he tried to stop somebody from littering on the beach. He considered keeping the beaches and their waters clean as part of his duties, and took it very seriously. Other than that, however, he really didn’t have any major complaints about his job.

“I think my job is great, I’m fine where I’m at. I guess it’s more that I’ve had a recent touch of heartbreak. There was this man that I knew, thought he was the love of my life. Turns out, major sociopath. And I don’t mean that in a casual sense, I mean you might be able to give him an actual diagnosis. So I’ve been struggling with that betrayal and the sense of cynicism it’s given me. I don’t know, the world just seems a lot more…gray now, if that makes sense?”

“Shows what I know,” she laughed, doing some sort of vague attempt to be somewhat self-deprecating, even if only barely. A little bit of something was better than nothing at all. “Well, sounds like you found a good place. Goodness knows I’m not the most mechanically minded. I think I can change a tire, if, like, pressured, but otherwise, not a strong suit.” Xóchitl offered him another hopefully reassuring smile.

“Oh. Yes, that does make a good deal of sense.” She pondered her words carefully. “Big events, if they’re romantic-linked or anything else, can easily have an effect on the way that we see the world. Sometimes in a positive way, and other times, not so much.” Xóchitl nodded. “Before, with him, things seemed more clear? Both personally and in your view of the world?”

Marcus gave a warm smile in return to his therapist remarking her lack of mechanical expertise. It wasn’t easy to understand a machine, and it definitely wasn’t easy to understand a piece of machinery as large as a massive ship or lighthouse. They did have their own engineers in the Navy, but emergencies happened and sometimes the rest of the crew needed to step up and understand how to do some of the more basic tasks needed. He was thankful that he could now learn how to fix anything and understand how it worked pretty quickly, unless it had anything to do with computers.

“I think it’s a bit more pervasive than that. Things were more clear, sure. But it was like I was living in a completely different reality. One where I was loved, where I was the most important thing in somebody’s life. Only to find out I was nothing more than a means to an end for him. Now, I guess you could say I’m lost.”

He was a bit surprised, he hadn’t meant to unload quite that much. But once he started talking he just sort of kept going. It was nice to be able to get it all out, but he was a bit embarrassed about being vulnerable with this woman he had only just met.

Marcus cleared his throat, and sat forward a bit. “Honestly, it’s mostly that as the issue. But it’s also just in general not feeling like myself anymore.”

She couldn’t help but wince at the comment about being a ‘means to an end.’ And to that, Xóchitl also offered him a compassionate, genuine smile. Nothing too big – and also nothing that was too patronizing – or at least so she hoped. She knew that therapy, as a whole, was something that could easily come off as patronizing and so she always made as much of an effort as was possible to not have that happen.

“Well, after that, I think I’d be more surprised if you weren��t lost.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though of all the ways to end up lost, realizing that you were someone’s means to an end is never ever a good way for that to happen.”

This didn’t seem like it would be a short partnership of therapy, that much she could already tell – and Xóchitl wasn’t opposed to that at all. It would have been a pretty terrible method of being a therapist if she only wanted short-term clients.

“Well, I can’t promise a cure because that’d be false advertising and I don’t believe in curing people, but I can promise that we’ll work through this, and that I have no intentions of leaving you hanging. Does that work for you as a deal? There’s nothing I need or want you to promise to me other than to try.”

The sympathy that the therapist was showing Marcus was very much appreciated, as she was the first person he had told everything to. The reassurance that he was the victim and hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve it was also welcome. As for not promising a cure, Marcus hadn’t expected that. The cure wouldn’t come until the problem itself went away, and he knew that would likely be some time still.

“I can absolutely try. Until I get better I won’t give anything other than my absolute best. This is something that’s very important to me.”

For the first time in a while, it felt as though Marcus had somebody in his corner. Sure he was paying her to be there, but felt genuine. After all, she must have gotten into this field because she wants to help people, so some degree of it must be her honest desire to help him out. Regardless, he needed an ally to sort through everything that had happened, and he was pleased to have finally found one.

#wickedswriting #c marcus #chatzy #writing #a seal seeks help #depression tw #// ty to tyler for writing this with me <3 love u and love marcus both sm

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biteytiefling · 2 months

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Heart full of stars chapter one

As Elise Blackmore woke up to the sound of her alarm telling her of all the things she had to do to day. The top of the list was a request from Corey to help repair some of the things in the haunted house that his son Oliver ran and while it is quite unusual for a 10-year-old to be running a haunted house, the fact that it was almost entirely automated, and could be controlled from a control room in the direct center meant that even a five-year-old could do it let alone a 10-year-old with a pension for mischief and a love of scaring people. The reason for the repair was listed as one of the moving walls got stuck along with the fact that some of the decorations needed a new coat of paint. When Elise got to the haunted house, Oliver was just coming out of the building. He waved to Elise and said I’m going to go looking for that meteorite that crashed down this morning and just like that, he was running off into the jungle. Shortly thereafter, Oliver‘s father Corey ivailo was guiding Elise through the haunted house to the sliding wall that was stuck halfway through its motion. The power to the wall had already been cut, which meant it should have slid back into with the wall in which it was housed, when hiding as part of fire safety after all, despite this haunted house being one of the attractions, it was also used as an actual hotel even if by special appointment only by ghost film Crew and the occasional engineering school that wanted to study the mechanisms used

Oliver waved to Elise and told her that he was going to be looking for the meteorite that had crashed down on their island, while his dad and Elise were fixing up the current stuck wall and he had already told Luna that he was going to be going out and looking for the meteorite. He had packed a sandwich and some water, and ran down off into the jungle about an hour later into his walk, he saw a blue glow, and getting closer he saw metal and the ruined trail of the meteorite but instead of a rock, it was metal carved with lines of blue light and then he realized it was a spaceship walking around it. He got to the bridge and saw that there. Was someone still inside of it a big someone, but they didn’t look awake and they looked hurt . Oliver knew that he couldn’t get the 7 foot person back on his own so he called his dad and Elise, Luna, and granny opal after all his dad and Elise would be able to get the forklift if nothing else to help move this guy and granny opal as the island doctor would want to take a look at this guy. If he is actually injured and even if granny Opal was fierce in her own way, Luna as head of security would need to be told anyway.

Storm heard a voice it sounded like a little kid. He had just enough strength to lift his head and open his eyes to look there. He saw a really small person and it sounded like they were talking to someone, but there wasn’t anyone there he figured that the kid must’ve had a communication device of some sort, but just as he thought that he blacked out again and when he woke up, he heard more voices He realized that he was on something soft, and he was laying down. When he tried to get up the voices stopped And he managed to open his eyes, and even though the lights were really bright, and they hurt, he still managed to see a little And what he saw was five people all of them smaller than him And from what he could hear through the translator was that he was being urged to lay back down by a small, elderly woman with curly brown hair that was starting to gray from one of the others the girl with long white hair and space buns with icy blue and yellow eyes said granny don’t get too close to them. We don’t know if they’re dangerous or not the elderly woman apparently named granny turned to the girl and said now Luna Skinner, this boy is hurt. He looks like he’ll fall back into unconsciousness if he sits up too fast. Storm processed the girls name Luna. He thought it was beautiful. And that was about the last thought he had before falling back unconscious.

#alien #alien oc #heart full of stars #writing #writers on tumblr

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layanasstories · 1 year

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Cause of pain

Part 8

Dan had agreed that I could stay. Only after I had settled down a bit in his spare room, taken a shower and put on my only pair of clean clothes did he come to say that he had forgotten an appointment. "I totally forgot, but I have to get wine and some other drinks because I'm having visitors tonight." Unimpressed, I look at him. "That's not a problem, is it? This is your house. I'll just stay here in the room. You won't be bothered by me." I reassure him. "Are you completely besotted! Cleo, Thomas, Hannah, Lilly, Jessy and Mark are coming for dinner. Everyone would bring something and I would provide enough drinks. So you just join us!" His enthusiasm made me not want to talk my way out of it and I agreed.

Immediately after I agreed I regretted it. How could I be so stupid, with Jake in one room in front of his sisters? And then pretending I don't know him. But I can't back down. Dan has already left to get his errand. He expects a nice get-togerher with all his friends. Would they realise what day it is today? Would they have been as worried as I have been for the past year? One thing I am sure of, I am not going to tell them anything tonight about the body that has been found.

I am still in my room when I hear the front door open, laughter and chatter approaching. It is Dan and Jessy with Cleo in the background telling them to be more careful with the trays they carry. I can feel the smile on my face growing, it has been so long since I heard their bickering. Even though we hadn't known each other for long, it seems like I've had them with me all my life. I don't want to wait too long to join them, before the doubt sets in.

Gently I open my room door and try to walk to the kitchen with little noise. But when I am almost there, Cleo comes around the corner. Surprised, she keeps looking at me and gestures 'come here' with her hand in the kitchen. "Oh yeah that's right!" Do I hear Dan say as Jessy pokes her head around the corner. "Hi, surprise." is all I can stammer and do jazz hands a little akwardly. Both women look into the kitchen with an angry look "Why didn't you say anything?!" Cleo's offended tone makes Dan immediately try to apologise. "Come on." I start "he didn't know about anything either until an hour or two ago.".

"Fine. You are forgiven for this one time." It is Jessy who gives him his forgiveness and turns to me. "I'm so happy to see you, it's been far too long." She says pulling me into a hug. "But what brings you here?" Behind Cleo, I see Dan looking startled, we haven't talked about what we will tell the group. "Well." I start when the doorbell rings and I can't finish my sentence. Jessy releases me from the hug and wants to go to open the door, but I stop her. "I'll open, I'm sure that will be Thomas with Hannah and Lilly. Then you guys set the table."

Expecting it to be the other three of the group, I pull open the door. Only my big smile on my face disappears when I come face to face with Jake. "Oh." Is his first reaction when he sees me. "I can go and cancel, if you want." As irritating as I find it of myself, I can appreciate why he is offering this. "No, that's not necessary. And it would only make the group suspect something. We don't want that, do we?" It sounded much more catty in my head than how I actually say it. "Are you sure?" Uncertain and somewhat worried, he asks his question. "Yes. And let's play our biggest act we've ever done." I say and step aside so he can come in.

"If I understand correctly, they don't know anything." I know him well enough to know it was not for his own sake that he asks the question. "Only Dan knows about the body, and that to my knowledge, that's you." I whisper, not wanting the others to be able to hear me. "You don't plan to rat me out?" I haven't heard him so surprised before. "Why would I want to do that? But this is not the place to have this conversation okay." I cut him off. Especially as I hear someone coming up the hall.

It is Dan who comes to see why it is taking so long at the front door "Hey! You have already made acquaintance I see." He puts his arm around my shoulders and continues "This one is mine, don't try to hijack it away Mark. Find your own!". His roaring laugh makes my ear sing. Jake's eyebrow shoots up knowing not a word of what Dan just said is true. "You know I can simply arrest you for inappropriate behaviour? And swoop her of her feet?" The sly grin on Jake's face almost makes my knees soften. Obliquely I look up at Dan "You have some stiff competition here." I detach myself from him and stand next to Jake to give Dan my sweetest smile, then look at Jake "I might have a thing for men in uniform."

And so the biggest act preformance has started.

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood game #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake x player #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom

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terresdebrume · 9 months

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So. The thinky thoughts of tonight.

(...Aka I don't have a therapist so I put things on my blog because I'm less worried about someone finding that than my bullet journal, and also typing is faster than writing and doesn't hurt my hand.)

As I mentioned on Friday, I've recently come to the realization that actually, I don't feel nervous about the idea of being pregnant here in Phnom Penh. I don't feel nervous about the idea of teaching in my school while pregnant. I don't feel very nervous about being able to financially provide for a child.

I'm not even nervous about not really wanting a child--or at the very least, I'm not nervous that I like the idea of being a parent because society convinced me I should, mostly because yesterday I was almost ready to call the local fertility clinic and make an appointment for a consultation.

But I do worry about:

Being unable to provide for a child's emotional and psychological needs

Being unable to provide for a child's physiological needs

Being able to accept the changes a child would bring in my life

The thing is, sometimes I ignore my cats when they ask for things. I don't play with them nearly as much as I should, though I've been better about at least practicing their tricks every day. Still. Cats need to play something like an hour a day, and I don't know if they play when I'm gone (I think they do) but when I'm here and spend my time lying on the couch they definitely don't. I feel guilty about it because I know I should do more but it's still very shaky, and I can see that it stresses them out sometimes. If I can't (or feel like I can't) provide for my cats needs, how can I provide for a child? Other point of worry (which is probably stupid and all but it still worries me) I feel like my students don't feel comfortable telling me things. They've told personal stories to other teachers so far, but not really to me, and I know it's their right and there may be many factors for that but I also. I worry that it's my fault, that I make them feel like they can't, somehow. And again, they don't have to! They never have to! I want to respect the privacy and their right to pick what they share, and I tell them so. But I worry that there's something about me that makes them feel stiffled or unwelcome. Am I too strict? Am I not listening the way I should? Does it seem like I don't care? Should I simply ask more questions even if it feels like I'm being intrusive? I don't know. I don't know, and it worries me even though I know I'm not entitled to know about their lives (and I don't feel entitled to it, quite the opposite) because A) I worry that it makes me a bad teacher, and B) I worry that if I can't be a good teacher or a good cat parent, it means I can't be a good parent to a child.

Also. It took me two days to do the dishes this weekend. I don't even have that many, but all of them were in the sink, and they'd been in the sink long enough to grow a bit of mold, and for the sink gunk to really smell. The floor was ditry because it took me three days longer than it should have to put the dust compartment back into the robo vacuum. My clothes are strewn around the flat. The living room table is covered in papers because I haven't been back to do the criminal background check I've been meaning to do for months now. Sometimes, I forget to change the litter boxes until the cats start protesting. And by sometimes I mean often. Sure, I'd want to do better if/when a child came in, but what if I couldn't? What if I go through the whole process and bring some poor kid who didn't ask for anything in this world and it turns out I can't care for it properly?

The changes I think is the smallest one. It just. It worries me that I think about the reality of having a child, like having to use tuktuks and maybe not being able to do DND or going for my weekly dinner anymore, and feeling reluctant. I'm also like. A bad sleeper. I've always been, I'm trying to change it, but it's so slow--the prospect of having to deal with potentially several months of being woken up several times a night is not pleasant to me. The prospect of having to share my bedroom is not pleasant to me (this could be solved by moving and doing so early enough in the pregnancy that the cats would have time to get used to the new place before the baby came.) but I worry that these are all things that just come with having a baby and me feeling apprehensive about them is a sign that I'm unsuited for the role of parent :/

I know things are different when it's your kid, and all, but while I'm not worried at the prospect of having a 3 years old or a teenager, I have to admit that I am worried about having an infant and having to devote 100% of my energy to it. I'm scared of having a child and handling the first few years so badly it hurts the child, or me, or both of us. I don't know what it says about me that I'm both considering having a child and immediately considering all the ways in which I would or wouldn't be able to avoid taking care of it (ie. Nannies, daycare, being able to go to work.) I think this one is the biggest of my worries, really. I know people have made fun of and very harshly criticized parents for struggling with having their kids at home full time during the various lockdowns of the world, but speaking as someone who actually teaches preschool and high school kids full time, they take a lot of energy--and I only have them in class! They have a set taks and I have a set task, and they can turn to each other for fun, for something to do, for support, for many things they need that a single person can't provide. I don't want to have a child and find out I can't handle the reality of it.

And if course, I worry that all this worrying isn't normal, that it's a sign I convinced myself I wanted something I don't actually want and I'm being delusional and I'll go through it and then regret it for the rest of my life. It's the same worry that I have about transitioning, which itself is the reason why I haven't really started any official process to even change my first name even though I've been going by Matt everywhere for six years now, so I'm pretty sure I can reasonably expect I won't regret *that* at least. Which I guess partially boils down to: if I haven't been spending my every conscious moments trying to get to that goal, if I've been fine with the limbo for so long, do I even really want to get out of it?

UGH. Well. That's out, I guess. Hopefully, it'll accomplish more than just stressing the cats out x)

#Matt has a life #Shit from home

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cazort · 5 months

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Ugh. Awful day. Six months ago my wife and I bought a washing machine and chose to buy a Speed Queen, which was much more expensive than most other brands, because it had a top-notch reputation and long warranty and we just didn't want to have to deal with breakdowns. This was a tough choice that we did not make lightly. Buying a house was a huge financial burden and my finances are now tighter than they've been in years, and the amount of money at stake matters. We were hoping to buy stability and leave us with one fewer thing to worry about during a stressful life transition.

Well a few days ago, it broke after 6 months, which is irritating enough, but the company has been hellish to deal with. They keep over-promising and under-delivering. Tuesday they said a local service company would reach out to schedule an appointment within 48 hours. Over 72 hours went by with no call. I called again today and the system said the wait time was 1 hour 6 minutes. This is literally the longest wait time I have ever had from any company. I put my number in the queue and they called me back...1 hour 50 minutes later.

The rep was barely helpful. She did not seem to understand the gravity or magnitude of the situation and spoke as if what happened to me was business-as-usual, rather than a rare, once-in-a-blue moon occurence that the company wanted to bend over backwards to fix. She tried calling the contractor and couldn't reach them. She did switch the ticket to a different contractor, who called me back later that afternoon, so now I have an appointment set up for next Thursday.

But I'm upset. I'm upset that I paid over twice the price for what I thought would be a premium product unlikely to break, and with a commitment to outstanding service, and instead I got a company that provides the longest hold times I have ever seen in my life, repeatedly makes promises it fails to deliver on, and reps that have no authority to escalate the issue or do anything to right the situation.

And I still don't know what is going to happen on Thursday. Will the contractor show up? Will they be able to fix it then and there, or will I have to wait days or weeks for a replacement part? Am I going to need to drag our laundry to the laundromat and incur additional costs doing so?

I have already filed a BBB complaint. I would like a partial rebate of the price I paid, because the value I have received is not worth what I paid for. I also am talking about my experience online.

Speed Queen has a top-tier reputation. They are a brand mainly used by laundromats, supposedly made to handle a heavy volume of use and last for many years. But the way they have treated me as a customer makes me feel like I've been cheated and would have done better buying a cheaper brand available at any box store.

I'm a reasonable person. I don't expect top-tier service if I buy a cheap, low-end product. I can even forgive mediocre service. But paying premium prices and then getting unspeakably bad service is just unconscionable to me.

If they had told me it might take a week to get contacted, I would be annoyed but it wouldn't be as bad as saying I would expect a call in a certain time frame and then have that call not come. And I might feel better if they did what most companies do, which is to at least apologize profusely and tell me they are really concerned with what is going on and escalate the situation. Like earlier this week I called my bank about something they messed up and the woman was like "Yeah you are right, the interface is actually really bad. I get why you are upset. We really need to improve that."

Like sometimes that's literally all it takes. Someone saying "Wow, we really messed up. I'm really sorry that sucks so much."

But no I didn't even get that.

And of course if this happens to me I'm gonna talk about it everywhere. So right now I am warning people about Speed Queen. They may have an amazing reputation but my experience with them so far has been awful.

#speed queen #washer #washing machine #home appliances #customer service

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ashwithapen · 4 months

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the results from the badly summarised WIP poll are in...

and the winning vote was for option #3:

queer kid has 2 year long mental breakdown and will not stop writing about it

which won with 7 of the 17 votes cast! thank you to everyone who voted!

the WIP in question was tales, second edition, which is written as journal entries from a 17/18-year-old as they reflect on time as it passes. below the cut is the promised snippet! (it's actually quite a lot ehehe, enjoy!! <3)

[12] there are stop signs in the city.

this morning i had a dentist’s appointment. it took far too long, but that’s cause the girl cleaning my teeth was obviously new. she scratched my gums until they bled, and in my head, while i was lying there, i thought up what’d i’d say if she brought up my eyes watering slightly. apparently i have this thing where when i lay down, i get really weepy.

after, on the way back home to drop my sister, i was nearly in tears. it felt like i was going to shut down or something, my head resting against where the window met the car door. at a turning, i sat up and was met with a bright red stop sign in brilliant condition. i think i’d been thinking, “someone save me”, and then, like an echo almost, i heard three voices read the word stop. i could tell you who, but i think i’d like to keep that private a little while longer.

it was crazy, i thought, but undeniably on-brand. i was heading to my father’s office after my sister was dropped off to work on my psychology paper due an hour from when i’m writing this. all because i couldn’t handle a dentist’s appointment, i would fall apart and shut down in my dad’s office space, and i’d mess my grade up, and then none of the universities would take me. i applied last week and i’ve received three offers already. and all because of a dentist’s appointment, i could feel my future slipping away all over again.

i’ve been thinking about it since school started back, how this’ll be my “last time” doing so many things. last first term pre-uni, last halloween. last christmas show pre-uni, last independence day. last christmas as a child, last new years. getting the first offer from plymouth with a condition of grades i’ve already been meeting was basically being handed the golden ticket. i would be free to go. no matter if everywhere else told me to bugger off, i could leave. freedom.

i’ve been thinking about it since that sleepover a few months ago at my friend’s house. his brother, two years above us, was away at college for his second year, so i was sleeping in his room. it was so empty, much emptier than it was when he lived there full-time. just the scaffoldings of his livelihood still pinned to the walls and tidied into the corners, waiting for his eventual return. i wondered that night how my room would look without me in it, how the dust would totally coat everything, how the window panes might just fall out, how the haphazardly hung stars, lights, flags, and calendars might all come falling down in my absence. would it forget the smell of me? the warmth of my skin, tears, breaths, and the cold of my blasting AC? the familiarity of my motions, the sound of my alarm clock, the care embedded in my mannerisms?

i keep hoping that i’ll be right once more and uni will be how i anticipate, calculations scrawled like a whirlwind must have tunnelled through across the whiteboard. surely i will be able to work like it was spain, and surely the meds will still work, and surely i’ll wear hoodies, and wear my hair out, and wear my shoes thin. i’ll have time and accommodations and a chance. i’ll make new friends who i don’t need to explain myself or my loves to. hell, i’ll hug them and touch them and call them my family and call just to tell them i love them.

i worry that i’m wrong, too. i worry that nothing in the world will change and i’ll still be 13 and dumb as high hell. i’ll still be the outcast, more firmly than ever. i’m too much, even for my own breed. i write about the wrong things, and i love the wrong people, and i care about the wrong things, and i love the wrong places. i’m too different for normal, too normal for different. i’ve spent a whole childhood diligently walking the same rope that the acrobats must train decades to master—quite literally the balancing act of a lifetime.

it’s always been such a fine line, hasn’t it? always one pill away from a heart attack, one cut away from my last, one point away from a pass, always one grade away from a graduation, always one dentist appointment away from university. i heard three people say ‘stop’ and i felt something there, what i don’t know. i’ve forgotten. there are stop signs in the city, blindingly bright red and somehow i don’t heed their advice, choosing instead to fall and fall and fall, like a different acrobat, legs twisted in billowing silks. i do not know—and will not know—if i meant to fall until i reach the end of the rope, but i cannot stop now—and whether it's out of fear or some unbidden drive, i have no clue.

[13] there are murals on the walls of my mind.

i think that maybe i’ll be a philosopher. or a psychologist, like freud, i believe is how his name is spelt. similarly, i believe his whole thing was he didn’t prove his ideas. but just as i can’t ever look up how to spell his name, i can’t google his tendencies. still, i think i’m right about that—just don’t ask me why i’m right, because i won’t have anything other than more unsourced thoughts to spew.

so i watched a movie, “good will hunting”, and now i must think i’m the most pretentious person ever. not because i am (unless i am), and more because i’m so inclined to think like that blonde boy, to string together sources. there was a moment where i realised that not everybody, hell, a lot of people probably don’t relate to will. i do—not all the way, but i do. ever been pushed so hard or pushed away? ever been so cautious or conscious of yourself that you learn how to talk and talk and talk like your words can be a deterrent? ever known something so intrinsically, like maths, like words? ever said “i know” and known that yes, but on a deeper level, no? i think i’m the most pretentious person ever.

so i’ve been writing these essays for school recently. well, really, i’ve been writing one for maybe 9 months, but with how many times the title has changed, it’s only been half that. one’s about the link between autism and gender identity—a phrase i type in my sleep these days—and the other is about sociology, psychology, theatre, and video entertainment, and the rate at which trends are taken up. thrilling stuff across the board, i know. they are the easiest, hardest essays i’ve ever had to write. and the part that makes it so hard? that the people with the influence haven’t gotten around to studying my learned truths.

somewhat so similarly, i’ve had to, over the last year, write music for school. i’ve never had formal training when it comes to technique, but i gotta feelin’, ya know?—in that horrible “movie star from a different pay grade” accent, ya know? and they ask me to explain myself. i’ve done nothing wrong, but more so i’ve done something good, and none of them understand how i managed to get from A to C without sparing even so much as a glance at B.

in english, there’s a term called “parataxis”. i don’t remember the real meaning of it, but i tell it to myself “if it feels like there’s a comma here that only you and people similarly ridiculous would have put there, then it’s parataxis”. and how i came to this conclusion? i guessed as much with a raised hand back in september, and my teacher said something like “pretty much”, then said, “you do it a lot”. i’d have gladly played russian roulette with the odds that some limb i went out on stylistically as a fanfiction author was a real “technique”.

there were some times that i’ve been reminded of recently from when i was 10 or 11 years old, back at the end year of elementary school. (funny how my mind would take me back there now as i end high school.) once i made up a language on the spot because i couldn’t remember how i’d proofed a maths sum on a test and got accused of copying because of it, and then of lying for not owning up. second, i was afterschool talking with my teacher, and with some unknown, forgotten context, she posed that she’d rather be home than dealing with the situation at hand. she asked, “wouldn’t you rather be at home too?” and in my young wisdom, i stayed quiet, like how i should have done maybe countless times prior to that moment. i shook my head or shrugged eventually, and my teacher said, “what, you don’t know if you’d rather be at home or at school?” this time i definitely shook my head. i didn’t know.

so i’m turning 18 in two weeks, give or take. i’m scared to count how many days exactly. i’ve also got mock exams for the next two weeks, give or take. i’ve also got covid again.

so i’ve been wondering recently, like nietzsche probably used to, about whether or not i’m right. more deeply, i’ve been wondering if i’m real. i don’t know though, maybe i’m just feeling pretentious again. but i hear people in my head.

i don’t want people to read this, like how i imagine they will, and think that i was crazy. not to be insensitive, but sometimes i wish i were. then maybe i could consider existentialism from the comfort of my own holding cell.

“it’s not your fault.”

i’ve been thinking about that too recently, all the things i don’t remember from back then and back before and the other day and so on. i don’t know what, but there’s a piece of a puzzle missing under a sofa somewhere and a child’s fingers are an inch too short to reach it, so it is lost and forgotten, much like my life. just out of reach. i wonder, from the comfort of my own holding cell, if maybe the puzzle never existed in the first place. i haven’t had a good night’s sleep since before i was born, and i mean it. i died when i tasted oxygen, my brain was secluded and tubed and set down in a test lab where today it has sweet dreams about writing books about itself and hearing company within itself. what a strange, twisted, demented little thing you are.

have you ever seen picasso’s self-portraits? well, i hate to be the one to tell you, but it was me. i did them all. i saw a different person every time i thought about myself until there were 13 separate renditions of my life story. i pity them all, every sad-eyed abstract thought that went too far. i loved them hedonistically, fucked them till they bore the sweetest fruit, then scraped off their skins and devoured them and spat out their seeds like they couldn’t dare to grow anew. i made faces in the face of aliens, the whole human race of them, and in return i got broken mirrors, showing me these faces that aren’t quite me but who have my brain and my beautiful eyes.

when’s the foot dropping? it’s gotta be any day now.

i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting i’m waiting

interlude g “the drop”

the feeling of an avalanche spilling over, tumbling helplessly down the mountainside. the feeling of the highest drop on a rollercoaster, your stomach up by your heart, your heart up in your throat, only now, i do not dare laugh.

she wishes me good luck. gracias. i think what a dumb thing, but it’s the hour now where the only thing left for me is dumb, good luck.

interlude h “sophia”

yesterday my friend was involved in a home invasion. the six men tied her, her brother, and her dad’s pregnant girlfriend up. her dad was killed. her brother was kicked. she was nearly raped. she was supposed to go away to study in milan this year, but when i texted her ipad (they took her phone), she told me she’s putting everything on hold until next year, even though we’ve only been in this year for short of three weeks. i asked her and she told me she’s still seeing the same therapist as me. she’s got a session on tuesday the 23rd. i asked where she was staying and she said that she wasn't allowed to say anything. there’s 24-hour security. her and her brother are going to be smuggled out of the country soon. they were supposed to be killed too, but the bandits didn’t follow through. i’m not sure i’ll ever see her face-to-face again. i’m not sure where she’s going, if she’ll go to america or come back here.

i thought about how much she changed my life. how i met her when we were 12, how she taught me the word gay, how she and i bore similar hand-crafted engravings in our skin at a time, how we planned her wedding in greece once, how we chased her dog down the beach the last time i saw her, a year a 21 days ago.

in other news, i turn 18 in 4 days. wednesday the 24th.

interlude i “gently”

i’ve not felt myself for a while, a sluggish embodiment of displacement. a presently ongoing, everlasting simmer that sighs great washes of hot vapour, condensation sticking faux-delicately to my ruined pink cuticles, and every exhalation is of insurmountable mourning: never enough.

to what do i owe the pleasure of this unannounced, unexpected visit? to which god must i bow so lowly? what charm of luck has been bestowed upon me that i should respire between walls of wallowing and beneath this ceiling so limited? a child’s becoming, a martyr’s martyrdom. at this end, i see for me my ever beloved cold; ice melting into deep brown irises, freezing my gaze upon this future.

every thrash drags my dejection further down. every breath of hope serves to suffocate, stuck in the wooden body hanging there in the windowsill, spinning the poor thing in a way so unbecoming that it almost makes me envy it. a life cut down thoughtlessly. caught by the earth’s cold, smothered by the darkness, embraced by such resignation. if i am to be something so estranged, then let it encompass me. let it swallow my brightness, stars blinking out endlessly across the whole universe. let it become me. let me be estranged. let me be slowly forgotten as the first child’s laugh, as the first lovers’ night, as the first mother’s grief, as the first dead’s eulogy.

i will become what i have never dared to, so long as my flesh is still warm.

#ash.txt #ash writes #get wipped lmao #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writers and poets #writers #writerscommunity #writer

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slytherhys · 2 years

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Strung-Out Heart V

A/N - I've been fighting demons writing this chapter and this is as good as it gets, ig? Hope you guys enjoy it because I'm DRAINED. Also, I promise good things are coming, we're getting rowaelin soon

TW - Strong language, mature themes.

I - II - III - IV

Rowan

If there was something Rowan knew he could always count on it was his job. Maybe it was weird to enjoy it half as much as he did, but something about being able to share his art with people who actually wanted it on their skin was something that made him extremely happy and, most importantly, extremely focused on only that. When he had a needle gun in his hand there was nothing that mattered more than art. There was only his gun, and his canvas – there was certainly no space for thoughts about blondes and tiny dresses and soft lips.

Unfortunately for Rowan, his only appointment that day were two small mountain tattoos on a guy’s knees that were done 40 minutes after he had begun. The parlour closed in two hours so he had closed himself in his office, working on flashes to get his mind off of things for a bit but at this point nothing short of blissful oblivion would help him.

It had been a little over a week since Rowan had last seen Aelin and kissed her senseless before snarling and running away like a wild animal. He couldn’t exactly say he was proud of his actions, but he honestly didn’t know if he could’ve acted any better. He was also struggling to wrap his head around her jealousy. He wasn’t sure what it meant and he wouldn’t let himself hope. Not for her love and certainly not to get her back. He always knew he’d fall easily into her arms again, that’s why couldn’t let himself drop his defences around her.

He had spent so many months of his life wanting Aelin to be back that now that she was here, he was almost afraid of what exactly being around her would do to him; as if having his dream come true would turn him into a twisted version of himself he was too scared to let be.

Rowan’s hand stilled over the stag he was just finishing drawing. When, exactly, had wanting Aelin back become his dream again? Rowan felt jaded, exhausted by his own doing. He had barely slept the past few days and he had been visiting Fenrys’ bar way more often than what he probably should have. He had been battling himself all week, wanting to see her again but needing to stay away. Only he knew exactly how he had felt the night he had kissed Aelin and only he knew exactly how he longed to feel it again. To feel heragain.

A knock on his door pulled him away from any straying thoughts. Lorcan had probably finished his last job considering he was bursting inside Rowan’s office like he owned the place. Rowan supposed he did, but still.

His friend looked eerily pale, his hands jittery as he quickly made his way towards the leather couch by the window, where he sat. His giant body seemed unable to stay still as his hands clasped and unclasped, his foot tapping against the floor. His eyes were slightly wide, and yet he looked everywhere but at Rowan. He waited for his friend to calm down, raising an eyebrow as he watched Lorcan unravel right in front of him. It was sort of amusing if he was being honest.

Rowan knew Lorcan had a booking in less than twenty minutes, so he wasn’t concerned. He has always been someone that struggled with having emotional talks, and from the way he kept clearing his throat – an odd telling that gave him away every single time – Rowan knew that was what this was about.

He wondered if Lorcan was here to speak about Aelin. As far as he knew, there was no reason for him to know Aelin was back in town and there was certainly no reason for him to know Rowan had kissed her days ago. Or had she kissed him? The details were a bit fuzzy. Either way, he wouldn’t care to find out exactly what his best friend would do if he found out Aelin was back in town.

Rowan broke the silence first. “Is everything-”

“I asked Elide to marry me.” Lorcan blurted out, his eyes wide as he finally set them on Rowan.

Rowan felt his browns pinch together, confusion overtaking his features. “Okay,” He drawled as he took in his friend’s pale expression. He had never seen Lorcan acting so neurotic before. He certainly didn’t look happy. “Did she say no?” Rowan asked as softly as he could, an apologetic look on his face.

“What?” Lorcan’s voice thundered through the parlour as he pushed to his feet. Rowan thanked the gods no costumers were in the waiting room. “Why would you say that?” He shrieked, his hand nervously brushing through his hair before settling on his hips.

Rowan sighed in relief. “She said yes.”

“Of course she said yes, you asshole.” Lorcan all but growled.

“You looked fucking miserable!” Rowan snapped, going to his feet. “You’re terrible at this.” He mumbled.

“I don’t think I actually believe it.” Lorcan muttered, his eyes on the floor. “I’ve been going around in a haze for days-”

“Days?”

“And I still can’t believe she’s going to marry me.” Lorcan smiled softly, as if momentarily forgetting Rowan was in the room. If there was anything Lorcan despised it was showing emotion in any shape or form. Rowan still wondered how exactly he managed to find a girl like Elide but then again, he was pretty sure only someone like Elide could be right for his best friend. Rowan grinned, circling his desk and pulling Lorcan to a hug.

“Congrats man.” He patted him on the back, ignoring Lorcan’s muttered protests. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Thanks.” He coughed. Rowan fought a smirk as Lorcan cleared his throat for the tenth time in under five minutes. “There’s…” Lo mumbled something under his breath before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Rowan simply watched him with raised eyebrows until the giant finally broke. “Will you be my best man?” He fired, the words jumbling together to the point Rowan had to take a second for their meaning to finally settle in.

Rowan’s face broke into a shit-eating grin. “Your best man?”

Lorcan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Fuck yes.” He laughed, pulling his best friend to yet another hug. He knew Lo was probably seconds away from pushing him away, but he couldn’t give a shit right now. He was too happy.

Lorcan patted him on the back as a clear sign it was time for Rowan to step away, so he did. “We’re having a small get-together to celebrate tomorrow. At our place. Will you be there?”

“Of course, mate.” He replied immediately, unable to stop smiling.

Rowan had known Lorcan his entire life and there had always been something eerily cold about the man. They had never really gotten into the depths of it, but what mattered was that the day Elide came into his life a new kind of light entered his best friend’s eyes. They had something akin to magic and Rowan very well remembered the words his best friend had muttered the night he had first seen Elide.

I’m going to marry her.

He was drunk off his ass, having spent the entire night drinking to celebrate Aelin’s birthday. She had been the one to introduce them, having met Elide in college and invited her to celebrate with her friends. He would’ve never have guessed a 5’2 woman would be the one to make Lorcan go speechless, but it was a sight he would never forget.

Rowan also remembered what he had said back to Lorcan as he stared at a buzzed Aelin, but he pushed those words aside and focused on his best friend instead.

The bell from the front door sounded through the shop, followed by a smooth voice calling for them. Lorcan’s next costumer was probably already here, but Lorcan still looked like he was about to have a heart attack at any second now. Rowan offered to prep him while Lorcan calmed himself down. He had a gleaming suspicion that meant Lorcan would call Elide before heading out to tattoo the man waiting by the entryway.

The man was tall and lean, with short raven-black hair. He looked relaxed, his blue eyes taking in the main room and Lorcan’s studio to his left before settling on Rowan. He raised an eyebrow. “Lorcan?” He asked once he noticed Rowan, his eyes roaming his appearance as if he expected something else.

“No, he’ll be out in a bit.” Rowan said, nodding towards Lo’s station. “I’ll prep you, if that’s okay?”

The man frowned, nodding as he made his way towards the leather chair, his steps unhurried. The only noise in the parlour was Lorcan’s playlist playing softly through the shop’s sound system. The man took off his jacket and his shirt, lying down as his eyes went back to Rowan.

“Are you Rowan?” He was surprised to note a slight accent in his question. He looked up to the man, his eyebrows raised. “I checked your social media; I know there’s two of you working here.” He shrugged gingerly.

Rowan supposed that made sense. Lorcan was the one that managed the store’s marketing, so he wouldn’t know much about it. All he did was take pictures of the tattoos he did and even then Lorcan always grumbled about them being too shaky or too dark for their feed, whatever that was. “Yeah, I’m Rowan.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Had he been expecting something else? He had never seen that man in his life, but not for the first time Rowan was feeling a bit…weirded out. Was he missing something?

“You’re from around here?” Rowan asked conversationally. Maybe he was from Doranelle, even though the accent didn’t exactly match his family’s.

“Rifchold, actually.” His lips quirked up. “I’m visiting a friend, but it’s a surprise.”

“The tattoo or your visit?”

He shrugged. “Both, I suppose.” He mused. “I didn’t exactly tell her I was coming and I’m not sure she won’t have me sleeping on the street.”

Rowan raised his eyebrows as he put on some latex gloves. “Would she do that?”

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

“She sounds like a handful.” Rowan started disinfecting the area where the tattoo was supposed to before grabbing a razor.

“She makes up for it.”

Rowan raised his eyebrows and smirked, ignoring the implications of that sentence alone. “You guys sound close.”

“Well, we’ve been living together for the past 3 years so I guess you could say that.”

“Sounds serious.” Rowan smirked, his focus on the drawing of the dragon the man was about to get tattooed. “And your friend-”

“Ready?” Lorcan appeared suddenly, his grin directed at the man on the chair. He looked collected and there was a bit of colour to his face, so that was good. The man seemed to relax at his appearance and Rowan took off his gloves so Lorcan could get to work.

“I can’t wait to surprise her.” He grinned back, his eyes following Lorcan as he got his ink ready.

Rowan felt his eyebrows rise. “You’re doing this for a girl?” He asked before he could stop himself.

The man eyed Rowan curiously. “Among other reasons, yeah.”

“Is that-” He started but quickly got cut off by Lorcan’s murdering gaze. Right, not great for business.

“Pot meets kettle.” Lorcan teased, pushing forward when the man raised an eyebrow. “He also got a tattoo for his girlfriend a few years back so it’s not like he can talk.”

“Really?” There was a glint in the man’s eyes that Rowan didn’t exactly appreciate, far too calculating for it to be innocent. Rowan felt himself scowl.

“The fact I got one should make me an expert on the matter actually.” He growled.

“What did you get?” the costumer asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” He snapped, making Lorcan chuckle. Rowan couldn’t help but miss the pale anxious Lorcan that had been standing in his office earlier. “I’m done for the day so I’m leaving.” He mumbled over the sound of the gun, quickly turning back to his office. He probably sounded every bit of the child he felt, but he didn’t care, even if Lorcan was clearly amused by it.

“Bring some wine tomorrow!” He shouted as Rowan left. He could’ve sworn he felt the name tattooed on his ribcage burning as he left the parlour.

…

Going back to Lorcan’s and Elide’s apartment had always felt like a bittersweet experience. No matter how different the entire place seemed, Rowan couldn’t exactly erase all his memories from living there. It was like a part of him had been left behind for others to use, and Rowan had never decided how exactly he felt about it, even if he had been the one to suggest to his friends they take the apartment once he left.

However, going back there to celebrate an engagement felt like a sick prank the universe was trying to pull on him. Mainly when it had only been a few days since Aelin had gotten back – and only a few days after he kissed her. He wanted to be happy for his friends, but sometimes the memories of that apartment felt too real for him to ignore them.

The apartment was packed. There were a few members of Elide’s family there – none of Lorcan’s, but Rowan wasn’t entirely surprised by that – but the majority of the guests were friends of the happy couple. Rowan was on the couch talking to Fenrys when Lorcan finally managed to step away from diplomatic matters, slumping against the couch like he had been running the marathon. He even looked a little sweaty if Rowan was being honest.

“I might beg her to elope.” He grumbled, his eyes focused on Elide. Rowan had been ignoring the petite brunette all day, mainly because she kept looking at him with a weird look on his face. He wasn’t entirely sure what that was about, but he was scared to find out. If he had done something to upset Elide he feared what she would do to him.

“She might go for it.” Fenrys shrugged, taking a sip from his scotch. Lorcan looked at the blond, an intrigued look on his face.

“You think so?”

“She doesn’t look like she’s exactly enjoying her uncle’s company, so I’d agree with Fenrys.” Rowan added, looking at Elide just as she looked at him. She narrowed her eyes before her uncle demanded her attention again. Rowan was man enough to admit he was a bit scared.

“How did you ask her?” Fenrys asked looking way too uninterested for it to be genuine. Rowan refrained from commenting on it, though. Glass houses and all that.

Lorcan paled a bit. “Does it matter?”

Fenrys turned to him, a smirk starting on his lips once he noticed Lo’s unease. “Yes, I think it does.”

“It’s not appropriate.” He quickly mumbled, getting up before anyone could ask anything else. Rowan frowned.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Fenrys groaned, turning to Rowan. “Do you think they were doing it when he asked?”

Rowan snorted, ignoring the blonde’s question. “Doing it? What are you, fifteen?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Fenrys sighed dramatically.

“Good.”

“It probably happened at the bakery.” Fenrys mused. “That would explain the secrecy, right? No one wants to think about them fucking in the same place they buy their bread.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You should find a new hobby.”

“I’m just brainstorming here.” He said, his voice drowned by the doorbell. Rowan wasn’t sure the apartment could handle anymore people and from what he could tell, everyone was already here. Fenrys pulled his attention back to him again. “Maybe at the parlour? But asking someone to get married at the tattoo parlour seems a bit tacky.” He droned on, even though Elide’s shriek sounded through the room.

“Aedion!”

Rowan’s head snapped to the door, where Elide was hugging a frail-looking Aedion. He hadn’t seen his friend in weeks – not for lack of trying this time around – but he looked different from the last time they had been together. There were dark circles under his eyes that Rowan could spot from afar and even his body looked skinnier. His cheeks looked hollow and his smile weak, even though he was trying hard not to let it show to Elide who kept fussing all over him like she was his mom. Before he could even register anything else he was making his way towards Aedion, his eyes focused only on him. The blond spotted him immediately, sending him an apologetic smile before he pulled him to a hug as well.

“Where have you been?” Rowan asked, just as his eyes locked on who stood behind his friend. He was sure Aedion had answered his question, but everything turned to white noise as her turquoise eyes looked up at him, vulnerable and… fearful.

Aedion pulled away, his smile as brittle as before. Rowan did his best to ignore Aelin as he stared at his friend.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a low voice so only Aedion could hear. Suddenly a lot of things seemed to line up – Aedion’s disappearance, Aelin’s return and now Aedion’s fray looks. He didn’t want to assume the worst, but things weren’t exactly looking pretty. Aedion seemed to taste his words before opening his mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lorcan’s voice sounded through the apartment instead, approaching Elide at a worryingly quick pace. Elide simply rolled her eyes and stepped away from him, reaching out for Aelin’s hand. Rowan simply watched, unable to speak even when Elide sent him an apologetic smile.

“She’s a guest.” She simply said, her brown eyes clashing with Lorcan’s, as if daring him to say something. His best friend glanced at him before frowning at Elide.

“That’s not a good idea.” Lorcan gritted through his teeth, making Elide glance at Rowan too. It was eerily like living through his parents’ divorce all over again.

“I-I can go.” Aelin stuttered, a pretty pink tinting her cheeks. Rowan hated that he noticed.

“You do that.” Lorcan snarled.

“Lorcan, I swear to the gods-” Elide took a step forward, probably ready to lash out at Lorcan when Rowan spoke.

“It’s okay.” He said softly, making his friends stare at him with disbelieving looks. Aedion looked like he was two seconds away from pitying him and he would rather set himself on fire before letting that happen. “I don’t mind.” He said, his voice as cold as he managed. Aelin looked up at him again, gratitude clear on his pretty face. There was a reluctance to her posture that he could relate to.

“Thank you, Ro.” Elide smiled softly, going on the tip of her toes before kissing him on his cheek. She pulled Aelin towards the kitchen and Rowan made his very best effort not to follow after them.

Lorcan approached him, completely uncaring towards Aedion’s presence. “Are you sure about this?”

No, he wasn’t. He had spent the last 8 days getting pissed at himself for not being able to stay away from her and the very last thing he needed that moment was for another round of Aelin Galathynius, but he wouldn’t ruin Elide and Lorcan’s night. Not because of her and certainly not in that apartment. Those walls had already witnessed too much of their stained history.

Besides, it was just a few hours in the same apartment with twenty more people around them. The chances of them even talking to each other were slim to none.

“I am.” He finally said. Lorcan frowned and Aedion looked at him like he didn’t believe him. He wasn’t sure he believed himself either.

................

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