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mystery-star · 1 year

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Disguise – Ben Wade (Part 2 / 3)

Pairing: Ben Wade x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of past prostitution and rape, molesting, implied smut

Words: 3561

Series Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: Please, please tell me you get the reference!

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

“Your brother?”

“Half-brother actually. Same father. My parents weren’t married so he lived with his mother. Smuggled out food for me. Well, he couldn’t do that after Herod had taken him under his wing. So I had to fend for myself. Was bound to gone wrong at some point” he didn’t elaborate but you thought it was his decision if he didn’t want to share. It had never really occurred to you that sometimes men didn’t choose to become outlaws in the first place but that they had no choice. Once men were outcast, they could only get by through robberies or stealing, by being outlaws. Women, however, most likely ended up like you; in a brothel. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why’d you end up in such a life? As a whore?” you swallowed.

“I came from a renowned family. My father set up everything for a marriage with a good match for me” you felt your voice die down “Two days before the wedding a friend of my fiancé… I think he might have liked me” you gulped “He-he…” you shook your head

“He raped you” you barely managed a nod and felt tears in your eyes. The outlaw moved over to you and pulled you to his chest “’t’s alright. You don’t need to continue. I’m sorry for asking” he started to wipe your tears away with the back of his hand but more followed. For a while you silently cried, almost wanting to laugh about the fact that you were crying in the arms of an outlaw, clinging to him as if your life depended on it.

“No one believed me” you whispered “They thought I had wanted it. My fiancé was furious and cancelled the wedding. That made my family angry and they threw me out. I never understood what I did wrong”

“You did nothing wrong. What your family did was wrong. What that guy did was wrong”

“Either way it can’t be changed now. What happened has happened” you wiped the tears away

“Yeah. You now took matters into your own hands. What kind of life are you hoping for in Tubac?”

“I don’t know” you lied “Something better. To make money in a better way” that actually was true. You had quite a bit on the side now and maybe one day, you could settle down at some place and live a quiet life. Who knew, maybe you even found love at some point.

“To find someone maybe?”

“Maybe” he pressed a kiss to your forehead and squeezed your hand.

“It will work out somehow. I know it will” when he continued to hold you in silence you figured you’d better move away or he might get ideas. To your surprise he removed his arms so you could easily get away “You alright?”

“Yes” you assured him

“Sorry if I crossed a boundary with the hug”

“I’d have stopped you if you had” you replied and it was the truth. You could have pushed him away. But you didn’t want to. In fact, you actually wanted to be back in the hug.

“You should get some sleep” you shook your head

“I can’t. In a couple of hours your watch will be over and how do I know if the one after you will leave me alone? Or others?”

“Then I either keep watch all night or come to sleep next to you so in case anyone gets too close for your liking I’ll kill him”

“You would kill your own men?”

“I told them to stay away from you. If they don’t listen I gotta teach ‘em a lesson” you shrugged

“I see. But I could not ask you to keep awake all night just because of me” he chuckled

“Then you’ll have to bear me lying next to you for the rest of the night” obviously you must have made a grimace because he continued “Of course nothing will happen unless you want it”

“Okay”

“But well… in case you’d agree… it’d be the same like yesterday. I’ll promise to take care of you first”

“Why do you do that? Wouldn’t it be easier if you just… looked after yourself? After all you’re the one paying”

“Would be quicker, yeah. But why the rush? Ain’t the same if the woman’s only faking interest or pleasure in you or your touch.” yeah you understood what he meant. You had to pretend you liked what the men did and that they did a good job. Worst were the ones that wanted you to show it or actually praise them. Needless to say this usually were the men that were most egoistic and deserved your praise least of all. “Or if she’s scared and you’ll start to feel like you’re doing something wrong. Then you better just do it yourself and save the money. ‘Cause if it’s just about finding release, there another way. I don’t know about other men but when I want a woman I want her ‘cause I want something I can’t have when I’m doing it myself”

“You want to bond with them” you guessed. Yes, you knew that type of men as well. Some men just felt lonely and what they enjoyed most was to cuddle you afterwards. Sometimes they became regulars, visiting every once in a while. They were the most pleasant kind of customers because they never were rough or mean and sometimes would even strike a basic conversation. It was this type of men that didn’t make you feel like you were an object or a soulless shell of flesh.

“Yeah. Guess I do”

“Maybe you could… I mean… have you never met someone special? Some woman you liked? Why-why don’t you try to start over somewhere where they don’t know you? Or a state you’re not wanted in?”

“There was a girl… in San Francisco. I was very smitten with her and when I left, I asked her to come with me but she said no. ‘Sides, what could I offer a woman? Danger? This? Me?” he gestured around with his hand “That ain’t a life you want to offer the woman you love”

“You don’t want or don’t think you deserve a woman because you think you couldn’t give her what she deserves?” he tilted his head as if he had to think about it, then nodded “But she would have you. And you could treat her right. I mean being there for her. Show her how much you love her. And maybe… I don’t know, maybe there’s someone who would take this above what she currently has or doesn’t have. Who’d just be glad to be out of a bad situation. Or a female outlaw. They are used to this kind of life” he gave you a smile

“Thank you. You might be right”

Your conversation had died down after your talk about relationships and shortly after, you fell asleep. When you felt someone lying down next to you, you woke up again but it only turned out to be Wade who kept his promise to stay with you after someone else had taken over the watch.

“Hey. You” someone woke you the next morning and when you didn’t react, he kicked your thigh. In an instant you shot up

“What?” you spat with a glare

“I want breakfast” of course you knew what he tried to imply but decided to play dumb

“Oh yeah, sounds great. If you’re already at it, I’d like some eggs with ham. And oh, do you have coffee? With a shot of whiskey?” next to you, Ben Wade chuckled.

“You are supposed to make breakfast, woman”

“Well, just seconds ago you said you want breakfast. Why should I prepare it, it was your idea?”

“She’s a whore. Whores don’t cook. They got other talents” another man piped up. You only smiled and picked up a small stone next to you.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll show you” with a grin the man came closer and you flung the stone right in his face. “See, I got a pretty good aim. Wouldn’t you call that a talent?” holding the spot you’d hit him, the man came closer but now his boss interfered.

“That’s enough”

“She threw a stone at me!”

“Oh, I know, I saw. Guess everyone did. You did have it coming though”

“Tell her to make breakfast”

“The lady’s our guest. And we should treat her as such” he too got up and glared at the man until he scowled, spat on the ground and turned around. “Great shot” he then told you, making you smile.

As you were riding during the day, some of the men tried to talk to you, better said try to convince you to ‘offer them service’. Then Ben Wade got wind of it and shooed them away, riding next to you and you spent most of the day talking. With each hour it grew harder and harder to remember that he was your victim; that you were supposed to deliver him in Tubac.

This evening, you could fall asleep much easier because Ben (he had insisted you called him by his first name) taught you some self-defense (not shooting because he thought you’d better able to defend yourself if a man came too close for your liking). Although you knew quite a deal already you agreed, knowing it wouldn’t hurt to know more. During the lesson you had played dumb and clumsy but you actually could profit from it and were exhausted afterwards. So much, you didn’t even feel like protesting when he lay down behind you and pulled you closer, so your back was resting against his chest and he started stroking your hair. No, you corrected yourself. You didn’t feel like protesting because you didn’t mind him holding you.

The following day it became even worse; your training session was almost abruptly ended when you landed under him and his initial mocking kiss to your cheek had turned into a making-out session. You had enjoyed it almost too much and you even were disappointed when he ended it, saying it was better to stop now while he still had himself under control. Later you excused yourself and once you were out of sight and earshot of the men, you slapped yourself across the face and told yourself to get a grip on yourself and stay professional. That it couldn’t be so hard to resist a wanted criminal and deliver him to his deserved fate. From now on you just had to stay away from him!

That, however, was much harder than you thought because you had not even been back for three seconds when Ben joined you and wanted to know if you were fine.

“Yes” you replied

“I just wanted to say… if what happened before wasn’t what you wanted or I went too far… I’m sorry. Or if you think I should pay you for it, I will” his hand already went for his purse and you sighed. Now was your chance to tell him he scared you and that you wanted him to stay away from you. But that wasn’t what you wanted. In contrary.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to pay” you replied. Giving a nod, he sat down a feet away from you. “But I’d like to be alone now”

“Sure” he got up and after throwing a last glance at you he left, walking towards his horse.

This night, he didn’t join you as you went to sleep and the next morning you learnt that he had kept watch the whole night. During the ride, he tried to talk to you again but obviously he noticed you were trying to ignore him. “(Y/N)” his voice suddenly sounded hurt “What’s wrong with you? Is it because of me? I done something you dislike? Or is it something I didn’t do? Talk to me. Please”

“I’m fine” you replied coolly. “There’s nothing wrong” you let out a snort “In two days we’ll have reached Tubac, then you’ll be rid of me and won’t need to bother about me anyways”

“Something ‘bout that is bothering you. About Tubac.” not knowing what to say you let yourself fall back but unfortunately, he did the same. “Tell me. I’ll help if I can” you gave him a look and had to keep back your laughter. You could hardly tell him what you had to do in Tubac, lest you wanted to be shot. “At least let me know how I can help. Or what I could do to cheer you up or I don’t know. I can’t stand seeing you like that”

“Then don’t look at me” you snapped. Moving away from him, you urged your horse on faster and went to the front of the line of riders. You were glad that Ben didn’t follow you that time. Maybe he had finally gotten the message.

“(Y/N), we gotta talk” you hadn’t even dismounted properly as you stopped for the night when Ben approached you. Well, obviously he hadn’t given up just yet.

“Talk about what?” you growled and froze when he grabbed you by your shoulders.

“All of this. You suddenly talk to me like this… like you hate me or try to avoid me. I know there’s something you ain’t telling me”

“Let me go” you hissed and were glad he listened. You only turned around to your horse and patted her neck.

“I’m in no hurry” he said “I can wait here all night”

“Fine by me. But I won’t” you replied and tried to push past him. When he grabbed you by the wrist you let out a shriek. To your dismay, he pulled you away from the others.

“Look” he said, releasing you again “I know there is something wrong and I want to know what it is” you crossed your arms and didn’t reply “(Y/N)” he continued in a softer voice and stepped a little closer “If I did something wrong I want you to know that I didn’t want that. Maybe I interpreted something wrong and thought we were starting to become friends. And suddenly… you treat me like this” for a long time you remained silent. At first you tried to find something to say but decided it was better to remain quiet. You didn’t even know what you should say. Or do. Letting out a sigh, he came closer and he took your hands in his “(Y/N)… no matter what it is, I promise I won’t judge you for it. If you want me to stay away that’s okay. Just tell me, (Y/N). Tell me you want me to leave me alone and I’ll promise I will stay away from you ‘til we reach Tubac and then you’ll never have to see me again” well shit, now you had to say something. You had to make sure he came into Tubac with you, so you could deliver him. At the thought you felt a pain in your chest and a wave of sickness. Damn. You didn’t even want to deliver him anymore. Feeling tears in your eyes you pulled away and then started crying. He placed a hand on your back.

“I don’t know what I should do” you replied truthfully.

“How so? Does it have to do with Tubac? Or what’s awaiting you there?” you simply gave a nod “What is it, (Y/N)? Anything I can do?” you let out a sob, whirled around and flung your arms around his neck. You took him by surprise, so he had to take a step back and find his balance again before he gently hugged you hack, making shushing sounds.

“I can’t do it. I just can’t do it” you kept muttering

“What can’t you do?” you let out a grunt. After all you couldn’t tell him. Maybe you should think about what you were supposed to do now and then talk to him. But somehow you already knew it. You just wanted to go to Tubac to grab your belongings and then stay with Ben. He made you feel alive, appreciated and made you laugh. You couldn’t remember when you had last laughed so freely or if you ever had. “Or tell me what you want to do instead” well, you wanted him. But then he might not bring you to Tubac. And that was where you had all your money. About $5,000 and you didn’t want to leave it behind since you had worked for it. And perhaps you should also tell your client that Ben escaped and return the money he had paid in advance. That had been agreed after all, that you would return whatever he had given you and you hadn’t needed as expenses.

“I need some time” you said “To think about it all” you pulled away and dried your tears

“Will you talk to me then?” his voice sounded hopeful and you gave a nod

“I will” you promised. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then let go of you. After you had collected your thoughts and tried to figure out what to do or what to tell Ben, you approached him later that evening.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes” you replied and gave him a smile. He got up and held out his hands. When you took them, he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to each of them. You decided to start with the big news first “I won’t be going to Tubac”

“No?”

“I mean I’ll have to pick up my stuff there. I’ve lived there before and thought about going back that’s why we’re here”

“So you want to go somewhere else? There something or someone in Tubac you don’t like?”

“No” you smiled “But there is something, someone, outside Tubac I like” he too smiled and moved closer, so your chests touched.

“Is that so? And who might be that someone?” oh you could tell he already knew what you wanted to say.

“He’s an outlaw” you started “Really seems to like the color black. He’s handsome, witty, gentle and caring. Plus, he’s got the most complicated eye color ever”

“What makes you think I like black?”

“Well,” you took his shirt between your fingers “this is the only thing that isn’t black. Also your horse’s black. And your gun”

“Alright, fair point. But what are you criticizing ‘bout my eyes?”

“Well, have you looked at them? What color is that? I first thought it’s grey. But then I realized it’s actually more of a blue. And it has green in it. And somehow also brown. It’s like your eyes have every single color in them! In different lights they always look different!” you let out a frustrated sigh. Chuckling, he pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head.

“You know, perhaps you could ask that guy if you can stay with him so you could further determine his eye color”

“I think the man should ask the woman” letting go of you, he lifted your chin instead, pecking your lips.

“In that case, (Y/N), do you think you’re in such a bad situation that you will choose this” he made a roaming hand movement “and choose me over your current situation?”

“My situation could be worse. But yes, I would gladly exchange it for this” you mirrored his movement “And you” he nuzzled your nose with his.

“So if I kissed you now, you wouldn’t charge me for it?”

“There also have been a few other occasions these past days I could have charged you for”

“You know what?” he just kissed you “Even if you did charge me” he kissed you again “that is totally worth it” and another kiss. He leaned his forehead against yours and you placed your hands on the back of his neck. “You have any boundaries?”

“What boundaries do you mean?”

“Something you don’t want me to do. ‘cause you’re not ready for it. I mean… I know the business you worked in and you’re probably used to it but I don’t want you to feel obliged to do anything. Or make you uncomfortable with something you’ve not done before. Or that you’d feel like I’m treating you as a whore. And you told me why you landed there in the first place, so maybe you’ve never come to good terms with all of it and need time. I want you to want me because you want it”

“That’s sweet” you stroked his cheek, smiling when he leant into your touch “but you don’t need to worry about my past. All these men over the years… they made me forget about that. Well, not forget but… made it more bearable. I’ve just… never slept with someone because I wanted to. Only because I had to. I don’t even know what it feels like to want someone” he chuckled

“Give me a couple of days and I’ll have you understand. I’ll let you know why men think they always need it so bad. ‘course you can always stop me if you don’t like it or gets too much, yeah?” to your surprise he didn’t do anything and you realized he wanted you to say something first.

“Okay” you breathed, slowly kissing him “Show me”

Taglist: @woman-with-no-name

#310 to yuma #3:10 to yuma #ben wade #ben wade imagine #ben wade x reader #ben wade x you

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koishua · 2 years

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HIIII MY LOVEEEEE !!! what have you been up to ?? i need to send more asks to you >:(( i just always and forever want to be talking with you it makes me so happy <333 like talking with you comes so naturally and like I JUST LOVE YOU A LOT and i want to talk to you abt everything and anything

so random questions from me, it seems like you use public transit a lot and i just barely started using it myself, IS IT CONFUSING WHERE YOU LIVE/HAVE LIVED BC IT WAS SO CONFUSING TO ME AT FIRST. the busses tripped me up so much this past monday that it took me almost three hours instead of one to get home LMAO :,) and i mean ig it's not confusing anymore but sTILL i'm curious abt your experience lol

HI RIA!!! so much has changed and developed the past two months, my love idek where to begin 😔😔 currently tho im omw to an amusement park with a bunch of other people!! im excited, bc i had to miss out on the last four opportunities to go there bc of either work or sickness 💀💀 AND STOP YOU'RE MAKING ME CRY 😭😭 YOU'RE THE BEST HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT?? you're always so, so sweet ;-; i can't get enough of your being :')

as for your question, i do! it's my main form of transport. i probably spend like 7 hours on trains and busses every week bc of school and work </3 i get to places by car maybe twice a month. i was like 13 when i first started using public transport and it was to go to school, so i just followed what everyone else on the bus was doing 😭😭 we moved to the cityside two years ago tho so now i have to take three separate busses everyday and the trains during the weekends so it's a lot more complicated, but you get the hang of it after the first two times!

everyone knows i have an absolutely terrible sense of direction, but i don't get lost easily now, so if i can do it, everyone can 💀💀and oml three hours?? 😭😭 i mean it's totally okay tho dw haha it can be daunting at first 🤧🤧 recently i had to get back home from an event all the way on the other border of the country myself, so that was an adventure 😭😭 the trip in total took 8 hours </3 im now extremely confident about my travelling abilities tho lol since i can navigate airports too. ticking off my travel checklist one by one 💀💀

and the thing is even if you do manage to get lost in this country, it's super easy to find your way back. there are maps and services EVERYWHERE and there's a super convenient app that tracks EVERY train and bus in the country, so you know exactly which one to take and all the details and whatnot. also it's relatively affordable and if you can't afford monthly tickets, social services always offer financial aid (from what i know), so pretty much everyone can travel with public transport. it's like, one of the most common way of getting around here 🤧🤧 there's even a special offer for everyone during the summer: the 9 euro ticket that takes you EVERYWHERE in the country. normally your monthly tickets only take you around in certain regions, but the 9€ ticket can get you anywhere you want!! only for these three months of summer tho lol and then the tickets usually range from around 30-60€/month depending on the range of your ticket. i wish they only made the ticket for students tho bc now EVERYONE is taking the trains and it's SO crowded 🥴🥴 one time it was so suffocating and hot that my friend almost fainted in the train ://

oh well </3 anyways. enough of me rambling. what have you been up to? im curious about how you're doing hehe

#ii. ( pt ) —! asks

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typeslugs · 1 year

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PLOG_05

Everything so much

I moved three days ago but it feels like it has been weeks. I was super nervous all of saturday while packing. Then sunday came and I had to say goodbye to my beautiful wife as I got on the train with my three stuffed bags. The ride was nice. I love trains.

When I arrived at the station I was immediately lost. I don't use a smartphone, part of the project ig, which means navigating in a town that I've never been to is a real challenge. I wandered around for a little bit until I found a phone number to the public transport customer service, and after a few minutes in a phone queue a very nice person helped me with direction to the bus and from the bus stop to my apartment. Paying for a ticket on the bus is double the price compared to using a fare-card or buying a ticket in one of the kiosks, but what the hell, it got me to where I needed to be.

The problem with living in the outskirts of town is that there are no grocery stores nearby, so food shopping will need to be a more mindful activity than before. But that is also a great motivator for finding a place that is closer to the town centre. Though at least the walk to work is real nice, following a pretty straight-forward path through the woods (the way that everything here kind of is in the middle of the woods). Being this close to nature is great for my spirit, and I can't wait to get a bike here so I can utilize the, quite frankly, amazing bicycle pathways.

I managed to navigate to the correct building once I got to campus, and after being lost for a bit I found the office of my supervisor. Then everything is kind of a blur, meeting a whole swath of new colleagues, seeing a lot of university hallways and rooms. Aside from my supervisor I also have a faculty mentor, and one of the recent phd grads have taken me under their wing to show me the general ropes. Office, keys, computer, logins, and a bunch of administrative stuff, on top of trying to remember names and faces and positions, has left me a bit overwhelmed. But I'll find my footing eventually.

Abbreviated list advice I've gotten (and remembered):

Be here during office hours and then GO HOME

Find a system for taking and organizing reading notes so you don't have to do double work

Take it easy in the beginning, things will fall into place

Be confident in your abilities

Do not be afraid to ask for clarifications and help

It's okay if your project changes directions

Take note of all your responsibilities for future postdoc applications

I've also been contacted by (and joined) the Grad Student Association (GSA). It's kind of like the union! It seems really cool and I look forward to be more involved once I've caught my footing.

It's so weirdly amazing to have discussions about science in the break room, and listening to other phd-students talk about their processes and stuff. I was asked to take a look at what courses I would be interested in teaching for, and that suddenly made this whole thing very real. Like, yea I'm fr going to be teaching students in the not too distant future.

Today there was a department meeting and I got to present myself, which I was a bit nervous for. But I'm told that I made a good impression. Everyone is so welcoming and seem genuinely excited and happy to have me here, which is so cool and makes adjusting to all the changes happening a whole lot easier to adjust to.

I am going home this weekend and it will be beyond nice to see my wife again.

__________________

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#plog

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aching-tummies · 3 years

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(Not exactly sure if I'm really doing this right but here we go.) If I was your partner... I'd take you someplace nice and encourage you to eat whatever you want. After a large meal I'd be the one to drive home, as your complaining of an upset stomach. Wanting a reaction, I'd take you down the secluded, bumpy road to see what happens.

A/N: Thanks for the lovely ask! I kind of deviated a little, incorporating some of what's been going on in my life lately (new job, stresses causing me to skip meals, the craving for pasta, etc.) The beginnings of this do delve into spiraling about weight(loss) and body image stuff a little...so if that's a trigger for people then this is your warning.

It’s been more than two years since we indulged in dine-in service at a place with non-disposable cutlery. I’ve been craving pasta for even longer than that. Creamy, garlic-y, non-reheated pasta served on a plate and twirled around a metal fork.

We haven’t taken any opportunities to celebrate for the last two years. Birthdays, holidays, promotions at work or major advancements in our career adventures—we’ve barely done anything more than acknowledge them as we both go to pick up extra shifts wherever it is that we have been working. Honestly, we’ve seen so little of each other that it wouldn’t surprise either of us if the other snuck in a job-change in the last two years. That all changes tonight.

A nearby pasta place is offering dine-in service. We booked a reservation for tonight—all you have to do is pick me up from work and we can head on over.

I’m the one that managed to sneak in a job-change in the craziness. Fast-food to office intern. I’m barely handling things. I’ve been beyond exhausted because the change happened suddenly. The office place demanded that I start with them on a whim (despite my only condition on hiring being the time to give my fast-food job the proper two week notice). Due to their abrupt “start now or we will move ahead with other candidates” ultimatum, I’ve been pulling 44+ hour weeks juggling two jobs located on opposite ends of the city.

Tonight is a celebration. Dine-in service by itself is already something to celebrate in my books, but you’re insisting that tonight is for me because I finally finished my dues to the fast-food place. The hellish four weeks of juggling is over. No more calls at midnight from me begging you to pick me up from some random quadrant of the city because I nodded off on the last bus home. No more days where I make it home from my office job only to get an urgent call from the fast-food place begging/demanding that I show up because someone cut work. No more packed weeks with no days off or time to even pack myself lunch. Hopefully no more nights where you have to peel me off of the floor because making it home was all I managed before passing out from exhaustion.

I’ve got an hour before you’re set to come pick me up from my office job. I can’t help but smile as I count down the minutes while working on editing some funding proposal that was shoved at me a couple of minutes ago.

My stomach grumbles at me and I clam up. I blush as I look around to ensure nobody heard it. The office is basically empty. All the other staff seem to have gone off to lunch. That’s something I’m going to have to get used to: the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a set schedule here…people head out to lunch whenever. As a petrified newbie, I haven’t had the guts to just take off whenever. The number of shifts where I’ve stayed here for a full eight hours and then navigated an hour and a half of transit transfers only to come home ravenous is pretty high.

Welp, if a stomach growls and nobody is here to hear it then I guess it doesn’t make a sound. I’ve got an hour left before you come to pick me up and we’re basically just two hours away from satisfying my years long pasta craving. Going out to hunt for food now would only spoil my appetite.

“I AM HERE!”

I giggle at the reference and accompanying gif you’ve sent to announce your arrival. I pack up my area and get up, saying ‘bye’ to Jerry on my way out. The second I walk out that door will mark the start of my days off for the week, something I haven’t had in over a month.

“Hi, sweetie!” I chirp as I open the passenger door and bend over to set down my bag.

As I settle in, folding myself into the car, the movements dislodge a deep rumble from my tummy. I freeze, arm still reaching out to close the door. You snicker at me with your left arm perched on your open window, fingers close to your face and highlighting that charming grin of yours that I love so much.

“Oi, close the door and we can get going.”

I do just that. With the door closed, you carefully back out of the parking space and off we go. We don’t get very far. Ah, the joys of rush hour. No use honking, Karen, you’re not ‘stuck in traffic’—you are traffic and there’s no manager for you to speak to here, moron!

I adjust my seat a little, leaning back and allowing myself to relax. I’ve done it. Tomorrow is a day off. And so is the next day. My first true weekend in over three years and my first days off in over three weeks. I can feel the tension ebbing out of me. My shoulders untense, leaving behind a distinct soreness.

My shoulders aren’t the only thing to stop tensing. Apparently, my abdominals decided to join in as well.

Grrr…RRRR…blr.br…rrr.

I blush and sit up, arms wrapping around my stomach as it continues to snarl at me. The growls come with the sharp pains of hunger pangs and I wince, hugging my tummy and pressing my arms against the pain. The grumbles are quickly drowned out by your laughter.

“Man, no wonder you say your coworkers don’t talk to you here. If I heard that coming from a newbie I’d be scared of ‘em too.”

“S-Shut up!” I don’t want to admit that my tummy has been growling very loudly at the office. I’ve skipped more lunches than I’ve eaten in my time here. I lean back in the seat again, arms crossed over my chest as I look away from you, pouting. I’m hungry enough that my stomach really hurts, I’m a panicking newbie at work that doesn’t know the ropes or what’s expected of them, and here you are teasing me.

Your right hand reaches over but instead of stopping on the shift stick it continues further until your palm finds my stomach. The gentle pressure and the warmth of your palm nudging right over where my stomach joins my intestines aids in the relaxation of my tensed muscles and brings forth another loud grumble from my guts. You move your hand slightly, patting and rubbing my flat tummy absentmindedly as you keep the rest of you focused on traffic.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Y-Yeah…” I don’t want to admit that I’m happy about it. My waistband was loose enough to fall to my thighs before I put my belt on this morning. I love it but you and I both know weight and eating are sore subjects for me. I bite my tongue to keep from asking whether or not you think the weight loss is a good thing or not. Your tone was flat—it was an observation. The fact that I’ve been too busy and stressed out to have time to eat (or digest properly when I do) has led to the rapid shedding of pounds. Not just in the last three or four weeks, but for a long time yet. The reasons for the weight loss aren’t good…but I really do like the results, so I don’t want to hear it from you…good or bad…I don’t want to hear it. Thankfully, you don’t push the issue. Traffic picks up and you remove your hand from my stomach and put it back on the wheel.

My stomach continues to gripe and snarl as we make our way through the city at a crawl. I no longer have work to distract me and your impromptu massage has definitely woken the beast in my guts. ‘Starving’ doesn’t even begin to cover how my stomach feels. I’m starting to feel the other effects of the lack of food too. Light-headedness, feeling cold, and a limpness in my limbs. I want to press my arms into my stomach to quell some of the ache and the noises but I just can’t seem to summon the strength to put enough pressure on it. I wish you had kept your hand on my tummy. As much as your touch intensified the hunger, the pressure of your hand on my stomach was kind of comforting. Ugh…this is all wrong. We’ve been together long enough to know that both of us are into tummy stuff. Any other opportunity we’d be all over each other right now. Your mention of the weight I’ve lost and the silence that has followed since is filling me with anxiety. Under normal circumstances you’d have parked the car somewhere to tease my hungry tummy into oblivion. The fact that we’re currently driving in silence when there’s a golden kink opportunity in the palm of our hands is worrisome to me. Suddenly I don’t feel so good about the weight I’ve lost. I like it. It made me look totally bomb in my new office clothes. Buttons don’t strain even when I bend over or stretch. I spend the rest of the car ride lost in my anxieties. I’m not at an unhealthy weight. Sure, losing it is a testament of the stress I’ve been under lately…but it’s not like I’ve been intentionally skipping meals or fixating on some unachievable body image or something. This isn’t about the weight or anything, it was just a happy consequence of the hectic times I’ve gone through.

We arrive at the restaurant and you get out, expecting me to follow. I’ve managed to work myself into a ball of anxiety in the passenger seat and I don’t move. You pause on the sidewalk when you see me still strapped inside the car. You walk over and open the passenger door.

“Babe?” You see me petrified and chewing on my lip—a tell-tale sign I’m fighting some internal battle. “What’s wrong?” You cup my cheek with your hand, thumb going to pull my lower lip away from my teeth.

“Huh? Wha?” My gaze sharpens as I’m brought back to reality. I didn’t even realize we’ve arrived.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Uhm…w-well…y-you said…n-nevermind.” I unbuckle the seatbelt and step out of the car. You frown as you think back on what I meant about you having said something.

“Oh, about the weight loss?” I freeze. Bingo. “Babe—I didn’t mean anything by it, honest. Just an observation.” You scratch at the back of your head. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and gosh knows neither of us has had time to cook or pack lunches. I was just thinking that maybe we should work on that together. Going hungry so often sounds like a dream, kink-wise…but neither of us has had time for that lately. I was going to suggest creating a mealplan or something together, maybe bringing out the slow cooker and freezing some stuff so that we can just grab and go for work going forward.” I stumble over and rest my head on your shoulder, giving a slight nod.

I’m overwhelmed. One thing you said sent me spiraling and you just pulled me out of it.

“Ugh…don’t do that again.”

You smirk. “I won’t. Rather than think yourself into a hole over that, you should really think about what it is you want to eat. We’re ordering off the full menu tonight.”

My eyes widen. The full menu has more selection but it’s way more expensive. Every time we’ve come here in the past, we have always ordered off the specials menu—the discounted, half-size portions that they offer. You smile seeing my stunned reaction.

“Birthdays, holidays—and Sweets, you got a job! You got a job where you don’t have to deal with the dreaded ‘customer’. I’m proud of you, Sweets. This…this is supposed to be a celebration…right? For all the celebrating we haven’t been able to do in…damn, how long has it been—” Your rambling is cut off when I seal your lips with mine. I step back with a grin, watching the dumbfounded, wide-eyed expression pass over to you ‘cuz I’m usually the no-kissy-touchy type.

“Chicken parm with garlic, angel-hair pasta in cream sauce.” I know exactly what I want to order. I’ve known it for over two years. That dish has been taunting me in my dreams for over two years. When I chew on my pillow in my sleep ‘cuz I skipped dinner in lieu of sleep I’m dreaming about that dish. The last time I had it from here was with my parents—long before I met you—for a birthday when I was still in grade school. My stomach growls, punctuating my declaration. The sound shocks you out of your reverie and you slide an arm around my waist, resting your palm against my stomach as you feel all the empty rumbles reverberating beneath your palm.

“Alright. Guess we better walk in before they give away our table…or before you decide it’s quicker just to eat me here in the parking lot.”

Ugh…how am I already full? There’s still so much food on the plate. So, so much. Urrgh…

My stomach silently gripes at me. A sickly, sticky feeling is blooming in my guts. I’m sated but there is still far too much food on my plate. The full menu is more expensive, but they fill the plate up more and often use bigger plates. I’ve forgotten just how big, and my tummy is suffering. Two years is a long time to go without something and I’ve gone without fulfilling my craving for pasta in cream sauce for over two years, maybe even three. That’s a long time…long enough for my stomach to forget how to handle cream sauce, apparently.

I’ve only swallowed about a fifth of my plate and my stomach already feels heavy. The warm bread to start and the bites of chicken parmesan cutlet went down alright. They lined my stomach comfortably and my digestive tract knew exactly how to handle them. The first couple of bites of pasta were cushioned by the bread and chicken. When that lining dissolved away and more of the pasta came into contact with my gastric juices, I realized there was a problem.

My stomach pounced on the bites of bread and the water and cola I chased it down with. I could practically feel my duodenum yawning wide to suck in the masticated bread, my intestines just as hungry for it as I have been all day. When it had to contend with the cream sauce things started to slow down. I can feel a backlog of stuff sitting in my stomach, refusing to be broken down further into a form that will comfortably move onto my intestines. I’m chewing a lot more, my mouth creating more saliva. I feel sick. My stomach doesn’t hurt, yet, but it’s definitely going to as it fights with the creamy, oily pasta.

“Ooh…they’ve got tiramisu here.” You’re eyeing the dessert menu. “It’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah…but it’s expensive and this is a lotta food.”

“We’re supposed to be celebrating, Sweets. We’ll take whatever you don’t finish to-go. Leftovers are a Godsend, remember? C’mon, let’s live a little.”

I feel a weight settle in my stomach as you flag down a passing wait-staff and order a tiramisu. To share, thank God. My stomach churns in vain, serving only to churn up the mess of creamy pasta and chicken without moving it along further in the digestive process. The sphincter to my duodenum is squeezed tight, refusing passage to the foreign cream and oil mix that it doesn’t seem to recognize.

I managed to finish just under half of my plate before the dessert arrived. I decided to throw in the towel and asked for the rest to be packed up to-go. I put on a smile as we share the dessert and hope it’s not as shaky as my guts feel. The dessert is delicious. Rich, flavorful, and perfect. If only I didn’t have to feel it sickeningly sliding down my esophagus, plopping down heavily into a stomach crammed much too full with indigestible pasta. As my stomach clenches and churns things around the creamy tiramisu is going to get incorporated with the rest of the mess. It’s going to make it thicker and creamier…as if it wasn’t already too thick and too creamy for my duodenum to open up and allow it to wreak havoc in my intestines. As sick as my overstuffed stomach feels, I am a little grateful that my duodenum is being a stubborn prick.

If the creamy mess had passed into my intestines, I’d be doubled over in the bathroom right now, rubbing futilely at my revolting intestines. I know what dairy does to my guts. It doesn’t usually happen, just when I’m stressed or it’s close to that time of the month. It’s nasty and it hurts bad enough that I honestly think hell is enduring those cramping intestines for eternity.

We finish the tiramisu. You offer me the lion’s share, but I refuse and push it back to you with a mention on my stomach being really full. I bring my hands to my stomach and I catch the way your eyes smolder at the sight. Good. Yes. Get us home quickly, darling.

You pay for the meal, and we are off. I clutch my tummy behind my bag as we walk out to the car. Every step sends aftershocks into my guts and it’s really upsetting things in my stomach.

As I settle in the passenger seat, I notice the buttons on my blouse are a little bit strained around my stomach. Horror sets in and I quickly fumble to get the buttons undone. I don’t want to ruin my shirt and the sight of the straining buttons triggers something nasty in my mind. I calm down a little once the buttons are undone and I rub my tummy under the cover of my bag, palms running up and down the dark undershirt that is draped snugly over my full belly.

“It’s still early. Want to really paint the town red and see if we can catch a movie somewhere?”

I swallow back a sickly belch to answer your question, my questing hands churning up the mess in my guts and dislodging air pockets.

“Umph…n-no…let’s go home.”

“Sweets, you okay?” Your voice is laced with concern. Surely you can hear the sickly squelching from my guts. Do I have to spell it out for you?

“Hmm? No,” I blush as I fidget and grapple with whether or not to come clean. I’m shy about this kind of stuff—you’re my partner though and have been for a long time—we’re both into tummy stuff—we haven’t done anything on this front in a very long time. Making my decision, I move my back over to the floor, resting it against my shins and I lean back, allowing you full view of my distended tummy with my blouse undone. “I just…uhm…m-my tummy’s kinda…upset…I just really want to get home.” My stomach burbles sickly throughout our conversation. I have both my hands on the rounded curve of it, rubbing at tender spots with my thumbs.

Your eyes widen at the sight of my belly rounding out my undershirt. You start the car and pull out of our stall. Instead of righting the car onto the road you keep backing into a more secluded spot on the far end of the lot. This one is obscured by an overgrown bush or tree on the passenger side.

I haven’t even bothered with getting my seatbelt on. I was too caught up in my indigestion to think of it despite it normally being a habit. To be fair, I don’t think the seatbelt is a good idea with my tummy so bloated and sore.

“What are you—”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn in your seat, giving me your full attention. My seat is still reclined a little further than normal from the drive over. Gently, you put a hand on my shoulder, indicating for me not to sit up. Your eyes briefly meet mine and convey your plan before they go back to fixating on my belly.

I relax my arms, letting them rest at my sides as you slide a hand over the crest of my bloated gut. I bite back a groan as the slight pressure of your hand increases the pressure in my intestines. My stomach is packed full with an indigestible mass of creamy pasta. My duodenum is not allowing any of that entry into my intestines so they sit, bloated with air. The ingredients for a very upset tummy are inside of me…they just need a bit of a push to act as a catalyst.

The push comes in the form of a literal push as you place both hands, one on each side of my tummy, and squeeze. I bite back a mewl of pain until the pressure relents and you are sliding your hands all over my taut tummy.

“Oh my…you really are full.”

“Ugh…haven’t…haven’t eaten so much in a long time.” I groan as your hands churn up the mess in my guts. You know what you’re doing. You felt the firmness in my upper left and you know that everything is sitting heavy in my stomach. You focus your massage on my left, on the area where my duodenum is. You rub and nudge and coax at the area, intent on getting the sphincters to unclench and allow my meal to continue to digest.

“Oh…ah!” I can’t help but cry out a little as I feel my duodenum flood with the lumpy mess. A rumbling, wet burble indicates when the sphincter finally gives up and allows the mess in my stomach passage. My stomach acid wasn’t enough to break down the creamy, oily pasta so it’s entering my intestines relatively undigested.

After ten minutes of you massaging my belly, (in)digestion is in full swing. My intestines are filling up with the ache-inducing mass and the straining pressure that started in my stomach has now spread all over my abdomen. You reach over and pull down my seat belt, buckling it before reaching over to get my seat back into an upright position. My stomach cramps sharply with the change in orientation and my mewl of pain is cut off by a harsh belch. You pat my tummy almost teasingly as you right yourself in your seat and start the car.

I don’t bother to keep track of where we are heading. You could be taking me to the movies, intent on letting my indigestion stew for a couple of hours, or you could be driving us home. I don’t care. I can’t care because every ounce of me is focused on the sharp pains exploding all over my guts as the car hits every bump in the road. Damned city not bothering to spend money to fix the thousands of pot-holes in our roads. My stomach is just as vocal as I am about the indigestion.

You brake sharply, causing the seatbelt to dig into my tummy and tear a sharp gasp of pain from me. I see the road ahead of us…it’s not a road at all but literally the worst road in our city. This stretch of road is famous even outside of our city for just how bumpy and nasty it is. People scrape the undercarriage of their cars if they aren’t careful in avoiding the potholes that litter this thing like craters on the moon. People have lost pieces of their cars and done massive damage to their vehicles by driving down this road. People around here know to avoid this road. The alternative is a ten minute detour to take the safer, newer road and everyone agrees that ten minutes more is better than damaging their car on this road so it is always empty.

“Darling, no—”

You floor it, going down the secluded road at a high speed. We hit every bump and hole in the thing (that won’t damage the car)…you used to come down this thing often and you’re a master at navigating it to avoid damage to the vehicle. Damage to my tummy, on the other hand.

My stomach gives off aborted grumbles and gripes, each one interrupted as we hit another bump in the road. My tummy sloshes and churns. Digestion had stalled without your hands pushing everything along, but this new form of “massage” in the form of a very bumpy ride is kick starting things all over again…in the wrong direction. Stuff swirls inside of my stomach and I swear that it’s filling up rather than emptying. The pressure is building in my stomach. I’d like to believe it’s the air from my intestines, but I’m sure we managed to get most of that out with your massage in the parking lot.

"Ugh…ouch…ah—ow! Ungh…my tummy…urp…my tummy…ulp…” I can’t help it. Belches and protests roll through my throat, unchecked. It’s better than the alternative of something solid, I guess. The road has increased the upset tenfold as I clutch my stomach in both hands. The road has dialed the cramping pains up to eleven and many more aches and tender spots have erupted thanks to the bumpy ride. We’re about halfway through the road when I feel something solid tickling at my esophagus.

“Ugh—Babe—STOP!” I reach up and slap a hand over my mouth, fearing that we’re about to see my dinner come back out.

You slam on the brakes and the pressure from the seatbelt is what does it. My mouth fills with the sour mess of barely-digested pasta.

“Ugh…urk…” I swallow back the bile. It’s nasty, but there’s no receptacle and I don’t want to stink up the car. Luckily, this wasn’t a true vomiting session triggered internally—it was basically regurgitation brought on by external factors—like the seatbelt putting too much pressure on my over-packed tummy. My stomach snarls violently at the return of the sickly concoction.

You watch my struggle, fascinated. Reaching over, you put a hand on my palm, a hand that is quickly slapped away as I give you the fiercest glare I can muster.

“None of that until you get me home, darling.”

You grin, exaggerating taking your foot off of the brake pedal. I realize my poor phrasing a moment too late.

“As you command, Sweets.”

“Darling, no—”

#AT Asks #indigestion #tummy kink #tummy ache

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xxxtrouvaillexxx · 3 years

Text

Let’s Strike a Deal

A/N: This is late, I know. If you have not realized from before, I’m really bad at meeting deadlines. Well, at least deadlines that I’ve created for myself to follow because I like to procrastinate things and frankly… what am I gonna do to myself? Band myself from tea until I’ve written a chapter? I don’t have the self control for that! And life is hectic. But you know, enough with my excuses and onto the story. Hope you enjoy. I always love feedback so please be sure to leave a comment! ALSO I wanted to give a TRY (key word) to first person. If I don’t like it... I might change it, idk. I should never write anything at 3am as per evidence below, especially without editing lmao

Pair: CEO!Tom x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N, the small town of Hawkshead girl trying to make her way in the big city of Westminster, London. Not as easy as she thought. When things start to take a turn for the worst one afternoon and only one man in the crowd of hundreds decides to help her, she does something rather uncharacteristic and gives her savor her number in case he could ever use help of his own. Course, she never expected for him to actually call her out on it.

Masterlist

Warning(s): none… yet. Cursing?

Word Count:

My time was limited. There was nothing left that had to be done here or anything left to pack. Everything I’ve ever owned sat in a car on the way to my new apartment and last of the suitcases were in the bed of my brothers pickup at this very moment while I sat on the floor of my room. There wasn’t anything left for me here, I knew that, but it was still difficult to say goodbye to the place that carried so many of my favorite memories and the imprints of my childhood that still were splayed around the surrounding room.

There were two dents in the wall right in front of me from when I was ten and hit my head after tripping on one of my toys, thumbtack holes that littered everywhere above the bed from forts that I would make with my brothers and friends, nail polish that was spilled on the carpet from times when I was too distracted with talking than keeping the bottle up straight, my engraved initials on the windowsill. The memories that I had made in this room were countless and they were all absolutely priceless.

“Y/N!” I heard your mother call from the living room, her voice was slightly hoarse from held back emotion and it broke my heart to hear her like that. “You got to get going, dear! You’ll miss your train if you wait much longer to head out.”

Taking a deep breath and slowly standing from the, now old, bed I made my way toward the door, feet dredging behind me and scuffing the floor as I walked out. “I know, Mama. I’m just-” the words caught in my throat and I was at a loss. “I’m really going to miss you guys so much.”

“Oh stop it, you’re gonna make me cry if you keep on like that,” She said giving a tight hug before pushing me out the front door. “You are going to love it in London so much you’re not even gonna be thinking about us here, so get goin’. Your brothers already waiting for you in the car.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, “I love you Mama! I’ll call you when I get there!”

Jumping into the passenger seat of the truck, I waved final goodbyes from the window, dramatically blowing kisses as the car started to drive away.

“You better!” She exclaimed, watching as we pulled out and down the road.

“She is going to be a mess when I get back home. I can’t believe you’re going to leave me to deal with that alone!” Christian, stuck driving you to the train station much to his dismay, gave you a mocking glare. “After all the things I’ve done for your, this is how you choose to repay me? I’m pretty sure I’m getting the short end of the stick here,” he laughed humorlessly.

“Ahhh~” I cooed and smiled, “You’re only saying that cause you know you guys’ are going to be missing me so much!”

“Miss you?” He scoffed, “Yeah right. What we’re going to be missing is your baking. It’ll be the greatest blow our family has faced since 1824.”

I gave a scathing look, “And what, if I may ask, happened in 1824?”

“Don’t know, but something bad probably.”

»»-——————————————-««

I have never been so sore getting off of a bus in her life. The cheapest route to get to Westminster from Hawkshead was a train and 8 bus stops, totaling up to 10 or so hours in and out of vehicles. I groaned and stretched when my feet planted on hard asphalt for the first time in what seemed like forever. But, for all the soreness, I had made it to my destination with time to spare.

It was louder than I had imagined, crowded with traffic from all directions and people running any which way to get on with their lives. It was bustling and busy. Lively. Not exactly what I was used to which made me smile.

Wide.

I made it.

I only had a suitcase with me, the rest of her belongings would be delivered in a few days to the new apartment.

My apartment.

I was positively giddy at the thought.

It took a lot of self control to keep from skipping down the side walks while I somehow navigated the new scenery, but I managed to keep my excitement under wraps for the time being. Arriving an hour early gave me a bit of time to take in the bigger sites near by, like the Ferris wheel, the clock tower Big Ben, and my personal favorite- Westminster Palace and abbey. It was a dream of mine since I was little to see it in person, and now here I was standing mere blocks away from the grand building, elated and amazed.

Vibrating caught my attention and I barely managed to turn my eyes away from the sites in front of me to my phone, Kyra’s name popping up on the screen. My best friend and now room mate, Kyra Bardou, who was probably wondering where the hell I was now.

“Hey,” I drawled with an obvious grin I couldn’t even hide in my voice.

“Hey yourself! I’ve been waiting at the stop for 15 minutes with no sign of you only to learn you’re already in town and didn’t even bother to tell me!” She spoke so quickly I was shocked she didn’t run out of breath and laughed.

“I’m site seeing, sue me!” I turned and started making the slow walk back, “I’ll be back in a couple minutes, I promise.”

She only grunted in response and let me walk in a comfortable silence, letting me continue to take everything in while simply enjoying her presence on the line. It was the last few moments I’d get now, the last bits of my old life slipping through my fingers like sand in exchange for a new one.

And the chaos that comes with a big city.

Like robbers.

I couldn’t even let out a cry as I was shoved to the ground, my phone forced from my hand and my suitcase caught up in a strange mans arms. It took me a whole 5 seconds to get my bearings enough to yell at the man and give chase, shouting for help though no one so much as looked our way, just moved out of his.

“Stop!” I screamed, running but quickly losing him as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd skillfully. “Stop! Someone stop him!”

And this time, someone moved to action, running past me at an alarming rate and quickly gaining ground on my assailant before they both rounded a corner and I lost sight of them.

My heart dropped and I picked up speed again, hoping that I didn’t let them get far enough away for me to lose them completely, it would have been easy for them to get away from me here.

But when I turned around the block, I found the man on the ground with the track star of a man on top of him, already on the phone with I assume the police. I finally caught up to them and without thinking, hugged the man on the phone, a silent thank you while he spoke to whoever was on the line, before I gathered my things and hugging them close to me.

He smiled kindly, finishing the call and turning to me properly while still pinning the thief to the ground. “Are you alright miss?”

“Yes! Thank you so much, I’d have been completely lost without this,” I gestured to my luggage. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me get it back. I don’t even know how to get around town yet.”

He laughed and nodded. “So new to town then. It was my pleasure to help, though I was really just doing what anyone in my position would do,” he responded kindly.

Furiously I shook my head, “No, you didn’t. I don’t believe I saw a single soul other than you move to help. Unless you did but beat them to it at the last minute. Not that that it implausible, you are seriously fast on your feet.”

He laughed again and I noticed what a nice laugh he had, it was contagious and I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of my own now that my adrenaline was fading bit by bit. “Yes, well- I do enjoy the sport.”

“Dually noted,” I grinned, jumping a little when my phone started to buzz in my hands. Kyra’s name popping up on the screen again. “Shoot!” I exclaimed and answered. I wasn’t even able to put the phone to my ear before I heard her shouting my name on the line. “Kyra-”

“Oh my god, Y/N! What the heck happened, I heard you shout and then the line went dead! Are you okay? Did something happen? Where are you?” She was speaking so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear a safe distance as she spouted one question after another at me without reprieve.

My rescuer across from me chuckled, overhearing my frantic friend. “I’m fine, someone tried to steal my stuff on my way to meet you. Luckily someone came along and helped me catch him, otherwise I’d have lost everything. But everything is okay now, we are-” I looked around and realized I have no idea where we were.

He seemed to catch on to my newest distress and whispered, “Tell them we are on the corner of Tufton and Bennett’s Yard.”

I nodded and mouthed a thank you, “ Tufton and Bennett’s Yard,” I repeated and she said she’d be here in a 10 minutes and to sit and wait before hanging up the phone.

I slouched on the wall of some building, letting myself relax. “Not to be repetitive or anything, but thank you.”

He just shook his head, “No need. You’re friend sounded pretty worried about you, it wouldn’t do well to let her stew in that worry longer than needed.”

“Yeah, it’s been a few years since we last saw each other. She’d be pretty upset if something bad happened before I could even move in,” I laughed, though it didn’t quite sound right even to my ears. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” I introduced and stuck my hand out.

He took it and gave a firm shake, “Tom. It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N. Even in these less than optimal circumstances.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”

“Y/N!” Someone yelled, and we both turned our heads to see Kyra sprinting full speed around her car and at me. I stood and braced myself for the collision of her, and fell back against the wall with the force of her body.

“Holy shit, girl! You scared the hell outta me, you could have died! This is why I told you to call me when you first got into town, you always manage to get yourself into trouble like this. What would I have told your parents if something happened, huh? Huh!?”

I grinned and pulled back to get a proper look at her. Her black hair, normally frizzy was sticking out in every direction and her honeyed eyes wide as she scanned me over, running her hands over my arms for injuries. “I’m fine, Kyra. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, you’re right.”

“I know I’m right!” She shot back with a glare, “That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

“Well, there is a first for everything after all.”

Tom laughed hard at our back and forth, making us both jump a little and look down at him. Before I could even say anything, Kyra was down on his level with the thieves shirt in her fists and a scowl that would scare the devil himself on her face.

“Is this the bastard that did this?”

“Let go!” I shrieked and pulled her off, albeit with a little effort. “Tom called the cops and they’ll deal with this properly. Not you,” I said sternly. She just let out a huff of a response and pushed herself back enough to look at Tom properly.

She gave him a once over and held her scowl in place, “So you’re the one who saved Y/N/N?”

He gave a small, hesitant nod and gave me a nervous glance. I just laughed and stood back up, as Kyra launched forward to give him a hug. “Thank you,” she murmured a few times and pulled back.

“No worries,” he said, and looked far less distressed now that Kyra didn’t look like she wanted to gut him. “I was there at the right time is all.”

“Yes, well- That doesn’t mean what you did was anything less than amazing. My whole life is in that bag and in that phone at the moment. Seriously, if there is anything I can do for you in return it’s yours. Ice cream, some roller skates, a kidney. Just ask.”

Everyone laughed at that and he nodded with an obviously sarcastic “sure”, just as the police arrived to take the culprit and our statements. Kyra mumbled something about them being slow and went to the car for a few minutes to be out of the way.

15 minutes later, everything was settled and they took the man away. Leaving Tom and I alone on the side walk again while I settled everything in my case to be sure I didn’t miss anything and quickly scribbled on a stray notecard.

“I meant it when I said I owe you one,” I said and handed the card with my name and number to him. “Just give me a ring if I can ever be of any help at all and I’ll come running. Though, probably much slower than you did.”

He tried to decline the offer only once, but after some persistence he took it with another smile, “Thank you, Y/N. Hopefully this will not be our last meeting. And hopefully never again under such pressing circumstances,” he held out his hand, and I took it, returning his earlier shake with a firm one of my own and I agreed.

“Until next time then,” he said and left.

I barely was able to take my seat in the car before Kyra grasped my arm with a devious smile, “Y/N/N- Did you just give that guy your number?” My silence was answer enough and she laughed, “Girl! No way!”

No way was right, I thought with a small smile of my own as we pulled away and started home.

»»-——————————————-««

TAGS: open

@drakesfiance @dumbgopher1 @kewlbeans-22

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Would you ever do a part 2 to Six Bodies In An Alley.

I'm gonna be honest, I never really had any intention of carrying on with this, but I went back and read it again and came up with this, so enjoy!😊💛

Six Bodies In An Alley. (Part Two)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: death, blood, being held captive

Masterlist

"What should we do with her?" Dwayne's question sends yet another bolt of dread through me as he speaks, fear coursing through me like great torrents of ice.

The four...creatures…stand before the sofa, looking down on me as if it's my own fault I'm here. At one time, I might've made a joke about the way they're standing, but now I doubt I'll ever be able to poke fun at them ever again, not after what I've seen, after what they've done. Tears threaten to spill out over my cheeks as I recall the gruesome images of the past hour, grief tearing at my heart at the memory of what happened to my brother. Cold sorrow washes over me and I have to fight back a sob, making a strangled sound that catches their attention. Under their gazes, I cower and feel yet more terror flood my system, as well as a hot flare of disgust: they haven't even cleaned the gore off of themselves.

"Just let me go, please! Please! I won't tell anyone, I swear, just let me go! Don't hurt me, please!" I plead with them, my voice laced with the debilitating fear in my veins.

"No, we can't risk that." David shakes his head, cold blue eyes fixed on me, "You're staying with us either way."

"No, please...I'll do anything! Just let me go!" I beg him, my heart racing as I try to reason with him.

"No, you're staying here." He snaps back firmly, his sharp tone drawing a whimper of fear from me.

Cold fear floods me as I think over what he is saying: I'm basically a prisoner. What're they going to do with me?

I shudder as the answer comes to mind.

"Aw, come on, Doll, it ain't so bad." Paul grins lopsidedly at me, the expression not quite carrying the same warmth I used to love seeing on him.

I look away, my hands clutching at each other in my lap, fingernails digging into my skin enough to break the skin.

"Ok, but how are we gonna keep her here? She'll just escape as soon as the sun comes up." Marko says, gesturing to my trembling form.

The four stare down at me again, seemingly considering the question until Dwayne speaks again.

"Lets just tie her up to something. That should work well enough."

His words send another bolt of ice through me, but there's something in what Marko said that strikes a chord within me - why did he bring up the sun?

Instantly, it hits me, weak hope sparking to life within me at the knowledge. The boys are quite clearly vampires, and so they must have an aversion to the sun, just like the ones in the old books do. A plan starts to form in my head, and I start hoping they can't mind read as well, knowing it will give me away as Marko approaches me with a rope, a smirk on his face. I let him manhandle me into position, watching as he ties my wrist a nearby fallen beam, securing it tightly so I have very little room to move, but not so that my circulation is restricted.

As he finishes the blonde vampire steps back and David comes forward, a stern look on his face.

"You better still be here when we wake up." He growls threateningly at me, before he and the others turn and leave through a nearby tunnel.

An angry ring has appeared around my wrist as I rub at it, wincing from the burning sting of the rope I only just managed to force off of my arm, the area flushed and irritated. It had taken me far too long to work the ties off of me, but I had to be careful not to break the skin or draw blood, in case I woke up the boys. Now, I'm regretting not finding another way of freeing myself as my hand burbs, but I do my best to ignore it, shakily climbing up and out onto the top of the Bluff, glad to feel the strong rays of the sun on my face. I never thought it would be as reassuring as it is now, but the relentless light makes me feel somewhat safer.

Sighing, I look around for a way to get to civilization, chewing my lip as I do so, not coming up with any ideas. That is, until I see the boys' bikes pushed behind a nearby tree. Immediately, I feel a shot of hope go through me, and I rush over to them, picking one out. I can't remember whose it is, but I have to fight back a cry of relief when the engine instantly starts up again, the bike ready to take me back into town.

Kicking it into action, I try to remember how I've been taught this, shakily riding off along the line of the cliff, back to the tree line the boys so often come out of when they're racing along the beach. I instantly regret this as I find myself trying to navigate the tight spaces and convoluted area, practically having to hold back a cheer of relief when the trees break off to reveal the beach, which I quickly speed onto. Sand flies up around me as I thunder along the expanse of land, the motorcycle's tyres struggling to grip as it travels over the loose material. Gritting my teeth, I ride the vehicle right up to the Boardwalk, ignoring the shouts of protest from beach-goers.

Upon reaching the Boardwalk, I gun the engine once more, going along the sidewalk at high-speed, nearly hitting a couple of holiday makers as I do so. Heart pumping, I take the bike directly to my home, breaking about eight different traffic laws as I go, uncaring of the consequences this will bring once I'm out of this mess. As I get to my house, I park the motorbike out the front and race inside, slamming the door behind me.

My mind goes into survival-mode, and I run upstairs, pulling a rucksack from my wardrobe, which I start to stuff with clothes and essential items, throwing in personal items, too. I check the time as I go, panic flaring up in me as I notice that there's only a few hours left before sundown, meaning I don't have much time left to get as far away from here as possible. Taking as much stuff as I need, I swiftly go back downstairs, looking around the place one last time before I duck back outside, going to the bike.

It's only now that I realise I took David's motorbike, a fact I barely register as I climb back onto it, starting up the engine again.

This time, I stick to the laws of the road, not wanting to be pulled over by any traffic police, cursing to myself as I get caught in traffic, my time slowly starting to ebb away. It takes a long while, but eventually I manage to get here so need to be: the Santa Carla Bus and Train Station.

I leave the bike at the front of the large building, uncaring of what happens to it now that I no longer need it, more worried about simply getting away now that the opportunity to do so is so close. People shout in protest as I push past them, but I just go right to the ticket desk, buying passage out of this town. The ticket terminates in Canada, a fact that reassures me, as it means I can get as far away as I like without needing to stop anywhere else.

A couple of hours later, and I'm watching the last rays of sunlight disappear over the horizon, my paranoia creeping up on me again as I watch this happen. The bus never got out as quickly as I wanted it to, and now we're only just leaving Santa Carla, meaning there is ample time for my four captors to catch up to me.

Thankfully, nothing comes for a good hour or so, the bus chuntering away down the highway, the passengers (all five of them) keeping blissfully quiet, none of them aware of the panic I'm in. I can feel myself finally starting to relax again, just as the bus suddenly stops.

Looking out of the window, I notice now that there aren't any other cars on the road outside, and that it's completely dark, making it impossible to see anything. The other passengers start to murmur to themselves, glancing around in as much confusion as I feel, only to cry out in surprise when the lights cut out.

It feels as if I've blacked out, everything going horribly quiet until I hear the first scream of agony. It's the driver, his voice wailing in a blood-curdling manner until it's drowned out by another person's, the cry a definite female sound. Terror explodes inside me, and I immediately know what's happening, though I can't move, the fear freezing me in place as shrieks of pain, followed by sickeningly wet sounds fill the air, my breathing coming hard and fast as I try not to make much of a sound.

The lights eventually come back on, and I have to fight not to throw up into my lap at the grim sight around me. Four figures stand amongst the gore, faces twisted into snarling sneers.

"I thought we told you to stay put?' David growls at me.

#the lost boys #vampire #vampires #lost boys #break writes #the lost boys david #the lost boys paul #dwayne (the lost boys)#the lost boys marko

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seaweedbrain404 · 3 years

Text

Wolfstar Au!: Hot and Cold (pt 2 of Parties and Morning Regrets)

@icitlali asked if there was a second part and um- yeah i wrote this, there may be more parts to come

pt 1

pt3

read it on ao3

Remus thought inviting Sirius up was the right thing to do which is the only reason he did. He dared to let himself hope but he didn’t really want to see Sirius. Still, Remus had manners and it was so cold outside that his own fingers were turning purple. Leaving Sirius out in the cold and making him probably walk home seemed too mean, even for Remus. Although, he thought Sirius definitely deserved it.

He followed Sirius up to the flat, Lily looked more than surprised when she saw Sirius come in and gave Remus another look. It was one of those looks that Remus didn’t like getting, the we’re-going-to-talk-about-this-later kind of look. He shrugged it off, too preoccupied with his bloody hip.

“Remus, did you really walk all the way here?” Lily crossed her arms over her chest as Remus closed the door behind them.

“Yeah, so what” He replied through gritted teeth. “I’m going for a shower to wash off the smell of stale alcohol”

“You’re going to be the death of me one day, Remus Lupin” Lily’s voice called to his retreating back. “Sirius, how are you?”

Remus heard vague small talk as he navigated his way to his bedroom. The pain in his hip wasn’t unbearable exactly. It was just bad enough for it to consume all his thoughts. All he needed was a warm bath, some painkillers and to limit his movements for the rest of the day. Easy. Unfortunately, the bath would have to wait until later though seeing as it would probably be rude to soak in the tub while having a guest over.

Showering after a night out was always a pleasant experience. He emerged from the shower just a couple minutes later with damp hair, a stolen pair of Lily’s yoga pants and a clean jumper.

“Ah, here’s the idiot who has no regard for his health” Lily smiled as Remus walked into the kitchen. “Are those mine?”

“Maybe, painkillers please?” He walked across the room and leaned his chin on Lily’s shoulder.

Sirius watched the interaction between the two with some hint of longing in his eyes. Remus wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because he had never been so casually touchy with anyone but now him and Lily were even closer than they were in school.

Lily wrapped an arm around his waist, rubbing circles on his hip. “Sirius, there’s a small pill bottle in the cupboard just there-“ she pointed to the right above her head “-would you mind grabbing it please?”

Sirius blinked for a moment, seemingly frozen at the sight of them. Then, he nodded. “Yeah- yeah, I got it”

He passed Lily the retrieved painkillers without looking at them. Lily hummed gratefully in return, easing Remus, who had hid his face in the crook of her neck, off her. He leaned back against the counter and Lily switched the kettle on.

“I promised Mrs Pettigrew from next door that I’d pick up her groceries today” Lily turned to Remus, glancing at Sirius, “and do a bit of cleaning for her since her grandson is out of town, do you think you’ll manage?”

“Yeah” Remus breathed out. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay”

Lily pursed her lips and looked to Sirius again. “Make sure he stays home, yeah?”

Remus made a noise of protest as Sirius nodded, “I doubt he’ll want to listen to me”

“Lily, I can take care of myself”

“Hardly, you’re in a right state after being without me for a few hours” She scolded, “If you strain yourself any more then you’re going to really fuck up your hip”

“I can’t fuck up something that’s already fucked, can I?”

“I mean it, take it easy and don’t be an idiot”

“Alright, fine”

“And I want to talk to you later”

Remus paled a little at that, despite fully seeing it coming. He made a noncommittal sound and Lily, satisfied with herself, left the room to layer up on clothes and help the nice old lady who lived across the hall.

There was a tense moment when she left. The kettle went off and Remus poured himself a cup, then paused. “Tea?”

“Sure”

Sirius seemed more relaxed now that Lily had gone. It was as if he had been on best behavior when she was there and now he didn’t have to be. Remus couldn’t really blame him, Lily could be very scary sometimes and she was always unreasonably overprotective of Remus. In all fairness, he felt the same way towards her.

So Remus poured two cups of tea and then added milk and sugar accordingly. He had assumed that Sirius took his tea the way he did back in school and he was only a little ashamed he still knew what the other man liked in his tea off the top of his head.

“Am I allowed to ask about the accident?” Sirius picked up his cup and took a sip.

“Why do you want to know?” Remus retorted, taking a painkiller.

“Lily wouldn’t tell me… and I’m…. worried” Sirius looked embarrassed to admit it but he did admit it which was good enough for Remus. It showed some sort of growth, some kind of potential.

“Depends on whether you’re going to pity me or not because frankly, I don’t care much for it”

“Jesus, you don’t have to be so snappy”

Remus scowled at him, not saying another word. He didn’t care about being snappy in that particular moment. His hip hurt like hell, he could feel his leg slowly going as well and whenever he told people anything about the accident they all treated him like a fragile porcelain doll.

Sirius cleared his throat before speaking again. “I won’t pity you, if you don’t want me to”

“What do you want to know?” Remus asked, disregarding what Sirius had said.

“What happened?”

“I worked at this publishing place, had a late night so I took a cab home” Remus began, even thinking about that night made his heart race and his eyes sting. “Someone was driving under the influence and hit us- the cab, I mean.. and it was really bad but they put these screws and plates all in my side, shoulder down to my shin”

Remus paused a moment, wiping his eyes on the back of his palm. Sirius made to touch him but he jerked away, a little too fast and hissed in pain. Sirius retreated his hand, looking crestfallen.

“Anyway, I had to quit the job cause it was too far to walk and I refused to get in any type of car or bus or really any type vehicle since then” Remus rushed the end of the story, his hands were shaking and his throat felt tight.

Sirius took a step forward and this time Remus allowed him to. He carefully opened his arms and slowly wrapped them around Remus, giving him more than enough time to move if he didn’t want this.

Remus, however, was just exhausted. He collapsed right into Sirius’ arms which tightened around him. The bad thing was, he was still shaking, his lungs refused to take in air and oh, there was the whole thing about just falling into his ex-boyfriend’s arms. Good thing was, he felt safe.

Then he started crying, his own arms wrapping around Sirius’ waist while his arms were around Remus’ back. He was pretty sure the only reason he still remained standing was Sirius’ strength forged by years of playing rugby. Remus wanted to kick himself, everything about this situation was just so pathetic and he hated it. He hated himself for it.

Sirius, meanwhile, said nothing and just rubbed circles on the taller man’s back. “I’m sorry, I’ve been horrible to you and now you’re literally comforting me, maybe I am the asshole”

“Nah, I kind of deserved it”

“Yeah you did”

“Hey! you’re not supposed to say that”

“But it’s the truth”

“Shut up”

Remus let himself laugh quietly. He was mortified by this display of vulnerability and dearly wished the ground would open and swallow him whole. Then he made a feeble attempt at pushing Sirius away, nearly toppling over himself. He had to grip the counter behind him to stop himself from hitting the floor. Sirius made to catch him but Remus swatted his hand away.

“I think you should go”

“But I promised Li-“

“I’m tired and she’ll be back soon”

Lie. Remus knew that Lily would be gone for at least two more hours, maybe more if Mrs Pettigrew offered biscuits.

“Then I’ll just stay till she comes back, she really worries about you” Sirius shrugged like it was final and Remus didn’t want to talk about it so he slowly hobbled to the living room.

“Do you-“

“No”

Sirius started asking but Remus snapped at him before he could finish his question.

“Sorry” Sirius mumbled, hands up in surrender. Remus could feel eyes on his back as he managed to get to the couch. He switched on the telly, laying on the side of his body that hurt the least.

Remus figured that if Sirius didn’t leave, then maybe he could ignore him to the point of leaving. Unfortunately it didn’t work because this was Sirius so instead of sitting on the chair near the couch or even on the floor, he stood at Remus’ head. Hands were gesturing for Remus to sit up but he ignored them.

“Remus, squish over a minute”

With a groan, he turned onto his back and sat up. Sirius slid into the open space and Remus turned so that his feet were at Sirius’ lap instead of his head. He wasn’t sure how his body would react if Sirius started gently twirling strands of his hair and admiring them as if they were made of gold.

Remus closed his eyes, feeling fingers tracing shapes on his exposed ankles.

Suddenly Sirius spoke. “You and Lily have gotten really close”

His eyes shot open, a little startled by the tone. He wasn’t sure how long he was out but he definitely slept at least twenty minutes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was groggy with sleep, the side of his mouth damp from drool

“It’s weird, I’ve never seen you so much as hug anyone”

Remus wiped the side of his mouth. “People are allowed to change and Lily is my best friend”

“It’s just- you’ve changed so much and I’m struggling to keep up” Sirius’ tone was strange, the most un-Sirius thing Remus had ever experienced him do since they met.

Remus’ eyebrows knit together, a frown now playing on his face. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, y’know… besides, I don’t have to change according to your terms”

“I never said that” Sirius spat.

Remus sat up in response, leaning back on his elbows. “Then why are you constantly bitching about how much I’ve changed?”

“Because you have! It’s like you’re this whole new person and I don’t even know you”

“I haven’t spoken to you since we were 17, that was 6 years ago and you expect me not to change?” Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I went to college, I got in a horrendous car accident Sirius, do you really expect me to be the same person I was when we were teenagers?”

“No- it’s just, I don’t like change”

“Fucking hell Sirius, the world doesn’t care and guess what? that’s constantly changing too”

“Yeah but not as drastically as you! You work in a bakery for Christ’s sake when I know you always wanted to be a writer”

“And I know you vowed to never work for your parents and here you are, doing daddy’s dirty work no doubt”

“Remus”

“What”

“You were never this cruel”

“No, I suppose not”

The two sat in silence, and it took all of Remus’ willpower not to kiss him.

“Can we just be friends or something” Sirius looked sincere enough, good natured enough for Remus to want it.

“Something? Something like wh-“

But Remus never got to finish his sentence because suddenly Sirius’ knees were straddling his hips and they were kissing.

What the fuck!

Remus wanted to scream, he was tired and annoyed and now he didn’t know what to feel. He pushed Sirius away for a second time that day, both their breaths coming in uneven.

“No” Remus breathed out, shutting his eyes tightly.

“No?”

“Yes, no… I can’t… what were you thinking?”

Sirius looked both hurt and surprised but Remus wasn’t concerned about that, he was more confused than anything and also there was the almost unbearable pain in his hip.

“I- well you were being cruel and this is the only way I knew how to shut you up effectively”

Now it was Remus’ turn to look hurt, he pushed Sirius again with more force than before. He brought his head back down and refused to say another word.

“Remus”

Nothing.

“Remus”

He shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep again.

“I’m sorry”

“Remus, I’m really sorry”

“I know I shouldn’t have said that”

“I did want to kiss you, I also wanted you to stop being mean”

“Come on Moony”

Remus’ eyes shot open at the childhood nickname. “Leave me alone Sirius, I’m tired and sore”

“Are you cross?”

“With you?”

Sirius hummed in response.

“Yeah but mainly cause I’m tired”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

“Just stop talking”

Sirius did just that. Remus felt bad though, he very carefully and hesitantly moved again so that his head was on Sirius’ lap. “I’m sorry for being a dick” he whispered, eyes closing again.

“I’m sorry for not thinking before I speak” came Sirius’ soft reply.

Remus felt Sirius’ fingers move through his hair tentatively as if he was uncertain whether or not this was allowed. “No, I’m being a moody git, all hot and cold on you”

“I couldn’t blame you for it”

“Well you should”

Sirius didn’t reply and Remus remained on the side that didn’t hurt him, facing away from Sirius and towards the telly.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #the mauraders #modern marauders #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar angst #wolfstar fic #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #lily evans #okay but i love writing lily and remus’ friendship so much #they remind me of me and my best friend

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thekisforkeats · 3 years

Text

The Joys of Fandom, or, how TMA helped me rediscover my love of tea

So among the many (many) good things The Magnus Archives podcast has brought to my life, none has been quite so profound as remembering how much I love making a good cup of tea. I’ve got a whole post about how it’s helped me categorize the anxiety cloud I live with on a constant basis, how it’s gotten me writing again, and writing poetry which I haven’t done in forever, how identifying with so many openly queer boys going through so much crap has helped me figure out that I want to transition.

But.

Tea is the reason we’re here today, because making a pot of tea has become a daily ritual since I started listening to TMA, and it’s been one of those tiny things that’s changed my life profoundly, and I have TMA to thank for this almost entirely.

I did not grow up drinking tea. I am from the Seattle, Washington area, and I’m just old enough Starbucks was a popular local coffee shop when I was a kid. My parents both drank a TON of coffee, my mother basically runs on the stuff, and by the time I was 6 I was drinking coffee too. Tea, growing up, was Lipton, sometimes iced or sometimes not. I didn’t even realize herbal tea was tea. Green tea was a thing one drank at Chinese restaurants. I was not at all informed.

When I got my first job, I would stop at Starbucks during the bus layover (as once does in the Seattle area) and one day in a fit of teenaged desire to be “cool” and “writerly” because I’d seen a tin of “Writer’s Chai” in the store I bought a chai latte. I loved it, and that became my go-to Starbucks drink.

I still didn’t really get tea, but I at least started learning how to boil water in the kettle and waiting for it to actually boil, pouring it over the tea bag, etc. I didn’t put in milk or sugar because I drank coffee black unless it was a latte or a mocha. I would just sort of... boil the water and pour it over and wait a few minutes and drink the tea with the bag still in the mug.

It wasn’t until I moved to Toronto that I sat down and had a good cup of tea. The woman who hosted the social group I was part of had her particular tea-making rituals, and she encouraged me to try it with milk and sugar, and it was... amazing. Life-changing, even. My perseveration drive kicked into full swing and I had to know everything about tea and its history and how to make a proper cup and so on and so forth. I learned all I could from our hostess, and then turned to the internet.

I bought a kettle to make tea at home but my ex wasn’t really supportive of my desire to brew tea on the regular, so loose leaf and teapots and “does the milk go in in cup before or after the tea” had to wait until I moved out and got a place of my own.

Then I moved to Tallahassee.

In Tallahassee, the coffee was atrocious unless it was from a couple of specific places, mostly serving cafe con leche. But I had my own place and my own dishes and I could have a teapot and make tea and nobody could stop me. So I did. Mostly for myself, while I was contemplating things, and it was really nice to sit and stare out at the ridiculously heavy Florida rain--which hit, in Tallahassee, right about 4:15 in the afternoon all summer so perfect for tea time.

I moved back to Seattle with my spouse, and we moved into my mother’s house. For a long while we didn’t have a kitchen of our own and we had small children, so tea wasn’t a thing I did any more. I had leftover coffee (or canned/bottled coffee) for the caffeine fix, but rarely tea. When my grandmother died and we moved into her old apartment we didn’t have a stove, and I despise heating water for tea in the microwave.

So for the better part of a decade, I barely drank any tea at all. I did discover Oi Ocha in this time, which is bottled green tea from Japan, which is amazing and I love it, but again--it was in a bottle. Not a thing I was personally making.

Then I started listening to The Magnus Archives, and I really identified with Martin Blackwood, because of reasons too complicated to get into here. But it inspired me to want to make tea again, and so I started getting K-cup pods, but it just... wasn’t... right. It wasn’t the same. I mean, it was tea, but it wasn’t... tea.

So I went and bought an electric kettle, and a teapot, and a strainer, and ordered regular deliveries of loose leaf tea, and started making tea for myself and my spouse. I developed my own ritual: cold water in the kettle, put hot water into the teapot (so it doesn’t crack), put three scoops of loose leaf in the strainer. Pour out the water in the teapot when the kettle boils, put in the strainer, pour the boiling water over the strainer. Wait four minutes or so, and while you’re waiting put a splash of half-and-half in the tea mugs (milk goes first so it doesn’t scald and we like the taste of half-and-half best). Then pour the tea into the mugs. The mugs are big enough that I take three spoons of sugar and my spouse four, so put all the sugar into the mugs and then increase the entropy (aka stir) until the sugar’s dissolved. Bring the tea out into the living room, enjoy.

The first time I got it all right, and made a good cup of tea, I literally cried, I was so happy. It was like seeing the sun after it had been dark for so long I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.

The thing I have come to realize about what tea means to me is something that Jon says in the trailer for Season 5 of TMA. Martin brings him a cup of “tea” and Jon goes “that’s not tea” and, indeed, it turns out to be some weird skittering thing. The following exchange really crystallized things for me:

Jon: This is no longer a world where you can trust-- Martin: Tea?! Jon: Comfort.

And that was it, right there. Coffee is fuel, for me. Coffee is “Wake Up, Get Up, Get Out There.” (Quite literally; part of playing Persona 5 was remembering how much I love trying out new coffee blends.)

Tea, however, is comfort. Tea is slowing down. Tea is caffeine, yes, and therefore focus for my poor ADD/autistic brain, but it’s afternoon focus. It’s contemplation. It’s sitting and breathing in the aroma and thinking about things in a way that isn’t spiraling or catastrophizing. Whether it’s breakfast tea or Earl Grey or green tea, or an herbal like peppermint or chamomile, tea for me is self-care.

Taking those few minutes to get up and go make a pot of tea in the afternoon, to stop the business of the day and just stand there waiting for the kettle to boil, is something I’ve desperately needed. Coffee is easy to sort of make as “fire and forget,” to the point that I’ve gulped down cold or lukewarm coffee I’d forgotten about just because I need the caffeine. Tea, though, if you’re doing it right you have to stand there and wait for the water to boil and wait for the tea to steep. If you walk away to do something else you’ll ruin the whole thing. I completely understand why Martin is running around making tea for everyone in Season 2 all the time, because everything is falling apart in slow motion and it’s a chance to stop, to focus on making the tea, and then to take the time enjoying the tea itself.

Making tea for others also means love to me. I make tea for my spouse alongside myself. I included one of my teenaged children in tea-making for the first time yesterday and my youngest keeps getting the last bit of tea in the pot, and it’s such a joy to see their faces light up. Bringing someone tea means bringing them a mug of love and care. Another reason I identify with Martin--I often don’t know what to say to help someone, so I try to be sure they’re fed and hydrated and cared for. And I, too, had to learn to stop setting myself on fire to keep those people warm. I had to learn to be sure I was fed and hydrated and cared for, so I could care for them. But even now as I get older and wiser and grumpier I still run around making sure everyone’s fed and has had their mug of tea, I just don’t do it at my own expense anymore.

One of my next crochet projects is a tea cozy in the shape of a green owl, in honor of the Magnus Institute owl, because my little tea-making ritual is always going to be connected to TMA in my head. Also I have a “Fifteen Fears” mug and my spouse has a “Magnus Archives” owl symbol mug, so it’s literally just this really intense connection between TMA and tea, for me.

It’s funny how much comfort a horror podcast has given me since I’ve started listening. There are a few fandoms that have profoundly changed me--Star Trek was the first big one, Babylon 5 was the first that directly inspired me, Mass Effect helped me get out of suicidal depression, Persona (specifically Persona 5) inspired me to take responsibility for myself in a way therapy never quite managed.

And here I am with TMA, figuring out how to navigate anxiety and pain and grief in a world that feels like it’s falling apart around my ears. The concept that what we do matters; that right or wrong you should be making a decision instead of just reacting from fear or surprise; that sometimes you screw up and there’s nothing to be done, that “sorry” doesn’t fix everything, that sometimes nothing you do will fix anything and you can’t let that paralyze you... it’s all been necessary, and helpful, and I’ve been terribly grateful.

Thanks to TMA I’m writing again after years of terrible writer’s block. I’m facing my own fears and accepting that despite (because of?) my terrible arachnophobia I’d probably serve the Web if I served anything (although Eye and Lonely would also get a look in--I did say I identified with Martin pretty strongly). I’m recognizing dysphoria and dealing with it after years of trying to deny the elephant in the room.

I’m also making tea again. And for that, I am eternally, profoundly grateful.

#tma #the magnus archives #tea #martin blackwood #tma spoilers #i guess sort of?#i mean just in case #long post #my writing #seriously i cannot overstate how much tea means to me #it's been one of those things i didn't realize i needed until i started doing it again #i will definitely be posting pics of the tea cozy owl as i make it #because it's gonna be adorable af

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fidothefinch · 4 years

Text

Homeward Bound

For Whumptober Day 28: Mugged (because I am really late for the “lost” prompt and this is close enough).

Warnings: blood, injury, concussion, one moment of implied solicited child prostitution, homophobic slurs, police officers, briefly implied domestic abuse, briefly implied animal injury Despite the warnings, this is, like, mostly soft.

Read on AO3

“Hey, kid, I think you dropped something.”

When Damian turned, he was looking down the barrel of a gun.

He frowned, unimpressed with the ruse. “I do not carry such crude weapons on myself.”

The man jabbed the barrel of the gun forward, toward him. “Shut up or you’ll figure out just how much damage my crude weapons can do.”

Titus growled up at the man, and the man glanced down just long enough to lose his concentration. Damian sprang forward to attack.

- - - - - - - - -

Damian’s head was pounding. He groaned despite himself and tried to pry his eyes open. They wouldn’t focus as well as he would have liked, but he was pretty sure that he was not waking up anywhere familiar.

He took a moment to assess himself, before broadcasting his return to consciousness. There was a cool breeze running down his shirt, and moisture collected on the places where his bare skin had been touching the air. He wasn’t wearing his Robin gear; that narrowed things down, at least. He didn’t hear anybody near him, either, so risked opening his eyes.

Even as they fought to bring the world into focus, he couldn’t figure out where he was.

There were spindly branches above him, silhouettes against a rapidly-darkening sky. The air smelled of damp earth and decaying leaves; autumnal. He could hear birds chirping, all around him, the low hum of traffic beneath that. A lamppost somewhere past his feet flickered on.

He levered himself up with his elbows. He was sitting on a soft patch of ground. When he lifted a hand to his head to stop the beating there, he found dried blood and several blades of grass in his hair.

What the hell had happened?

He racked his memory, but the last thing he remembered was the taste of the orange juice he had had with breakfast. It was clearly the evening now, and the few people he saw around him were bustling homeward.

Home.

He should get home.

With some work, he managed to get himself all the way to his feet, not even needing more than a single tree to catch his balance when he wobbled on tingly legs. He had been out of it long enough to let his limbs fall asleep, at least.

He reached for his phone; Richard would be worried about him by now, surely. But when he got the device from his pocket, a pit dropped in his stomach. The screen was cracked, and when he tried to press the button on the side, it read “Critical Low Battery,” and turned off again.

He would never hear the end of this.

He sighed, tucking the phone back into his pocket so he could harvest its spare parts for later. He would just have to walk, then, until he found a bus stop – or train station – or ferry – that could take him home. And maybe he would figure out where he is, too.

The pavement he had woken next to stretched off in two directions, and he randomly chose one and walked. It wasn’t like it would make much difference, since he expected it to be a long night, anyway. But as he took his first few steps, he staggered sideways.

Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought. His hand found the bleeding again, and with searching fingers he found a large knot on the back of his head, where the flesh had swelled. Looking around, it didn’t look like he had hit his head on the pavement, and there had not been a significant amount of blood in the grass where he had gotten up. Maybe he had hit his head, and moved before passing out?

It didn’t matter, now.

The air was getting colder, and he hadn’t brought a jacket with him. He didn’t want to spend the night outside, so he quickened his step.

A familiar tinkling followed him down the path. He turned, too abruptly for his failing sense of balance, and nearly fell into his loyal friend.

“Titus,” Damian breathed. The dog whined at him. He was limping, one of his front paws held up. Damian knelt next to the dog and took his injured paw. “What did you do?”

He carefully felt around the pad and found no thorns or irritants, but when he felt around the knee Titus yelped in pain.

Damian hushed him. “I apologize,” he whispered. He rose to his feet again. “I will have Pennyworth take a look at you when we return.” As he tried to rise, another wave of dizziness hit him, and he fell backward, nearly hitting his head again.

“Hey, kid!”

Damian whipped his head around to the source of the noise. A man was walking toward him, down the path. Damian hadn’t heard him approaching.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, then stopped short as he spotted the blood on Damian’s head. “Oh, man.”

Damian waved a hand over his shoulder flippantly and rose to his feet. “I am fine.” Gotham citizens weren’t usually so. . . hospitable, and Damian couldn’t help being suspicious of him. Damian would deal with this on his own. “I am on my way home.”

“Are your parents around? I don’t think you should be—”

A hand landed on Damian’s shoulder, and without thinking he tugged the man down and around into an arm lock. “Don’t touch me,” he warned.

The man’s breath caught. “Let go of me!”

Damian blinked, and he released the man’s hand. The man stood to his full height, rubbing his wrist where it had been bent at an awkward angle. His eyes were wide, now, with something like fear. “H-hey, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Damian stepped back unevenly, and Titus stepped in front of him. His ears pressed flat to his head and his teeth glinted in the light form the lamppost. A warning growl emitted from his muzzle.

The man, wisely, backed away, hands held high.

Damian watched him move away until he was satisfied with the distance between them. Then he clicked his tongue, and Titus’s posture shifted as he glanced back to Damian. “Come, Titus,” Damian called. He mustered enough energy to make his voice steady and commanding.

Titus gave one sharp bark to the man before turning tail and obediently following Damian down the opposite path.

They didn’t make it out of earshot before he heard the man pull his phone out. “Yeah, I’m Robinson Park. I think I’ve found a homeless kid.”

Damian wasn’t close enough to tell whether the man was calling the police, and he certainly didn’t want to be dragged into another kidnapping. He forced his feet to move faster, and he ran.

The man had said something about Robinson Park, right? That put Damian almost an hour’s walk from the penthouse, and that was assuming he was moving in the right direction.

He tried navigating with the stars, but there was too much light pollution; the one star he thought he had found turned out to be a plane.

“Where are we,” he asked Titus.

The dog huffed, but despite Damian’s greatest wish, was not able to respond.

Moving at all was better than staying in place. He would be able to figure out where he was when he got out of the park.

The walk felt like hours. Whether it was fatigue, or dehydration, or his concussion, the world would slant sideways occasionally, tripping him up until Titus’s warm flank would help steady him. His mouth was incredibly dry, and his stomach empty. He grimaced when they got too close to any lamplights, as the glow would make the icepick in his head dig harder. It was better that they stay away from the walking paths, anyway; as it grew dark, the people wandering the park became, in Richard’s words, “shadier.”

He could smell the road before he could see it. Hot asphalt, gasoline, and spent cigarettes wafted from beyond the tasteful brick ledge cornering the park from the rest of the city. The sun had set completely by the time he reached the road beyond.

He reached the sidewalk and peered up at the stared up at the street signs, trying to make sense of them. To his great frustration, his brain refused to make words from the letters. There were still a handful of cars idling at the stoplight. One of them blasted bass music loud enough Damian could feel it under his feet. The more tasteful lilt of classical music spilled out from a different car.

One car pulled up to the curb next to him. Damian couldn’t make out the shadowed face of the man driving, but he knew enough to be wary when he asked, “How much?”

Damian shook his head, despite how it made the world spin. As Robin, he would have taken him out on sight. As Damian, all he could react with was a “No,” as pointedly disgusted as he could make it.

“Faggot,” the man sneered.

Damian didn’t have time to reply before a cup burst against his chest, soaking his shirt and pants in ice-cold slush. His gasp was lost under the squeal of tires as the car pulled away. He didn’t have the thought to memorize his license plate until he was too far away.

The light was green, and cars raced by faster that Damian could track, though he was beginning to think that reflected more on himself than their driving habits. The movement paired with the sticky-sweet cherry smell from the ICEE was making him nauseous.

Titus licked the syrup from his bare wrist in commiseration. His tongue was warm against the cooling night air.

Damian shivered, the breeze from the handful of passing cars cooling his wet clothes even more. He needed to get inside soon, or he risked hypothermia.

He waited until there were no cars before crossing the street, and he walked another block, parallel to the park, before finding a small store and slipping inside.

The heat was a blessing, but the lighting was harsh enough he had to squint. Damian’s fingers tingled as they warmed up, and he perused the small aisles for something warm to wear for several minutes.

“No dogs.”

Damian looked up, and the cashier, who was the only other person in the store, had finally looked up from their magazine.

“He has excellent behavior,” he started.

She rolled her eyes. “Out.” She pointed toward the door.

Damian scowled. He wanted to protest more, but he couldn’t summon the brain power for it. “Very well.” He gave her his best glare on his way past.

Leaving the store was difficult, as the outside temperature felt even colder when he hadn’t had time to acclimate to it.

He shoved his numb hands in his wet pockets. His wallet was missing; he could not have purchased anything, anyway.

He voiced his thoughts out loud as he walked down the street, more to keep warm than with a destination in mind. “If my wallet is gone, somebody may have taken it,” he mused. “I may have been the victim of a mugging.” He felt for that tender place on his head again and winced. “Gone wrong.”

Titus loped along next to him, ears high and alert for any sign of danger.

Damian lost track of time and how many blocks he had walked before he spotted the bus stop. Inside the sheltered benches was a large map. “Titus, look,” he mumbled. Titus did not look, but wrapped himself around Damian’s legs, watching his six o’clock while Damian studied the graphic.

It took far too long for him to find the “You are Here” star, and then he couldn’t make sense of the rest of the lines and letters. They seemed to float around his point of focus, blurred around the edges.

“We’ve got him,” somebody said. A radio blipped. Acknowledged. Over.

Damian turned around when a shadow fell over him. It was a police officer, wearing a sympathetic smile. “Hey, kid.”

Damian didn’t reply, looking him up and down. When he saw his hand resting against where Damian knew his Taser to be, he tutted. “You are not going to Tase me, are you?”

The officer’s hand flexed, then relaxed, but didn’t move from the position. “Not unless you give me a reason to.”

Damian shook his head as much as he dared. “You are the one approaching me.” He turned back toward the map in dismissal.

“Got a name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Where are you headed?”

“None of your business.”

“Look,” and the officer stepped toward him, but Titus growled. “Somebody called in some kid acting confused and wandering the city.”

Damian’s shoulders tensed. “I am not confused.”

“Easy, there. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Damian turned again and crossed his arms. He hated to admit it was more for the warmth than for the intimidation. “Please go on your way. I do not require your assistance.”

The officer whistled under his breath. “That’s a nice bruise you’ve got there. Did you get in a fight?”

Damian’s hand flew to a second, slightly less painful knot on his forehead, but it was too late. The officer had seen.

Damian had been there long enough. The last thing he needed was to be forced into a physical examination. Without saying anything, he moved to duck around the officer and excuse himself.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Wait a minute, young man.”

Damian stiffened, and the hold relaxed but didn’t release. “Titus, heel,” he commanded, stopping the pending attack. He gave the officer what he hoped was a measured look. “Let go of me.”

“Is there some place I can take you? Do you need a ride home?”

Damian hesitated, and the officer jumped on it. “I can give you a ride in the squad car. I’ll let you try the sirens.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but despite the patronizing, he asked, “and my dog?”

“We’ll call animal patrol to take him to a shelter, and you can go pick him up—”

“No.”

“He’ll be safe, you have my word.”

“Titus stays with me.” The dog sneered at the officer from where he sat by Damian’s feet, clearly still a threat should the officer choose to lunge.

The officer looked at the dog, and back up. He released Damian’s shoulder, and Damian would feel more relieved if it didn’t make him feel less steady on his feet. “If something happened at home, you can report it—”

“Nothing happened.” Not that he remembered, anyway. Damian’s chin rose. “I will return myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, son.”

Damian didn’t think; he bolted.

“Hey!” The officer shouted, giving chase.

Damian breathed harder, through the nausea and the pain flaring in his head. His blood was roaring in his ears. He demanded his body move faster.

Titus guided him, a second, ghostlier mirror-Titus weaving in and out of his body. The loyal dog stuck exactly to Damian’s pace so they wouldn’t lose each other. The streets at this pace looked more familiar, and Damian thought he recognized an alley opening ahead. “Left,” he directed, and Titus ducked into the alley, as instructed.

“We’ve got a runner.” He could hear the officer behind him huffing into his radio. “I’m going to need backup.” He was gaining ground; Damian was lagging.

He had just slipped into the alleyway when Titus pivoted around, barking angrily at the officer.

“Titus,” Damian wheezed. The world spun around him, and he had to brace himself against a grimy brick wall. “Come here.”

But the dog ignored him. In fact, Titus suddenly lunged forward, out of his sight, and the officer shouted.

Titus yelped.

“No,” Damian moaned.

He had to keep running. He couldn’t let the officer take him. He couldn’t remember why, but there had been a reason. . .

He stumbled down the alley, turning blindly around corners until he found himself back out on a dark street. There were a few lights on in the windows above him, but not a soul in sight.

Damian’s head felt like it would split in two, like there was a wedge being driven between the hemispheres of his brain with every thump of his heart. He squinted through the darkness until he made out the shape of stairs, leading down toward a basement floor and locked door. It would at least get him out of the wind.

He got two steps down before he tripped over his own feet, flipping down the last six.

He allowed himself to groan at the bottom, feeling all the new places that stung and throbbed.

He must have hit his head again, because he had to blink black spots out of his eyes as he half-crawled, half-dragged himself (his arm, at least, was definitely broken) to the corner under the stairs.

He curled his knees up and tucked his head down, conserving as much body heat as possible.

He blacked out.

Something wet was tugging on his face.

Damian scrunched his nose. There was still a dull ringing in his ears.

No.

That was whining.

Prying his eyelids open felt more difficult than lifting the Batmobile. The world swayed, and he immediately had to shut them again.

“Titus,” he whispered. And it did not sound like a whine. “I am alright.”

Titus continued licking his face, nuzzling his nose underneath Damian’s arms so he could get a better look.

“Damian?”

Damian tensed.

“Damian!”

There were feet pounding down the short stairway. “Alfred! I found him!”

Damian winced at the noise. It was much, much too loud.

“Damian,” Richard breathed again. His voice dropped into something much softer. “Can you look at me?”

Damian lifted his head with gargantuan effort, and lifted his eyelids again.

Richard’s face swam into focus, a deep wrinkle in his forehead. He gasped, when he saw the lump on Damian’s forehead. “What happened to you?” he asked. His hand rose to the lump’s twin on the back of his head and lightly brushed away some of the grime.

It had grown more tender since last night. Like it had opened a floodgate, Damian was suddenly bombarded with all of the aches and pains of the night before. His left arm and head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, slightly syncopated.

Richard clicked his tongue, and leaned back to shout up the stairs. “He hit his head.”

“Oh, dear.” Pennyworth must have been standing at the higher level, but Damian couldn’t look that high up for fear of getting lost in the nausea. “And he is soaking wet. I will fetch a change of clothes from the car.”

As Pennyworth’s voice got distant, Richard leaned in closer. “We’re going to get you home, okay?” He didn’t wait for Damian to acknowledge him; he slipped his arms under Damian’s knees and behind his back and lifted him smoothly. “It’s okay.”

Damian tutted, but even he could admit it lacked his usual passion.

Richard tucked Damian’s head under his chin as he walked up the stairs, and though it was an awkward angle Damian was thankful for the body heat he was able to absorb from it.

Titus followed right at Dick’s feet, not taking his big brown eyes off Damian for a second. He was still limping.

Richard must have caught him looking, because he explained, “Animal Control found the chip, called us out here to pick him up. He wouldn’t stop whining until we followed him.”

Damian reached down to pat Titus’s head with his good hand. “Good boy, Titus.”

Pennyworth fussed over him until he was in clean, dry clothes. The heat was already blasting in the car, and Damian immediately felt himself melting into the seat beneath him.

Richard would not let go. Titus collapsed in his lap in a furry, warm heap.

Damian wouldn’t have it any other way. He was finally home.

#whumptober #no. 28 #mugged #fic #dc #damian wayne #a boy and his dog #fido writes #titus the dog

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Monster Match #26: Duamutef (Lemon)

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @one-halloween: “My pronouns are she/her and my orientation is pan. I'm small (like 4'9") with waist length brown hair that's bleached in an ombre style. I dress in a kind of retro style (so like 80s acid washed jeans and crop tops). Uhh I love reading, writing and gaming as well as hiking and working on a car or something like that. I'm often quiet but around people I like I can be the jokester of the group.

Cliché but I like partners who are taller than me, and those I can joke around with. Someone who is also loyal and honest as well as loving and will take interest in hobbies. The things I dislike are dishonesty and secrets. As well as someone who takes life way too seriously and won't crack a joke here or there. Also someone who doesn't take interest in what others do. I was thinking if you could make it NSFW that would be great.”

You’ve been matched with Duamutef!

Duamutef is one of the four sons of Horus and one of the protection gods of the four canopic burial jars, specifically the jar which contains the stomach. In war, the most frequent cause of death was from injuries in the torso and stomach, and Duamutef protects this organ, both in life and in death.

Duamutef was originally represented as a man wrapped in mummy bandages; however, from the New Kingdom onwards, he is shown with the head of a jackal and is an example of cynocephaly which, in Greek mythology, is a creature with a human body and a canid head, specifically a jackal.

What gives a god their power was the belief of their followers; however, many of the ancient religions had either died completely or were far less worshiped during modern times, affording the gods of those pantheons less power. While some gods lamented this decline in their abilities, others found it freeing, and delighted in the opportunity of roaming the earth as they wished. One such deity was Duamutef.

As a lesser god, even people who followed the revival religion Khemetism didn’t tend to worship him as much as Anubis or Ma’at or his father Horus, so he decided to come to earth and travel the world, learning about an era with which he was unfamiliar.

Of course, you didn’t know all that when you met him. He introduced himself as Tua, an exchange student from Egypt. He was a mysterious figure and his age indecipherable to you. Sometimes he seemed young and boyish, easily a full foot taller than you, always smiling and laughing. However, there was this ageless look in his eye that told the story of a very old soul. He was tall and dark, just like in fairy tales, and already very popular on campus.

It surprised you when he took notice of you. You were a quiet girl, unassuming and not the type to draw attention, so his sudden interest in you was a little startling.

“Excuse me,” He said one day, coming up to you suddenly. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“That’s probably because we’ve never spoken before,” You said. “And I don’t think you know any of my friends.”

“An oversight. My apologies,” He said, smiling. “I make it my aim to know everyone in every place I go.”

You looked at him in alarm. “There are hundreds of people attending this college.”

“I am aware,” He said, still smiling. He had those deep, dark type of bottomless black eyes one could get lost in. “I’ve managed to at least introduce myself to most of the people, but it seems I have missed you. Forgive me.”

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal,” You said. “I’m nobody, really.”

“That’s not true,” He said. “Everybody is somebody to someone, and I’d like to be a friend to you. My name is Tua. May I ask yours?” He offered his hand to shake and you shook it, telling him your name. “Will you walk with me? The cafeteria is offering something called a corndog I’m eager to try.”

You laughed. “Don’t get too excited about that. It’s not exactly a culinary masterpiece.”

“But it’ll be new. I like new. I spent a very long time in one place, and now that I’m out in the world, I want to experience as much as I can.”

“Were you homeschooled as a kid or something?” You asked.

He laughed again. “Or something. My family had a lot of responsibilities many years ago, you could say. After working my whole life in the service of others, I think I’ve earned a vacation.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” You said. “It can be tough when your parents expect a lot from you.”

“That’s the truth,” He replied. “So, corndog? I’ll treat you.” He extended his hand toward the cafeteria.

You echoed his laughter. “I don’t know if I’d call it a treat, but sure. That sounds nice.”

From then on, Tua spent a lot of time with you. He seemed to go out of his way to seek you out. He said he enjoyed listening to you talk about things, saying that your perspective was entertaining. You didn’t mind his presence. He was earnest and funny and he always wanted to hear your opinion on things. He’d often come to the bookstore where you worked to get your recommendation for new books to read. He seemed confused by a lot of western culture’s practices and often asked you for advice or to explain things to him. His open curiosity and wonder with the world around him was very endearing.

You weren’t sure why he chose you to help him navigate life in the western world. Surely there were better candidates in the large pool of people who followed him around. He had a legion of fans who hung on his every word and shadowed him like love-struck puppies, but he dodged them consistently to spend time with you. There were more attractive people of several genders that he could have had his pick of, but he decided on you, and you were slightly baffled by it.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked you one day while you were ringing up his new purchases. He must have a significant library by this point. “There’s something called a farmer’s market I’d like to go see.”

“I can’t go tomorrow,” You said. “My friend’s car is acting up and he wants me to take a look at it. From what he’s telling me, it sounds like his alternator is shot, and if that’s the case, that’s a full day’s work.”

“You can fix cars?” He asked. If he had animal ears, you’d swear they had perked up when he said that. “How interesting. I don’t know anything about cars. Can I observe?”

You shrugged. “If you want to. Make sure to wear stuff you don’t mind getting dirty. It is very hard to get motor oil out of clothes, trust me.”

“Of course,” He said.

“Here,” You said, taking out a pen and running out a length of receipt paper to write on. “Here’s my address. He’ll be dropping it off around 9 A.M. and picking it back up after his shift at work.”

“Excellent. I won’t be late.”

“If you say so,” You said, handing him his purchases. “Here you go. That D&D book is a classic. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Much appreciated,” He said with a smile, nodding politely as he left.

He arrived the next morning carrying a sack of donuts and coffee. You were glad he already knew what kind of coffee you liked, because he drank his very strong and you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. You had to do a double take when he took off his jacket and revealed a v-neck black shirt and tight black jeans. Normally he wore a pair of slacks and a button-up, so this look was quite a change and you were having trouble not staring. He was skinny, but he had a lot more muscle definition than you would have suspected.

“I hope I’m not late,” He said. “There was an accident on the way here. No one seemed to be hurt, but there was quite a backup on the highway.”

“No, you’re fine,” You said. “My friend hasn’t even shown up yet. Let’s eat before he gets here. Eating with grease on your hands is a bad idea.”

Your friend pulled up as you were inhaling a bear claw. You introduced him to Tua, they exchanged brief pleasantries, and your friend took off for the bus stop down the road.

“He seemed nice,” Tua said.

“He’s gay and single, if you want his number,” You laughed as you popped the hood of his Honda Accord.

Tua laughed as well. “I appreciate the offer, but he’s not my cup of tea. Or coffee, if you will.” He took a big gulp, and you shuddered.

“I can’t believe you take that black. It’s got to be so bitter.”

“We didn’t have sugar where I grew up, so I’m used to it.”

Your head rocked back. “Where did you live that you didn’t have sugar.”

“Near Cairo,” He replied. “It was called something different when I was born, though.”

You made a face. “Cairo was founded in 969 AD. You’re not that old.”

He smirked. “How old do I look?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge his age, but blanked. “Let’s just get to work.”

The alternator was indeed going out, and while changing it out wasn’t rocket science, it was labor intensive work for someone as small as you were. You were actually glad to have an extra set of hands to help. In addition to the alternator, you also found a crack in one of the hoses that was also going to have to be replaced, as it was leaking coolant.

Both of you were elbow deep in grease by the time you decided to take a break for lunch. You went to order a pizza as he went in to wash his… self. He somehow managed to get grease all over his face. You had a sneaking suspicion he just liked getting dirty.

After putting in your order, you went back outside to clean up the area around the car and put away the tools you didn’t need anymore in their rightful place in the toolbox when you happened to look up to the bathroom window. You had to squint and blink, because something was… off.

Tua had taken his shirt off to clean up, but something was odd about his head. It was larger, darker, and blurry almost. It almost looked like an animal’s head. Maybe it was just how the frosted glass reflected the color of his hair, but it didn’t look… normal. Something on the top of his head resembling ears flicked back and forth. Something that looked like a snout opened and shut, as if inspecting its teeth. The head shook like a dog slinging water from its fur. You blinked, and he had put his shirt back on and his head looked completely normal again.

Were you going insane?

Tua came back out of the house, the water from washing his face and neck glistening on his skin. You didn’t realize how bug-eyed you were until he tilted his head in concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You shook your head to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I thought I saw… nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Pizza’s on it’s way.”

“What did you see?” He asked neutrally.

“It doesn’t matter,” You said. “It was probably a trick of the light.”

“What if it wasn’t?” He asked in the same neutral tone, watching your face. “Hypothetically.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

He sighed, shook his head, and his usual smile was back in place. “No matter. What kind of pizza did you get?”

You let the matter drop, but it nagged in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

That night, your dreams were unusual. You dreamt of a dry place, of women in soft, sheer gowns and men in short skirted garments. Shaved heads and wigs.

In one of the dreams, a woman led you to a huge, grand hall made of stone. There, sitting on a throne of ebony inlaid with gold and jewels, was a man. He had a falcon’s head on a fit human’s body. He held a staff in his hand, and on his head perched a red and white pschent, the crown of Pharaohs. Behind him were four gigantic statutes of other men and women. He sat at their feet, surrounded by attendants.

The woman gestured for you to walk forward, and the man on the throne waved a hand. All of the attendants left him, leaving you standing there alone with him.

“My son has shown you interest,” The man said, his voice booming throughout the chamber, though his mouth never moved. “That is unusual. He and his wife have divorced millennia ago, and he has not taken interest in anyone for many, many years.”

“Your son?” You repeated. “Who is your son?”

“Know you not who I am?” He asked, standing and laying his staff against the armrest. “The god of the sky above and kingdom below. The wisest of my siblings, the most benevolent. Am I a stranger to you?”

“I’m sorry,” You said hesitantly. “I’m not really religious.”

He sighed. “I suppose that’s to be expected. The power of our pantheon has declined dramatically. I must be grateful that the revival in modern times has allowed us to rise from our sleep and reclaim any sort of rule.” He stood to his full height, which had to be at least seven foot. “I am Horus. You are a friend to my son, Duamutef, blessed with the head of a jackal, the animal of death, guidance, and protection.”

“The head of a jackal?” You asked. “Like a dog? So I wasn’t hallucinating? Tua really has the head of a dog?”

“In so many terms, yes. Tua, as you know him, asked for my permission to travel the world, and I granted it to him, hoping he would stop pining and bring his knowledge of the new world back to his peers.”

“How long is he allowed to explore?”

“Not that long,” Horus said. “A few centuries.”

You gaped at him. “You realize that since the industrial age, humanity and its technology is advancing very quickly. The world isn’t the same as it was ten years ago, and it will be different in another ten years.”

“Oh,” Horus said, seemingly baffled. “That’s alarming. In the ancient kingdom, it was as if time stood still. Once we gave humans the knowledge they needed to live and create, things carried on as it always did for over three millennia.”

“Things are different now,” You said, perhaps too boldly considering you were speaking to a god.

“It would seem so,” He replied thoughtfully. “Duamutef is eager to learn, however. As long as he sends back a report, I suppose he can stay in the mortal plane as long as he wishes.”

“I’m sure that would make him happy,” You said.

“I think you would, too,” Horus said, looking down at you. A falcon can’t smile, but you felt kind approval radiating from Horus’s body.

“I would?” You said. “I’m his friend, just a girl he follows around because I explain things to him. I’m not special. Besides, I don’t even think he likes me that way.”

“Aren’t you?” Horus asked patiently. “Doesn’t he?”

You flushed. You hadn’t really considered it. He seemed way out of your league. “Well… even if he did, how can I be worthy of a god?”

“You are worthy. You do not need me to tell you so, nor do you need him to. But he has chosen you, and I am pleased that he is happy and moving on. He has been alone for a very long time.”

“This is a lot to process, you know that?”

“Indeed,” Horus agreed. He turned and went back to the throne, sitting in it. “Take some time to think it over, but do not make him wait long. My son’s happiness is important to me.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

You woke covered in sweat and gasping. That… that couldn’t have been real, could it? Thank god… or gods… that tomorrow was Sunday. You needed a full day to just… deal.

Monday, you returned to school, both confused and… a little excited. There was something innately fascinating knowing an actual god was walking around campus, acting like a human. While you weren’t a fan of the fact that he was hiding it from you, you were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Just this once.

You saw him in the courtyard surrounded by his usual fans. His magnetism suddenly made a lot more sense. You wondered why you were so resistant to it.

“Tua!” You called. He looked up, caught your eye and smiled, walking over. His gaggle of… worshipers?… followed behind him.

“I need to talk to you privately,” You told him in a terse undertone.

“That sounds serious,” He said, still smiling, though he looked concerned. “What about?”

“Your father came to visit me,” You replied.

The smile slipped and the color drained from his face. “Uh…” He said to his group, trying to laugh lightly. “Sorry, friends. Family business.”

They groaned in disappointment but thankfully dispersed. He took you by the hand and led you to the side of the Sciences building.

“What did he say to you? Was he angry?”

“No,” You said. “He told me he was pleased.”

Tua sighed in relief. “I’m glad. I was worried he was annoyed with my decisions. He said he wouldn’t interfere, but I’ve been concerned because I hadn’t heard from him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, folding your arms.

“What, that I’m a lesser god of an ancient religion that had almost died out, until the recent revival?” He said shrewdly. “Would you have believed me.”

“Your real head might have convinced me,” You replied. “The jackal?”

“Ah, yes,” He said. “I figured you had seen it the other day, but you didn’t press the issue, so I hoped you’d think it was a figment of your imagination.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” You asked.

“I did,” He said. “But I wanted to tell you myself, when the time was right.”

“When would the right time have been?”

He shrugged and looked at the ground. “I don’t know, I guess. I almost did, the other day, but I was nervous.”

“Your father told me something else,” You said carefully. “That you had been alone a long time. That your wife divorced you and that you had been pining for a long time. He also said…” You cleared your throat and swallowed. “That you had chosen me.”

He looked at you through his lashes, looking apprehensive. “Can… can we discuss this later? Somewhere private?”

“Come to my house after school. We’ll talk, okay?”

He nodded, looking self-conscious, turned, and jogged away, dodging his fan club and ducking into the Arts building.

Later that night, you paced in your living room, waiting for him to arrive. When you heard his car pull up, it took every ounce of willpower to not dash outside.

When he knocked, you opened the door to find him holding flowers and a gift bag.

Oh god.

“I figured if the cat was out of the bag, I might as well try,” He said. “Here.” He handed you the flowers, which were your favorites, and the bag. Inside was a book.

“Someone wrote a book about me,” He said. “Well, about me and my brothers. It was written while we were sleeping, so there’s a little missing, but I’m happy to fill in the blanks.”

“I don’t like that you hid this from me,” You said as you moved aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I didn’t mean to hide it. Most people don’t look that closely. You’re the first person to see my true self.”

“That’s not entirely true,” You said. “I only saw an outline, a shadow.” You folded your arms. “So show me the real you. I want to take a good look.”

He took a deep, calming breath, and his body shimmered. His head elongated, black fur sprouted from his neck up, trailing down his spine and the middle of his chest. His normal modern clothes disappeared and the traditional gathered skirt of ancient Egypt appeared around his waist, ending at the knee. His eyes were silver and had markings around them. He wore no crown, but there were markings where a crown might have once sat.

“Is this what you saw?” He asked. Like his father, his mouth did not move when he spoke. Instead, his voice came from all around you.

“Something like it, yes,” You confirmed.

“Are you frightened?” He asked hesitantly.

“No,” You replied. “I’ve had time to come to terms with it. I think I’d be more freaked out if you had sprung it on me out of nowhere, maybe.”

“See? What else was I to do but keep it to myself?” He said in exasperation.

“I guess I see your point,” You admitted. “But no more secrets, okay? There’s nothing I hate more than people keeping secrets from me.”

“If that’s so, then… there’s one more thing I must confess,” He said slowly.

“I think I know what it is,” You said, bracing yourself. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

He cleared his throat and stood tall. “I have become… enamored with you. I don’t know when it started, but it came to me quickly. Perhaps it was because you didn’t fall into worship of me, as others have done. As gods, it is humankind’s natural inclination to bend the knee to us, but you did not. Perhaps it was your patience with me and my multitude of questions. Perhaps it was the extent of your knowledge. Perhaps it was all of those things. But I care for you. I do not expect you to return my feelings, but I would wish to remain close to you, in whatever form you desire. Friend, companion, lover. It is your decision.”

You laughed a little. “That’s a hell of a declaration. I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

He looked startled. “Is that something you wish?”

“I don’t know.” You moved closer, considering him. “Are you any good at it?”

He took your hands. “Well… it has been some time. I may be out of practice.”

“Give it your best shot,” You challenged.

His lips curled into a smile, and he pulled you into an embrace. Tall as he was, he had to bend to reach your lips. His kiss was light, but experienced, and he lingered for many minutes. When he pulled away, you were seeing stars.

“How was my technique?” He asked playfully.

You shook your head to stop it from spinning. “More than adequate,” You chuckled. “You’re not quite as rusty as you claim.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” He said, and kissed you again.

You weren’t sure how the two of you made it into your bedroom, but suddenly there you were, the bed right next to you. You began shedding clothes and pulled at the belt that gathered the skirt at his waist. It fell into a pile at his feet, and he stepped out of it, lifting you into the air and setting you gently down onto the bed.

You began to shake a little. You hadn’t had a serious partner before and while this wasn’t your first time, the sex you’d had before hadn’t been as… significant as this was turning out to be. Were you going to fast? You’d known him for months but it was only in the last few days that you’d known he was carrying a torch for you. It had been a lot to process, and still was. Were you rushing into it?

He seemed to feel you tense. “Are you alright?”

“I…” You struggled to find the right words and not sound insulting. “I feel like we’re moving to quickly? I’m not even sure how I feel, and we’re already in bed with each other. I just… feel…”

“Rushed?” He said. “It’s alright, I understand. This was a lot to lay on you at once. We can stop.”

“That’s just it, I don’t know if I want to stop. I don’t know if I want to keep going. I don’t even know for sure how I feel about you, or the situation. I feel really overwhelmed.”

“It’s alright,” He said. “Why don’t we just lay here for a while and be still and give you some time to find your bearings. I can leave you to think for a while, if you’d like.”

“No. No, stay,” You said. “Just turn off the light and let’s be quiet for a little while. I just want to think.”

“Of course,” He said, reaching for the lamp switch. The two of you were bathed in darkness. He lay next to you, and you allowed him to put his arm around you. You put your head on his chest and listened to his slow heartbeat. It was strangely reassuring: you almost expected him to not have a heartbeat at all.

At some point you must have fallen asleep. He still lay with you, his body illuminated in the moonlight, slightly propped up on the pillows, watching you sleep. He smiled when he saw you rouse.

“Good evening,” He said quietly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off,” You said.

“It’s no problem. I actually rather enjoyed it. You’re very cute when you’re asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” You said, smacking his chest.

“I’m not!” He chuckled. “You make very adorable noises.”

“Hush, you!” You said, tickling his side.

“Hey, hey!” He exclaimed, squirming away. “Don’t do that!”

“Oh, is the big, bad god ticklish?” You asked playfully, dodging his arms and going in for more tickles. “Is he? Is he ticklish?”

“No!” He cried, trying to wiggle out of your grasp, whimpering like a puppy. “I shall retaliate if you don’t cease!”

“Oh yeah?” You taunted. “Whatcha gonna do about it, big man? Sniff me to death?”

“I may just!” He said, putting his muzzle in your ear and sniffling.

“Ah!” You squealed. “It’s so cold!”

“You like that?!” He said, tickling you back and pressing his nose to your neck. “Have some more, then!” He licked at your neck and shoulders. He grabbed your hands and held them above your head as you wiggled underneath him.

At some point, the mood shifted. The weight of his naked body on top of your naked body was exhilarating and made your heart race. His licks slowed and went from playful to deliberate and were interspersed with open mouthed kisses. He let go of your hands and touched your body. You instinctively pulled your knees up and wrapped them around his waist, holding him close by the back of his head and petting down the fur of his spine.

“Is this alright?” He asked heavily, breathing hard.

“Yes,” You whispered in reply. “Yes.”

Some more minutes of touching and kissing and licking later, he reached between the two of you and rubbed his knuckles on your clit, making you moan against his lips. He rubbed himself and you at the same time, then pushed the tip against your entrance, gently pushing himself inside of you. Your head fell back onto the pillow, your mouth wide open, your brows furrowing. He was thick and long, but no so that it was painful. You whimpered as he inched all the way inside and pulled out slowly, thrusting inward and pulling outward.

Slowly, but with gaining speed, your bodies moved together. Wordlessly, he flipped you so that you were on your stomach and pulled you toward him, reentering you and thrusting vigorously, while you gripped the sheets desperately, crying out in pleasure. You bit the pillow and shut your eyes as you felt the ecstasy well up in you, your inside walls clenching and contracting. He huffed and grunted above you, gripping your hips as your bodies smacked together over and over.

You could feel beads of his sweat dripping onto your back as he sped up again, groaned loudly, and spilled himself into you, gushing out with each jerk of his hips against your body. When he was spent, he withdrew and fell sideways as to not crush you. You lay on your stomach for a few moments, allowing yourself to catch your breath and cool down, before turning over and sliding into his arms. You’d change the sheets tomorrow.

“I hope this means you accept me,” He said sleepily.

“I always accepted you,” You said. “I just wasn’t sure what I wanted my role to be in all this. I’m still not sure. I think starting with a date might be nice.”

“Of course,” He said. “Anything you want. I am your humble servant, at your beck and call.”

“You’re not my servant,” You said firmly. “And I’m not yours. We’re partners or we’re nothing at all.”

“I understand,” He said, turning on his side. “So, my partner, where would you like to go for this date?”

“I don’t know,” You said. “This’ll be your first date on the mortal plane, won’t it? Do what you love to do: research it.”

He laughed. “That sounds like fun.”

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Match #Ancient Egypt #Egyptian God #Duamutef #Four Sons of Horus #one-halloween

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colitisandme · 3 years

Photo

Self care, don’t care. Before I start this blog post, I want to say last month was probably one of the most exciting months of my life as I became a finalist at the Wego health awards 2021 for Rookie of the year category. I could not and still cannot believe that my blog, Social media page and general posts resonated so strongly with you lovely lot and is recognised so highly by Patient leaders across the world. So thank you. That night and the excitement I felt throughout the whole of the month is something I will never forget. I love you all. 😊 So, the reason that I have not posted a full blog for a few months is … well honestly like I have felt like over cooked spaghetti. You know when pasta is cooked to long, and it all gets sort of mushy and stuck together, people avoid it, make appreciative noises when you bring a plate of it out, and when your back is turned, they stuff it behind some sort of pot plant or when it becomes so claggy you could use it as some kind of DIY alternative for tile glue. Well yeah, like that. I think the thing that started it was the realisation that I would have to go out into the world after lock down – back to work, seeing people, whilst still trying to stay safe and well and not feel like wallpaper paste. It was also the scary realisation of how Phyllis has very much become a permanent fixture in my life and how my mobility and general staying ‘uprightness’ has got worse in a year. Suddenly the safe cocoon I had built for myself, and my husband was obliterated. I suddenly became very wary of others, especially large groups of people with faces. The walk that I could complete which would take me to the bus stop a year ago became this game of Russian roulette to see how impossible it would be to carry myself, a bag on wheels and walk in a straight line on a 60mph road with no pavement, and I was pretty sure there was a higher than likely chance, if I fell over, I would get rolled on by a vehicle or 6 coming in the opposite direction and I would spend the rest of my life in 2D. Pre fibro, I used to be able to hop in a ditch with care free abandonment, waving merrily to all the passengers in the cars going past, letting the cars whizz past me in the knowledge that I was safe and sound (albeit muddy) but oh Mama those days are long gone. Since Fibro makes me feel like my legs are tied together with bungee cords and my reflexes are not up to par, hopping anywhere would require me to be lifted up on a trampoline by a team of 4, said team pressing me up and down in unison in some kind of bouncy motion, then hoisted up by winch, until a team of workers could create some kind of solid landing platform for me to land on. However I fear the reality of me trying to leap out of the way as a car comes screaming towards me, would cause me to losing my footing and end up arse over face, in a ditch covered by twigs, moss, grass and last nights remnants of KFC, then trying to scrabble out of said ditch, swearing, removing, chicken wrappers out of my hair, apologising to the squirrel I have just rolled on. All whilst some twat face leaned out of a car window, absolutely wetting themselves at the sight of this mad Stig of the dump like creature covered in mud and tears, stopping only to take a video of me for their social media page. Then once I had managed to dig my way out of said ditch and on two feet, I would have to drag my poor bruised, hair straggled self to a bus stop filled with suspicious people all wondering why I look so dirty and smell of chicken and suddenly have 3000 views on you tube. That thought is stressful. All those tasks I didn’t have to worry about whilst safe in my little bubble, became now something extra to worry about and I have to admit I have not coped with the change very well. As well as that my darling husband, (yes we still like each other after a year of us both working from home) suddenly started a new job, a better more shiny job, and I didn’t see him as much. I missed him, in fact I still miss him. I lost my lockdown buddy and suddenly the world became much more difficult to navigate with chronic illness, and I retreated into my shell like a sad turtle, not sure how to re-integrate myself back into society.  I know I have not been alone in my thoughts. I met up with one of my darling friends a few weeks ago, and she confessed she had been struggling over lockdown. Her feelings very much echoed my own, except I felt all the things she was feeling now the world was opening up again and so I wondered why? Why now when we have the choice to go out more and explore and be free, dance in the sunflowers with our hair blowing in the wind, why now am I feeling like the feeling of going out fills me with dread and anxiety? I think it’s the feeling of losing control. In my bubble, I had complete control of my own actions. For one whole year, I went out about 6 times throughout the pandemic. I created this lovely, safe, nest for myself and my husband. It was comforting and familiar. Now I feel like I have lost that. I have returned to the office where I work, I know because I am alone in my house I need to do things to upkeep my own mental health and now feel like I have to go out. Its this horrible catch 22 situation where I feel nervous leaving the house but then sad if I stay inside. There’s no safe space for me anymore, plus I had to fully confront head on the effects of fibro and the chronic fatigue syndrome a year on.. One person asked me ‘ So, why were you able to do….. and not able to now?’ and my answer was ‘BECAUSE ITS BEEN A YEAR SINCE I HAD TO AND PHYLLIS IS NOT HAPPY WITH THE NEW ARRANGEMENTS’ followed by ‘Please by all means if you have any grievances, take it up with her I am sure she would be delighted to answer any complaints you have to why I am suddenly not able to walk without looking slightly drunk/ lob sided, speak without repeating myself, and losing the words for toast but be please be aware she likes to swear and bite’ …. and that’s why I feel like over stretched cheese.  So I have had to regroup…. and quite honestly, I am not there yet. It is hard. I am falling into a rut where I am struggling to leave the house or get out of a very stale routine. I have become reliant on my ‘comfort things’ to help me get me through my rough days…. An abundance of tea, MasterChef Australia, MKR, Disney and pyjamas (whilst at home) and I feel like I have lost my Jess spark and not sure how to get it back. I know I am going to have to put a lot of work into self-care to get me back on an even keel, drastically reduce my tv time drastically, start arty projects again, go and see real people with real faces, stop glaring at strangers not wearing masks, follow a routine, say my self-affirmations once again, listen to mindfulness exercises, complete more meditation…. Its going to be hard work. But I refuse to lose myself again. So, if I am quieter than usual, or seem a bit lost, It’s because… because well I am a bit lost. This new world is hard to navigate whilst juggling fibro and LC and CFS and sometimes I just want to drop all my juggling balls and quit the circus. So, for a little while I am going to focus on Jess. And gently supporting myself to feel like me again, one step at a time. I know Phyllis is going to hate me and with all the change I have spent more time on the toilet than recommended dealing with Colins ever changing habits and demands…. But its something I need to do, and for others trying to step back into the world after all this upheaval and unease, I just want to give you a big hug. You got this. Whether you struggled through lockdown, or are struggling now out of lockdown, please be gentle with yourself. One step at a time and if you need to regroup and recharge, then you do that. I am going to try and speak about the way I am feeling and encourage you all to do the same. After all, with this ever-changing world of chronic illness, symptoms, medication, appointments and this new normal, then its important we all support each other because we are all in this together.

#selfcarematters #mental health #mentalhealthmatters #loveyourself #fibrowarrior #fibrofighter #invisible illness #restandrecharge #chronic illness #new journey #allinthistogether

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brieflygorgeouss · 4 years

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things i forgot to tell you (ch. 10: that we shift like water *interlude*)

Every painting on Eliott’s wall represents something that is his.

It is mostly abstract and something only he can decode, but he likes it that way. It’s an out-in-the-open secret. Right there on his living room wall, where people can look at it and wonder but get no real answers to their question. Privacy of thought is not something Eliott is used to, not when he has to say it all to doctors and therapists and parents and strangers. This is his go at it.

So there it is — his mind, a white sheet of paper with violent slashes of colour on it and the muted, normal-like hue of the good days in the background. The memory of his childhood to-go place, a lake that was never really calm, even on the windless days. Dark, starry nights Eliott likes to revel in when he gets too caught up in his work in the studio and gets out when it’s already dark outside and is greeted, then, by the vast expanse of constellations right there above his head, feeling like he’s the only person in the whole city to witness them. Grey, quick sketches of how his mom’s hair curls around her ears, or how his father smiles. That’s all his.

All this, and more.

In the afternoon, after everyone has left the studio, after the classes have ended and the lecture halls have gotten silent, Eliott stays behind and paints.

Or tries to, anyway. That’s a better way to put it, he guesses, when everything he makes comes out either mediocre or just simply awful, flat, empty, and that’s fitting, a part of him thinks, before another fraction of his mind rushes it away. The studio feels big and too still. He sets up a canvas right next to the window, dips his brush in grey and in pink and in purple and in white, tries to make something of it, but it doesn’t work. The slashes of colour all look out of place. The specs of paint mix with one another and just make nothing.

Eliott paints anyway. These days, he does that a lot. It’s not like he has anything else to do, and there’s no-one here to see the way he keeps biting on his lower lip and how his hand trembles a little, fingers gripping the brush a shy of too tight, so he keeps painting, and when he’s done, he just leaves the canvas where it is, doesn’t care if it fades in the sunlight.

He goes to the sink, washes the brushes, sets them out to dry, catches his reflection in the paint-splattered mirror in the corner, bites down on his lip again.

His face looks like the painting, he thinks. Seems without purpose, doesn’t make sense, made up of the same colours, pale in the sun. The grey under his eyes, the pink of his skin, the purple of a bruise on his neck all melt together. Eliott looks and looks and sees the same mess, the same kind of aimless disorder. His mouth is a pale, twisted line.

He runs a hand over his face to not have to look at it anymore, then goes, because it’s already dark outside.

Yvonne gestures at him to come over when the class ends, so Eliott does. He watches her smile at other students as they leave, and then she smiles up at him, so he smiles back.

”Eliott,” she tells him, fiddles a little with the papers on her desk, then pushes them away so that she can prop her hip on the edge of it,”there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Eliott nods. Then he watches as Yvonne takes a breath, pushes her red-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of her nose. She follows the last students with her gaze as they leave the room, and then they’re left alone, Eliott and her. Eliott shifts his weight.

”It is quite a delicate subject, so,” she says, as if in lieu of a preamble, turning back to him. Eliott watches as something crosses her face. Then, she goes on, ”I should have mentioned this earlier, I know. I wanted to apologise, you see. For what I said back at the exhibition.”

Eliott looks at her. Then, very inelegantly, he says, "What?”

Yvonne shifts her shoulders in something that’s not quite a shrug.”I shouldn’t have made that comment. I realise now that is was sort of tactless. I let myself go, maybe, just a little, and it just slipped out, and I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say. I think I made you uncomfortable, which was never my intention.”

Something in the centre of Eliott’s chest stings, suddenly. ”No, that’ s—that’s no problem.”

”I really hope you had a nice time, regardless," Yvonne continues. Eliott looks at how her features seem to soften, how effortlessly she brings the memory of that evening back to life when Eliott has been avoiding it for weeks. He takes a breath. It’s shallow, all of a sudden. ”Did your friend have fun? Lucas, right?”

”Yeah, Lucas. Yes,” Eliott says in response, and the name burns on his tongue. He swallows. His throat is tight. ”I think he liked it, yes. The exhibition.”

And just like that, it’s all suddenly there. Eliott has been fighting the memory with everything he had left, and he’s managed to push it somewhere far and away where it would be less wonderful and less hurting, but now it’s here again. All of it, there and gone — the taste of wine, the music in the air, how warm Lucas’s skin felt against Eliott’s own, how his eyes shone, how wide his smile was. Eliott had that, for a short while. For a while, it was his.

The thing is this — he wishes he didn’t say what he said, back then, to Yvonne. Those were words that slipped out in an onset of panic. He let them tumble past his lips because he could hold Lucas is his arms and press his lips to his skin and think all sorts of incredible things about him, wish for all sorts of wonders to happen, but the truth was that they were not together. Not officially. Eliott used to think they could be, when he let himself get too hopeful and too naive, when Lucas would kiss him all of a sudden or fall asleep in his bed, but.

But then he remembers how Lucas looked when Yvonne said it all, when Eliott risked a glance to see if he was, maybe, looking back, if he had in his eyes the same thing that Eliott had been seeing in his own for weeks. But Lucas didn’t. Eliott thinks, now, about how Lucas curled into himself and suddenly just seemed—uncomfortable, or nervous, or disturbed. Like the thought of being with Eliott made him. Upset, almost.

It stings. He tries to breathe through it.

Across from him, Yvonne claps her hands, now smiling.

”Ah, that’s wonderful,” she says, her voice brighter. Eliott blinks, once and then again and then lifts his eyes to her. ”It’s such a relief you’re not mad about that! There’s something else I wanted to ask you about, actually, you see—” and then Eliott stands and listens to her talk about another exhibition she’ll be setting up next month, and if he would like to be a proper part of it this time.

Eliott hasn’t managed to paint anything good in weeks, even though he spends thrice as much time in the studio as he used to. He still says, ”I’ll think about it.”

”Great!” she tells him and then lets him go with a broad smile and wishes of good luck.

As he leaves, he doesn’t quite manage to smile back.

Time doesn’t pass like it usually does, now. Eliott feels his days from start to finish, all the way, tries to fill them with something.

It’s a pattern he’s familiar with, but reinterpreted — too much or too little, never really the stage in-between, not quite. It feels like floating in water. One moment, he’s at the shore, the world languid and molasses-slow, and then he blinks, and he’s in the middle of the ocean, doesn’t know how he got there, with the horizon level and lacking. That’s what he feels like. Time moves slow, then too-fast, then slow again.

But he gets through it. His head has been too full, overly so, but he gets through it. See — Lucas has always helped with taking the strings of Eliott’s jumbled thoughts and smoothing them out, but he’s not really around to quiet the noise of his mind down anymore, so. It is what it is.

Time passes, then. Eliott sees his friends from time to time. He sticks a smile to his face and doesn’t let it fall until he’s sure he’s alone. He does the things he’s supposed to, locks himself in the studio until he’s forced to go home, works on his projects, walks to and from the bus stop, in the morning and at night.

He sees Yann, there, once, hands in his pockets, jacket zipped all the way up. Their eyes meet. Something flits across Yann’s features at first and sharpens up as if in a camera lens, takes form, water to ice. But then, well — maybe it’s the trick of a streetlamp light, or maybe Yann sees something in Eliott’s face that he is not quick enough to cover, or maybe he knows something, because his eyes go kind again, a blurry, soft watercolour.

But it’s not like it matters. Eliott doesn’t feel like talking, and Yann turns his eyes away from his face and doesn’t say anything, either. They stand in silence. Whatever that could mean, this shift, it doesn’t change much. This much, Eliott is aware of.

They get on different busses. Eliott goes home and, like every other night, doesn’t fall asleep for a long time.

The thing with Lucille is this — they’re not friends, not quite, but they are not not friends, either. Eliott doesn’t know what to call it anymore. Maybe that’s okay.

”Hi!” she greets him happily on Tuesday when Eliott meets her for lunch in the on-campus Starbucks. It’s a terrible place — it’s loud and crowded, and the music is awful, but Lucille suggested it, and Eliott just agreed. Now, she leans across the table to press a friendly kiss to his cheek and slides back into her seat. The perfume she’s wearing is something sweet and unfamiliar. Suits her, Eliott thinks idly and manages a smile.

It’s weird, navigating these waters. Eliott isn’t sure how to do it, still, especially with how things are now, with Lucas and with Eliott himself, and with everything else. The precarious structure of whatever it is that he and Lucille have now has started out as a glimpse of each other at a party, then an ominous text message, ”eliott i think i need your help”, then an hour of talking about something he’d never think he’d talk about with Lucille, of all people, something that pulled at his heartstrings in a way he didn’t expect. And now, it’s this. They have too much history and not enough affection between them for it to be anything substantial, or not enough animosity, but that’s fine. Eliott doesn’t think it’s unpleasant; he feels only slightly uncomfortable. It’s strange, more than anything else, when Lucille takes his hand or presses her lips to his cheek in a greeting, and he feels nothing, except for budding friendliness at best, for a girl he once used to love. But, well. That ended a long time ago.

Someone else took Lucille’s place when it comes to that. Eliott leans back in his chair and pushes the thought away.

Across from him, Lucille’s expression is open, but her eyes are calculating, too-curious. Old habits die hard, they say.

”How have you been?” she asks him. Eliott shrugs.

”Busy,” he says because she’d known if he lied. So he doesn’t. The proof is all over him — his paint-splattered clothes and smudges of charcoal on his cheek that he doesn’t care enough about to wipe away, his fingertips stained with ink. He’s been working a lot. It doesn’t matter if it’s all shit, whatever he comes up with. It doesn’t matter if he’s only in the studio because he can barely stand being at home, now, or because he has so much time on his hands, without Lucas to make his days make sense, that he doesn’t know what else to do with it. ”An exhibition’s coming up.”

Lucille wraps her hands around her coffee cup but doesn’t raise it to her lips. ”Something big?”

Another shrug. He says, ”not really,” and the truth is, he tried to listen when Yvonne was explaining the concept to him, but now remembers none of it. That’s fine. He drums his fingers on the table. ”What about you, huh?”

It gets him what he was aiming at — Lucille smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and launches into a story, sounding pleased that she gets to tell it to someone. She talks about the internship she’s been doing for a while now, and about this new museum she went to last week. The tickets were a gift, and she didn’t go alone, she says. Her phone is laying on the table screen-up, and as she talks, it lights up briefly, with some sort of notification, and Eliott catches a glimpse of Lucille’s background photo — a girl, red-haired and dark-eyed, her mouth a wide, charming curve, a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Eliott feels something in his chest uncoil.

”I see you’re doing well, then,” he says and gestures idly at the screen. When Lucille glances at it, too, and notices what he means, she bites her lip. Something around her eyes goes soft. The look on her face is one Eliott recognises; she used to look like that at him, once. In a different life.

”I guess,” she says, and really only means, I am. Eliott knows her well enough for that. She might not say it, but still. Her expression is all fondness, warm and open.

Eliott wonders fleetingly if he looked like that, too, around Lucas, or if he still does, but then pushes it away because it stings. Instead, he smiles.

”I’m glad,” he only says and for the next thirty minutes focuses on something else.

He is in the middle of rearranging the books on the shelf above his desk when he hears a knock on the front door, and then someone stepping inside the apartment. For two very long, head-spinning seconds, his mind backs itself into a corner and shudders with hope.

But then he turns around, and it is only Idriss in the doorway, shrugging off his jacket, kicking off his shoes, and whatever it was that has risen in Eliott’s chest simply sinks down again.

He doesn’t know why Idriss is here, but it hardly matters. He might have an inkling, anyway, if the unanswered texts piled up on his phone are anything to go by, and the number of turned down invitations to hang out, or flimsy excuses. But Idriss sends him a smile, and Eliott smiles back. It feels stretched thin on his face. That’s okay.

”I was nearby,” Idriss tells him, unprompted, before Eliott can ask the question they’re both thinking now. "Wanted to see if you’re alright.”

Eliott shuffles into the hallway, then follows Idriss as he moves to the kitchen. He says, ”I’m fine.”

This time, too, it’s not a lie. Much like Lucille, Idriss would catch that, if that’s what it was, and Eliott is tired of lying anyway, either to other people or just to himself. He’s okay. He’s been going to class and doing all his projects and talking to his professors, and they’ve asked him, are you sure you’re alright, Eliott, and he’s told them the same thing. That he’s fine. Just tired, a little. Of many things.

They spend a perfectly fine afternoon with each other, Idriss and him. Idriss makes himself coffee and rambles on about his day and doesn’t point it out when Eliott’s responses sound forced or are a second late, like he’s distracted. Eliott isn’t, you see. He’s not. He’s okay. He finds a movie on one of the channels he likes, and they sit on the couch and watch. Eliott thinks about commenting on things, from time to time, on the soundtrack, on the shots, the camera work, but then doesn’t. Idriss doesn’t point that out, either.

The sun is coming in through the window. The weather has been nice. Eliott has caught himself thinking about it, these last few days, in the mornings when he wakes up to rays of sunlight making a pattern on his floor, on the bed that somehow feels too big now, in the apartment that somehow feels too empty. He tries not to think about the reason too much but usually ends up doing just that anyway.

Now, though, Idriss is here. Eliott focuses on that. When the movie ends, Eliott just changes the channel, keeps going until he finds another one and pretends he doesn’t notice the looks Idriss keeps giving him when he thinks Eliott is not paying attention.

The movie is an old one. Something black and white. Something Lucas would hate, a part of Eliott’s mind says. Something he would complain about until Eliott either changed the channel or kissed him silent.

Eliott turns his eyes away from the screen, keeps looking at the floor until the sudden grip of sadness around his throat loosens.

And then Idriss, as if he knows exactly what Eliott’s been thinking about, says, hesitant like he’s not sure if he should, ”I talked to him today, you know. We run into each other.”

Eliott’s heart does something weird. He thinks, oh.

It’s not that they’ve been avoiding each other, he and Lucas. Not quite. Eliott doesn’t think he’d be able to just go from seeing Lucas every day to suddenly not seeing him at all. So. They hang out, sometimes. It’s nothing like it used to be, but it’s something. Ten-minute long meet-ups filled with awkward silences, squished in-between Eliott’s classes or before Lucas’s shifts at work, ill-fitted and foreign and leaving Eliott aching for the rest of the day. But it’s better than nothing, so Eliott tries. Even when he has to pretend not to see the awkwardness in the lull in their conversations, the strain in Lucas’s smile, sometimes, or when he has to swallow down, every other sentence, i miss you, or i’m sorry, or so many other, bigger, more misplaced things.

And, again — Eliott is tired of lying to himself. When an ache rises in his chest, he doesn’t try to cover it up.

”How is he,” he just asks, and it comes out flat and quiet. Something around Idriss’s eyes goes soft, and the line of his mouth smooths out.

”He looks even worse than you do,” he says. It pulls at some kind of string inside of Eliott, pulls until something stings. And then Idriss adds, ”Eliott, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m sure that if you two just talked—”

”You’re right,” Eliott cuts in before Idriss can say anything more, ”you’re right, I don’t want to hear this.”

He turns the volume of the TV up, like a child.

The thing is — there is nothing to talk about. Nothing to say. Lucas was clear enough, Eliott thinks, when he left that morning, clear when he declined the call, when Eliott decided to give him space and secretly hoped for Lucas to reach out and all he got was silence.

And because Idriss knows all this, because Eliott told him, he doesn’t push.

They finish the movie. Before Idriss leaves, he hugs him tight.

Eliott is familiar with sadness, you see. With different kinds of it. It is written down in his medical files, wired into his brain. He knows the bitter taste of it when someone says something rude to him, the chemical, artificial-like onset of a depressive state, the burning of a fight or an argument. He also recognises heartbreak. And heartbreak is this — seeing the sunlight in his room and only feeling dull. Falling asleep to the sound of his own breathing and only that.

The thing is this — for a very short, breathtaking moment, he really thought it could all work out. That Lucas might feel the same. It was here when he burrowed under the covers with Eliott already there, smelling like Eliott’s shampoo and wearing his clothes. When he looked at Eliott like he did, when he thanked him for the night, when he said, you make me happy. Back then, Eliott wanted to tell him, I love you, and was almost certain that he’d hear it back. He thought that that’s what it was, there in the scant light, painted in bold strokes on Lucas’s face where it was unguarded for once, beautiful as always.

He wanted to tell him. But he thought, in the morning, in the morning, I’ll say it all. When Lucas wouldn’t struggle to keep his eyes open, when they would not be so tired, when they both would be fresh-faced and awake and when Eliott could take his feelings and arrange them into something pretty, into something Lucas would be willing to accept. So he just kissed him instead, shuddering with it, wondered if Lucas could sense it, all the overwhelming emotions threatening to almost crack Eliott’s chest open.

And. Now, he thinks, Lucas must have. He must have seen. And it wasn’t something he wanted, it wasn’t something they agreed on, so. So in the morning, he left.

For Eliott, that was enough of an answer, even when he never got to ask the question.

He’s always known he’s a lot to handle, to be honest. It’s never been a secret. Eliott has been told that by kids at school, and by doctors and nurses, by his parents, only once, but it stuck anyway. By Lucille. He knows. He is always too much. Too much life and colour and brightness, too much sorrow and misery and void. He’s never just enough. He’s just stuck in his mind, no matter what he does, keeps imagining things that could never happen, hoping for things that would never take place, always on one end or another, flickering like a mirage, never in the middle, struggling to feel real. That’s him.

With Lucas, he thought. He thought it might be different. When he didn’t frown at the word “bipolar”, said, thank you for telling me, kept telling him, that’s okay. Eliott believed, for a moment, that at last, he might not be too much to handle for someone. Just this once.

But then Lucas did not argue when Eliott said, let’s end things, and he didn’t fight, and he didn’t say, wait, like a sliver of Eliott’s foolish heart hoped, and he agreed. Said, I was going to suggest that, too.

And this is a kind of heartbreak, too, he thinks. Being wrong about things, again. Having to take his own feelings and keep them in his chest, where they won’t bother Lucas anymore, where they won’t hurt anyone, where only Eliott has to handle the mess.

So. Every painting on Eliott’s wall represents something that is his.

And, here goes — his mind, the lake, the landscapes that make him calm. His parents. His friends, the way Idriss’s eyes flash when he’s happy, how Sofiane looks when he dances.

And then, other things. Things closer to heart. The way the sun seems to shine brighter when Lucas is around. This one afternoon when it painted the sky blue and orange and pink, and it reminded Eliott of warmth, of something starting to bloom in his chest at the sight of Lucas’s smile. La Petite Ceinture, this one time when Eliott took him there and held his hand, and suddenly the whole place took on a whole new layer of meaning. The one he paints after Lucas sings to him, full of muted colours, everything Eliott felt. The grey-blue silhouettes of the two of them kissing in the light of a streetlamp, how Lucas gathered him in his arms back then, how his kisses were sweet and lingering and warm against the night.

That’s all there, too. Pieces of a love letter, out there for everyone to see.

That was all his, too, once. All those things. Lucas in the sunlight coming in through Eliott’s windows, Lucas humming melodies to him when the world was too heavy to handle, Lucas in the dark of the night, real and pliant in his arms.

But. That’s not Eliott’s to have anymore. Not really.

He takes the paintings off of the wall, one by one.

my ko-fi

#elu #elu fic #skam france #skamfr #things i forgot to tell you #elu fanfic #my writing #this chapter was written solely out of my won need for pain /and/ fun!#next one coming i have no idea when lmao

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selenaurrr · 4 years

Text

You Found Me

REQUESTED: Yes

PROMPT: “I thought I almost lost you.”

PAIRING: Matt Casey x Reader

WARNING(S): Kidnapping, Abduction,Swearing, Abuse & Violence.

—

‘Ambulance 61, Injuries from a fall. 815 South Nebraska.’

"Something is bothering you and I want in it.” Sylvie said tapping her fingertips on the black steering wheel as she drove down the streets, I slightly shifted in my seat, leaning my head on the window a bit.

“I just... have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Bullshit. Does it have something to do with Casey?” Sylvie flirty smirked at me, “Oh shut up.” I playfully shoved Sylvie’s shoulder, she gasped then playfully shoved me back. We were cut off just as we reach the call, a man laying on the ground screaming in agony.

I opened my eyes slowly unable to remember what has happened beforehand. Before I could gather my bearings, I was jolted sideways, crashing against a mental wall. I shook my head and steadied myself, trying to figure out where I was and what was going on. I knew deep down I was in the back of truck, I tried my best to get my wrist free from the tight rope wrapped around causing lost of blood circulation.

The truck came to a jolting stop, leaving me to imagine what comes next.

Sound of the vehicle doors slamming could be heard followed by low faint footsteps approaching the back door, once they opened the door I was blinded by sunlight, I squinted. They quickly placed a blindfold over my eyes and duct tape my mouth shut. Someone grabbed a hold of me and roughly jerked out of the truck, causing me to fall to the ground then re-picked up.

I tried to fight with them but they gladly through me down a flight of stairs, I groaned in horrible pain, as low faint footsteps came down the stairs then stopped in front of me. I whimpered in pain.

I was kicked in my stomach throwing me back against the floor, I groaned once more. He smirked licking his lips before bending down and grabbing me by the hair. I screamed muffled against the duct tape, pain shooting up through my scalp, he then dragged me down a narrow hallway; opening a door and threw me into a closed off room, where it had no windows or even a heater in sight.

Black spots clouded my vision, my lungs felt like it was ready to burst any minute now, right as I thought I was going to black out, he pulled me head out bathtub. I gasp for air, coughing up some water I inhaled, before I could say a word he dunked me head back into the water, I managed to choke on some more water, I didn’t think should hold on much longer, but he pulled back out again, I gasped for air.

I was eventually thrown back into the room where I sat on the cold, hard floor beforehand, the only noise I head was the occasional drip of water coming from a nearby faucet. What have I done to deserve this? I thought to myself, as the sound of my quiet, painful sob muffled through my taped mouth.

I slowly fluttered my eyes open. I had a killer headache and my eyes took a while to focus. I felt exhausted, like I had been hit by a bus. I had no idea how long I had been passed out. I was lying on a cold hard surface, probably the floor, and I could feel pain through my whole pain, my mouth was dry with thirst, and the temperature of the room was below average, making me shiver ever so much. The room was pitch black, so I couldn’t tell how long I had been out for, my guessing it was at least a couple of hours.

I could vaguely see a dark figure standing in the doorway, the man dressed in black, with a mask covering his face. He hasn’t moved or said a single word, he just continued staring down at me. Disgusting images filled my mind of what it could be, rape? Sex trafficking? Etc. I just didn’t know, I would just have to wait to find out and hope an opportunity of escape came soon or the intelligence squad comes and rescue me from this hell hole.

My mind tend to wonder away with me with so many different thoughts about what was going to happen to me. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved they hadn’t killed me yet or not. If that was what they were planning to do with me, I hoped it would be done quick.

“Why are you doing this?” I croaked.

“Make yourself comfortable. You are going to be here for a while.” He grinned and shut the door as he left. The sound of deadbolts could be heard locking on the other side of the door. Leaving me alone in darkness again.

I couldn’t stop shivering, I was laying on the cement cold wet floor, the room wasn’t heated but you could still feel the cold air creeping into the cracks of the building, being scared didn’t help either. I wasn’t sure how long I had been left in here for, it felt like hours and hours, but I couldn’t tell for sure how long it had actually been.

I managed enough strength to prop myself up on the elbows, wincing from agony from the excruciating pain that shot through throughout my whole body but despite the unbearable pain I felt, my head felt a bit clearer now. No more headache. I dragged my body to the wall, leaning against it, the cold air crept in between the cracks of the building; making me shiver. The growling in my stomach reminded me of one thing for sure, I was also starving.

Would they have found Sylvie’s unconscious’s body laying on the ground beside the victim who clearly passed out from blood loss? Did they realized I was missing in action? That I was taken? So many unanswered questions filled my mind thinking of the worst.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good, it’s time to eat.” He set a plate in front of me in an oddly calm manner. My eyes instead flickered to the door he came into. It was big and heavy and there was no way I could’ve taken it down, not even at my full strength and much less drugged up and beaten harshly. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.” He spoke reading my untrusting look in my eyes. I shakily reached out and took the plate, and ate hating myself for every single bite I took, but if I was going to get out of here. I would need all the strength I could get.

I didn’t have much time left, before I ended up just another one his victims.

I was battered, tired body full of cuts and bruises. When he came in, he didn’t expect me to be awake. I could tell, I pretended to be asleep worked perfectly in my honor. Without a second to spare, I lunged myself at him, kicking, scratching, screaming and hitting with all my force. I used everything I had in me, my fists, teeth, nails. I didn’t mind the pain, or the blood, I was used to it. If it meant getting me out of there, the element of surprise gave me the head start on what I needed, as I pushed the door open and threw myself out.

I tripped going up the staircase, it took a couple of seconds to adjust to the daylight after countless hours in the darkness, and I navigated through what looked like an abandoned warehouse, desperately trying to find a way out, or even at least a weapon to use to protect me.

I could hear him coming after me, I could feel my body slowly trying to give up on me, failing me in the most important moment in my life, and I pushed even more. I reached for the door knob, so close to the outside world, I screamed when his hand made contact with me, and then a piercing pain filled my whole body, and after that I couldn’t feel anything for a brief second, until I saw a red stream of blood leaving my body where the knife had impaled me, and then everything went black, and for a second I thought or wished this was it. No more pain. No more torture.

Just let me go.

The first thought that popped into my head was that I was alive. In a lot of pain, but steady breathing. But that quickly changed as the smell that invaded my my nostrils was that of dust and something else. Smoke. This son of a bitch was lighting this abandoned warehouse.

The building was engulfed in flames.

I was coughing and gasping for air, I groaned as I lightly touched my gushing open wound, dark blood pouring out of me, I screamed in pain.

“Help me!” I screamed in pain.

Silences filled the room.

The roaring of the flames continued to get louder and louder by the second that time wasted being locked up in the basement of the abandoned warehouse. This isn’t how I wanted to die.

I slowly felt myself go unconscious here and there, it was becoming harder and harder to breathe by the second.

“(Y/N)!”

A faint voice calling my name in the distance, my body lay unmoving on the ground, limped.

"Fire department, call out!”

“Here...” I gasped on my last breath before blacking out.

The sound of deadbolts unlocking the door, and revealing two firefighters standing in the doorway, Matt stopped dead in his tracks because that was when he saw her. Her body lay unmoving on the ground, he knelt down next to her still body. He didn’t know if she was alive, or if it was his worst nightmare had just come true, and if they were too late.

It took a second, because her breathing was so shallow; her pulse was so weak.

There was a giant gash on her side that made his breath catch in his throat for a split second. It looked like it was a stab wound, dark blood poured out. Her body was otherwise badly brutalized, it seemed, with cuts and bruises. It filled him with so much anger and sadness. The bleeding wasn’t stopping, she was suffering a major blood loss, and the only fact that the only thing she had on was a thin sweater and a pair of lacy underwear, had him tugging off his jacket, slipping it around her cold lifeless body.

There was a brief second, where she slowly opened her eyes and found his, and all his anger was gone in the matter of seconds, and then his heart broke into a million pieces, and then slipped back into unconsciousness.

He was able to scoop her into his arms in the gentlest way possible, and carry her out of that place. He kept telling her she was safe, because he thought that maybe in some time of way that she could hear him and he wanted her to know it. He couldn’t even see the real extent of her injuries in the dark smoky building. He knew deep down it was bad, but she was still hanging on for dear life. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her ever again. Not again.

They lay her down onto stretcher, and loaded her inside the back of the ambulance, “She’s been stabbed. Her breathing is really shallow, and she has lost a lot of blood.”

They placed a respiratory mask over her airway, and starting a line to get some fluids in her. It was a little bit hard to do so, since Matt wouldn’t let go of her hand, not even for a second, and if he did, he found a way to grab onto some other part of her.

His heart broke, when he saw her badly bruised, and wounds, and her overall condition. He knew she must’ve gone through hell and back, he felt sick that he wasn’t able to find her before.

They wheeled her in on the stretcher, and that’s when Matt had to let her go.

The whole fire unit and police unit was crammed into the small waiting room at the hospital. The nurses knew it was pointless, and didn’t even try to send them home, knowing nobody would move if they did. She was the beating heart of Chicago. If you want to see the stars, you must be willing to travel through the dark.

He stood up from the hospital chair, “How is she?”

“Severe dehydration. Multiple bone fractures, but mostly was the blood loss from the stab wound. The knife had punctured her liver, she bleed too much, but she’s stable for now.”

Matt sighed in relief.

I didn’t know where I was at the moment, I blinked a few times, until light quickly adjusted to my vision, and I then realized I was lying in a hospital bed. I realized my hand felt heavy, I turned my head to the other side of the bed, and a familiar figure came into view.

“Matt..”

“You’re awake!” He breathed out, sighting a relief.

“You found me,” I whispered feeling my throat was completely sore and dry, “Of course, I’m here.”

Matt didn’t know what else to say, he gave her a gentle kiss against her forehead, “I thought I almost lost you.”

#chicago fire #chicago fire imagine #matt casey imagine #matt casey x reader #matt casey fan fiction #matt casey #fan fictions #you found me #my fanfic stuff

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iamnightduchess · 3 years

Note

Is it just me or it's getting difficult to find theories and meta on this fandom esp in reddit without someone going "yes genocide is 100% the solution" and as someone who lives under duterte's regime whose followers echo the same sentiments it's getting kinda difficult to navigate through fandom space without seeing those uncomfortable takes

Hello dear Nonnie,

Don't worry, it's not you, it's actually the general consensus in Tumblr that almost all is against a genocidal overlord 😢 but, if we were to share our opinions & stances on that for SnK fandom specifically in all other socmed channels (Reddit, Twitter, FB, IG, YT), get ready to be mentally recked, stand corrected & sniped virtually on the spot. Their genocidal overlord can do no wrong & all the alliance members are ungrateful, idiots & dumbasses for working collectively to stop millions of people and the earth from dying.

I feel so sorry for the people who has this type of mindset: their ancestors, their families and themselves have not been born in a situation where they've been through oppression. Eldians are no different. They were the first oppressor, then now the oppressed and these readers strongly believes that the rest of the world deserves to be fucked up. Eldians in Marley & Eldians in Paradis are like two children that was forced apart and separated when their parents divorced (Fritz 145 & Tyburs/remaining Eldians in Marley). Yet both parents remarried to toxic partners who, also, instead of suggesting of working together for the children's future + greater good, used the children as weapons to attack the other side.

For people from multiracial countries or countries that have or is suffering a regime/administration run by a tyrant, it is always ingrained in us to strive for unity, peace, humanity & livelihood. We were told stories of not of our oppressors but of how us, the people work together to fight for our independence. All different races, we love each other & we want our country be a much better, peaceful safer place for our children. Thus why, Isayama's work hits us so damn much in our hearts. It hits too close to home. Genocide is never a solution. Because even if Eren succeeds & only the Islanders are left alive, bet you how long it'll take for the remaining humans to fight each other even if they're both from the same place, have the same blood. E.g Kiyomi reiterated this to Floch & before that, the Jeagerists were a prime example of what extremists would do.

I myself, is from a country like Marley, where we have asylum-seeking refugees and we are multiracial. We have differences without a doubt but instead of a melting pot, we are a salad bowl where we mixed together in harmony but still retains our unique cultural identity, faith & attributes with respect for each other. Even if you've been blessed enough to not have to go through all that oppression in history, it doesn't take a genius to appreciate all living beings. It's humanity. The world had treated Paradis as an evil entity but you fight hate with love. It's easier said than done, yes, but you and I, we're both living proofs (like Ackermans & Azumabitos!) in the real world that peace has to be fought through unity, empathy, compassion and not violence or mass killings.

They said, the Eldians in Marley have thrown them under the bus but Niccolo & Onyankopon are amazing examples that the rest of the world can coexist with Paradis, but you have to be patient, work hard at it & you need time. My country managed to achieve our independence in 1957 because of our first Prime Minister's efforts; he has a globalist mentality like Armin has. What he did was if Armin goes to Marley to table a thick binder detailing our constitution proposals for an alliance/truce with Paradis. He believes in humanity & he united all races under one country name & constitution. It has been done in reality. (But some people just want to see the world burn)

Oh but no, their genocidal overlord doesn't have much time, (he's dying in four years!) & he feels genocide is the only solution. This is why I agree with Reiner when he said that the Founding couldn't have gone to a much worst person. OG Ymir & Eren are proof that tremendous powers would destroy worlds if they're given to children whose thinking have not fully developed & mature to be logical & objective. (I also want to share my grievances on OG!Ymir. I used to sympathize with her but the moment she got the powers & she went back to offer herself again as the tyrant King's slave, my sympathy just went down the toilet. She was a classic victim who has Stockholm Syndrome & she allowed herself to be manipulated by an abusive man just because she needed to be validated when she has this God-like powers. She should've killed that evil king from the beginning & ally with Marley. Yet now, she's using Eren as a tool/vessel to fuck the whole world up for her own mistake that she made.) also, these people are in denial that the MC/hero can do no wrong. That's the beauty of Isayama's writing: he flipped the table with Reiner as the MC and these people lose their minds. What if he always wanted the story to start with Eren but ends with Reiner?

Thus why, you can only still find a more positive environment that are more 'sound', 'sane' & 'humane' only here in Tumblr. However, I've also personally noticed the sudden appearance of new Tumblr accounts of these toxic members from other channels, sending unsavory asks & commenting with unsavory phrases on mutuals & some of the top posts on my page 😂

Hang in there, Nonnie. It's hard to voice out the truth sometimes but as long as you keep on breathing, you shouldn't stop fighting for humanity's survival just like the alliance!

People can disagree with our opinions but I drew the line at genocide & mass killings. Period. Even criminals have a legislation & justice system before they are ruled out for execution. Eren is a child that's been given the most dangerous powers. His own version of freedom is twisted & skewed. The Alliance is willing to die first, fighting for the world's humanity's survival than living peacefully (really? With the Jeagerists own regime?) in Paradis at the expense of the bloods shed and lives lost by millions around the world.

I'm so sorry for this barrage of texts, Nonnie. I get very emotional when those who supports genocide shits on the humanitarian's principles. You can't also be in other channels without getting brain damage of the 'genocide is right/the only way' sentiments. We can't control what other people posts but the only thing we can, is: how we react to them.

I hope Tumblr could still be a positive safe space if I can help it!

xoxo

Thank you for the Ask! ☀️ Take care & stay safe ❤️

#asks #textposts #anonymous #snk opinions #personal opinions #aot opinions

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