#and I’m stuck here in this house- nearly existing- not living | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ficnation · 11 months

Text

New Neighbor - Fiona Gallagher x Reader

Request: hi!! can i request a fiona x female reader? something where the reader is a neighbor and eventually starts dating fiona? thank you!! requested by anonymous Word count: 1,9k+ Pairing: Fiona Gallagher x Female! Reader Warnings: usual shameless themes, maybe swearing, kinda enemies to lovers trope

Main Masterlist

Shameless Masterlist

The first time you met Fiona Gallagher, she was pretty hostile towards you. The word “hostile” wasn’t nearly enough to describe the way she looked at you. You didn’t have the slightest idea why your mere existence in the same neighborhood was such an inconvenience for her, but the way she treated you was getting on your nerves.

You had been living in Chicago for a few weeks and liked it well enough. The house you inherited after your grandfather wasn’t particularly large, but it was more than enough for you. And it had all the amenities you could ever ask for. The rooms didn’t need to be thoroughly cleaned, bathrooms didn’t have to be scrubbed to look half decent, and windows didn’t need to be replaced. Everything was just right.

You wished your relationship with the neighbors was just as right as the house was. But things weren’t going too well between you and Fiona Gallagher. In fact, if you were being honest with yourself, you were starting to resent her.

You thought bitterly about Fiona’s frown from yesterday morning when you accidentally bumped into her on the sidewalk. You didn’t understand her hatred at all.

Her siblings seemed to like you or at least tolerate you. You were always nice to them, and you didn’t treat them like you were better. Both of your families were stuck in the Southside with no means to move anywhere nicer. The least you could do is give each other a friendly smile from time to time and lend a helping hand when it was needed.

Walking through the front door, you sighed and tossed your keys on the table before flopping onto one of the kitchen chairs. You let yourself rest for a while, too exhausted after your night shift at the bar to do anything productive. You didn’t even want to think about all the other tasks that awaited you.

Not even twenty minutes later, you heard knocking. You got up reluctantly and went over to open the front door. It was probably the neighbors’ kids playing a prank at the cost of your peace and quiet.

But when you opened the door, your breath hitched. Standing there, smiling brightly at you, was Fiona Gallagher.

Her happy face and cheerful voice were something you didn’t expect at all. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a casual plaid shirt and some faded jeans. Even when looking so day-to-day, you had to admit she looked stunning. You slapped yourself mentally for letting that thought enter your head.

Before she could say anything, you stuttered out a greeting and reluctantly stepped aside to let her in.

As soon as Fiona entered the living room, walking past the adjacent kitchen, you closed the door behind her and followed, leaning against the wall beside her. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed how close you were to her.

She cleared her throat and played with the hem of her shirt nervously. “You look tired,” she noticed.

You shrugged and tried to play it cool, but inside, you were fuming. “Yeah, I guess I am. I work a lot.”

The brunette nodded and took a seat in one of the armchairs. “I’m sure you’re busy,” the woman said, guilt evident in her voice. Then a second later, she added awkwardly, “Maybe I should just go—”

“No!” Your voice came out louder than intended. You mentally winced at yourself. You weren’t used to her being so nice to you. Embarrassed, you sat down on the couch nearby and rubbed your neck. “I mean... You can stay,” you offered tentatively. “Tell me what you came here for.”

She smiled warmly at you again and nodded. “Alright then.” Her eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid yours at all costs. You were pretty sure she was trying to find a way to ask you for something without sounding like a horrible person.

The silence stretched a little too long for your comfort, and you shifted in your seat, catching her attention. “So,” you began cautiously. “What brings you here?”

“Oh,” Fiona glanced away from you and chuckled slightly at her own awkwardness. “Right…” She paused for a moment before sighing deeply. “Lip told me you were a mechanic before you started working at Kevin’s bar.”

The way she said it made you feel a little nervous. Lip must have really needed you to help out if he couldn’t fix the issue himself. Or maybe he just wanted to force Fiona to interact with you like a normal person.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s me.” You quickly understood that she was only here because she needed a favor.

Fiona stared at you for a moment, studying your face, trying to read what you were thinking.

“I know you probably don’t want to have anything to do with me and you definitely have no desire to help me with anything,” she finally blurted out. “I just... I really need your help.”

You frowned at her crossing your arms over your chest. “Why wouldn’t I want to help you?” you asked, baiting her.

“Because I’m a bitch.” She sounded honest and regretful of her former attitude toward you. You were surprised.

“You’re not a bitch, Fiona.” You rolled your eyes at her, trying to stay nice even though she didn’t treat you even remotely pleasant before. “You’re just… You’re not the friendliest person around.”

Fiona shook her head. “I think I’m a bitch for doing nothing but getting pissed every day at you because Kevin gave you my job at the bar even though I knew you needed it more than I. I think I’m a bitch because I’ve spent so much time pretending that you’re this horrible horrible person when in fact you were always a sweetheart.” She gave you a sad smile. “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry.”

“Shit, alright.” You blinked a couple of times, still not believing your own ears. It was definitely a pleasant surprise. “It’s all forgiven and forgotten. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Help me fix that shitty ass car, maybe. Just so I can get to work in time for my shift and not get fired, please,” she asked, looking at you with begging eyes.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “Okay, fine. Let’s see what we can do.”

Fiona grinned widely at you, and you couldn’t help but return the gesture. You felt your cheeks getting warmer. You didn’t know anyone’s smile could be so breathtaking.

The next thing you knew, you were standing outside of Gallagher’s house, sleeves rolled up above your elbows, a grease rag in one hand, and your cheeks smudged black as you worked on the engine of her car. Your hair fell in front of your face every now and then, so you tucked it away with your fingers.

It was hot and humid, and everything smelled like gasoline. For a second, you wondered what you were doing here, but the feeling of satisfaction you felt knowing that Fiona’s car was almost fixed and that she could now drive it again pushed away any thought of leaving. Besides, you figured you wouldn’t mind spending another hour in her company.

“Hey, thanks so much for helping me,” Fiona said after a while.

You didn’t reply but sent an awkward smile her way as you just kept working. You didn’t know how to act around her yet. Gossiping about the neighborhood and small talk came easily, but when she tried to ask about your family and deeper things, you couldn’t help but avoid responding.

She was silent for a few more minutes until she spoke again, “Lip told me you’re leaving Chicago soon.”

“Yeah, by the end of the month,” you replied without taking your eyes off your work to study her reaction. “I’m going back to California for my friend’s wedding and I have some shit to take care of while I’m there. Not really sure how long it’ll take me.”

“I’ll miss seeing you around.” Her voice sounded sincere, but you still didn’t buy her words.

You snorted slightly at that. “Doubt it. We’re hardly friends,” you pointed out. “You hated me like an hour ago.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow at you challengingly. “Maybe I’m changing my mind about that.”

“I’ll let you prove it to me,” you snorted, wiping your hands on your jeans. “I think it’s done.” You nodded at the car.

The brunette smiled widely, jumping into the car and trying the engine. The car spluttered for a moment before changing into a steady hum.

“It works!”

When you came back from California, you felt relaxed and ready to take on everything and everyone that the world decided to throw at you. Not only has the state of your mind improved, but so did your relationship with Fiona.

She kept texting you through the few weeks you spent out of Chicago. You didn’t remember giving her your number, but you guessed that Kevin or Lip gave it to her.

You texted her back whenever you could. Her messages were full of random ramblings and questions about your trip. At some point, you found yourself looking forward to her texts, glancing at your phone every few minutes. Fiona gained your trust and friendship quicker than you expected.

What you also didn’t expect was to see her the moment you parked your car in the driveway. But here she was, sitting on the wooden steps of your house, smiling brightly. Her hair was down in soft waves that framed her face perfectly. The kohl under her beautiful brown eyes made them stand out against her pale skin. You couldn’t help but stare at her through the side window, amazed.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, neighbor!” she called out, jumping to her feet when you got out of the car to greet her.

“If I knew you’d be waiting for me, I’d probably get a speeding ticket along the way.” You grinned at her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The road back was neither the shortest nor the most pleasant, and you were worried you looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

Fiona walked up to you quickly before throwing her arms around your waist, which made you gasp in surprise. You reluctantly returned the embrace, burying your face in the crook of her neck. You let yourself get enveloped by her smell—the smell of cigarettes and coffee with a tint of sweet perfume—for some reason, it was just intoxicating.

“Did you miss me that much?” you whispered against her, feeling her shudder at the sensation of your breath washing over her heated skin.

“I’m proving I like you, just like you said.” Fiona pulled away to look you in the eyes. She spent a few minutes studying your face longingly. “Go on a date with me?”

You smiled brightly. “So I take it that you like women just as much as I do?”

“I definitely like you like that.”

The brunette leaned in, brushing her lips against yours, waiting for your reaction. She partially thought you’d pull away and reject her after how she treated you before, but to her and your surprise, you didn’t. You tangled your fingers in her hair and pulled her closer, sealing your lips together in a rough kiss.

“I think I like you like that too,” you mumbled out against her lips.

@humanmistakes

If you're not on the taglist but would like to be tagged let me know!

#shameless #shameless x reader #fiona gallagher x reader #fiona gallagher #fiona gallagher x female reader #shameless imagine #fiona gallagher x you #the gallaghers

676 notes · View notes

thecreelhouse · 5 months

Text

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI! 18+ for eventual smut

Summary:

After leaving the Midwest years ago, you finally make the choice to visit home for the holidays. What’s meant to be a quiet, boring Christmas with your family turns into being snowed in with your ex-best friend, now enemy and absolute pain in the ass, Gator Tillman.

It’s only 3 days. How bad can 3 days be with an ex-friend?

———

CW/Tags: angst, toxic banter, language, mentions of drunk driving, mentions of death/loss, Gator being an absolute fucking moron

Word count: 2.5k

Series Masterlist / Read on AO3

Day 1

When you agreed to come home for the holidays, you didn’t anticipate it to be very eventful. Just a week with your family… and not much else. After all, what the hell else was around in Stark County, North Dakota?

Minutes after being picked up from the airport, your father had no issue letting you know some plans changed, that it wouldn’t be such a quiet holiday break at home, on account of … “business”. You never asked when he vaguely called last minute periods of time away from home to do god knows what “business”.

Doing “business” meant he was up to no good, though. You knew that much. You also knew that usually involved that insufferable Roy Tillman, and that usually meant—

“Hey, freak.”

Unfortunately, you’d know that god awful, nasally Midwest accent, doused in cockiness, with a hint of some terrible excuse of a cowboy twang in the tone, anywhere. You whip around from the trunk of your dad’s car, eyes rolling from muscle memory at the sight of Gator.

Fucking Gator Tillman. Professional douche bag, absolute unjustified asshole, persistent pain in society’s ass, and the ultimate bane of your existence.

“Piss off, Gator.” You’re rummaging through the trunk, pulling a suitcase and backpack out before letting them tumble onto the snow covered driveway.

“Can’t. I kinda live here, remember?”

“Didn’t you move out yet?”

“Well- okay, yeah, but—“

“So, you don’t live here, technically.”

His jaw set, annoyed, following it up with a dead stare and his stupid fucking vape, blowing the flavored vapor right in your face. At least it smelled sweet. Still, you stuck your tongue out with a grimace.

Nearly anything could get under Gator’s skin. That’s your entertainment for the next three days. That’s it. How fucking depressing.

Might as well enjoy what you’ve got, though.

“Whatever, you gon’ lemme help ya’ or not?” Gator reaches for your backpack, but you kick it away from him. He looks even more annoyed now.

“Nope, take my suitcase, bet your daddy reminded you to be a real man before we got here. Ain’t that why you’re babysitting me?” Your words dripped with repulsion, already fed up with the misogynist mindset still thriving out here.

Both of your fathers always took their wives on these “business” trips, but the two of you were always left behind. Gator always made a scene about not going with his dad, but that was always met with the order of watching over you, keeping you safe. All because you’re a woman.

“Thought that’s why you moved out east, ain’t it?” Gator mocks you as he yanks the suitcase handle up and out before dragging it toward the house.

“There’s plenty of reasons, and you’re one of ‘em.” You follow behind him, backpack slung on one shoulder.

Gator stops, throwing a cocky smirk over his shoulder, “I’m honored, princess.”

These will be the longest three days of my life.

——

The two of you were left alone almost immediately after arriving, with your father reminding you in a sweet, yet condescending tone to make dinner every night as a ‘thank you’ to Gator for ‘protectin’ ya’’. Gator, of course, smirked at that, while you forced a smile as you bit your tongue.

Playing nice until they leave the property, you immediately drop the act with an exhausted sigh, flopping onto the couch.

“Hey, aren’t ya’ gonna do what your dad said?” Gator asks expectantly. You glare over at him through jet lagged eyes.

“Gator, you’re a grown ass man, learn how to make yourself something other than goddamn cereal.” You flip him off, and again you’re under his skin. “Not like you even have a girlfriend to take care of you, so remind me, how the hell do you survive on your own? That vape don’t count as food, y’know.”

“You’re lucky I gotta be nice,” He mumbles as the best comeback he could think of. “Y’move out east for a few years and suddenly you’ve got all the nerve in the world.”

“Yep, it’s amazing when you move to a city where misogyny and the whole ‘men are superior, women exist to serve’ mindset ain’t welcome. You should try leaving the state some time, you might learn something good for once.”

He looks offended, fists clenching a bit as he sits opposite from you. “I’ve left before—“

“Other than neighboring Midwest states, I mean.”

Gator falls quiet before taking a drag from his vape, his go-to response when he really doesn’t have one. Jesus, he looks like a douche.

“Whatever, I’m happy here.” It’s almost comical how he says it in the most bothered tone, brows knit together as he glares at you. “You coulda’ been happy here too.”

It’s your turn to deflect and dodge poorly; you slam your hands on the couch as a push to get up. “Alright, we’re done here. Keep out of my way, I’ll keep out of yours. The house is big enough, anyway. If you need me— which, you won’t— text me. I’ll hang in the guest room, so you won’t have to worry about what trouble I could get into.”

While you pull your bags upstairs, you hear the front door whine open and slam shut, then a distant roar of an engine coming to life. Wheels crunch loudly on the snow— everything is easy to hear out here. It’s so flat and… hollow.

As you get settled in the guest room, you start wondering if coming home for Christmas was even worth it at all.

Because that’s all the Midwest was to you, and will ever be. Hollow.

———

It’s dark out when Gator gets back; you fell asleep at some point, and what woke you up was the front door slamming wide open, along with some stumbling around.

Sighing, you knew what happened. The predictable situation was always disappointing, but not surprising.

Gator wasn’t an alcoholic, as far as you knew and remembered, at least. He did like to dive into a bottle when he was pissed, though. And that was more often than not.

… Okay, so maybe he did have some kind of issue with alcohol, but you weren’t going to label it, just stay out of his way.

Then, a thump echoes through the house, along with glass breaking. Another expectant sigh leaves you; you push off the bed and head downstairs to check out the commotion.

A lamp in the living room is smashed, off to a great start. Your eyes wander for a moment before you spot Gator shuffling out of the kitchen with a dustpan and brush, nearly kneeling into the broken glass scattered across the old hardwood floors.

“Gator, hey, don’t—“ He yells out as his knees are prickled with glass and ceramic shards. Too late. You carefully tip toe around the sharp pieces in your slippers to reach him.

Gator stands, leaving behind the dustpan, wincing and murmuring a “Fucking Christ”.

“You’re lucky your daddy ain’t home, he’d definitely kill ya’ f’that one.” You’re still sleepy, but manage to hold an arm out for him to balance on. Confused, he glances down, then glances back at you. “Oh my god— Gator, lean on me, idiot.”

He reels back a bit, bottom lip curling downward in annoyance. He slurs, “I don’ need your help.”

You hold your hands up, “Fine, deal with this on your own, asshole.”

You turn to cautiously maneuver back to the stairs, but his hand grasps your wrist, tugging you back in place. You hold your other arm out to keep your balance.

“M’sorry.” Gator mumbles, almost too quiet for you to hear, but you catch it.

“Couch, now.” You roll your eyes with your arm back out, and he leans on you reluctantly. You guide him as carefully as possible, helping him rest slowly. He murmurs some obscenities as his knees bend, blood patching through on the fabric from the glass and ceramic shards.

“Can you stay like that? You can rest against the couch just- just don’t move your legs or lay down, ‘kay?” He nods, face flushed from drinking.

It doesn’t take you long to find rubbing alcohol and a pair of tweezers in the medicine cabinet, but as you return, you see Gator bent over his knees, trying to haphazardly pick the glass out.

“Gator, up.” Your voice startles him, and with eyes wide, he sits back up. “Don’t make it worse.”

You quickly push what’s on the coffee table aside to sit on it, facing Gator. He forces a laugh, but it’s pretty deadpan. “Don’t I always make everything worse?”

Sighing, you position yourself to begin plucking the shards out. “Not answering that one.”

With the removal of each piece, Gator winces and hisses, a few times throwing his head back over the pain.

“You’re gonna hate it when I gotta clean the wounds.” You state, watching blood dribble from some of the open, now clear wounds.

“Don’t use tha’ shit.” He groans, head coming back up to grimace at the sight of blood.

“You’re a cop—“

“Deputy-“

“Whatever. Don’t you see blood often? Shit, you work for your dad, you definitely see blood often.”

He grits his teeth. “Shut up, you dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You want me to stop helping? Because I don’t have to be doing this right now.”

Gator huffs, but he quiets down. The quiet doesn’t last long, though.

“When d’ya get those?” He’s pointing to your left arm, covered in tattoos, now slightly bare as your hoodie slumps off your shoulder.

You continue to tend to his wounds as you answer, “Started this sleeve shortly after movin’. Wanted to celebrate owning my life again.” The latter half of the sentence quiets down out of embarrassment; your life should’ve belonged to you this entire time, but you almost feel guilty for admitting how it previously felt.

Gator’s quiet for a few moments, eyes studying the art on your skin. “They’re … nice.”

You snort, breaking your focus to look up at him. “You don’t have to force yourself to be nice, Gator. You can tell me how you really feel. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

He shakes his head, almost childishly, “No, really. They’re pretty. They suit you.”

“Not ending that with ‘freak’? Color me shocked.”

“Can’t be mean when you’re the one holdin’ them sharp ass tweezers.” He’s only half joking, but it still earns a smile from you.

The smile drops quickly; you realize some shards are tiny, and you can’t get through the fabric of his pants to pull them out.

“Uh… Gator… you’re gonna laugh at me for sayin’ this, but you, uh, you gotta take your pants off.” You rush out the words, hoping he won’t hang onto them too long.

Even drunk, this doesn’t get past Gator. He smirks; Jesus Christ you can’t stand that smirk. It’s almost… cute, with how flushed his face is.

Ew, god, no. The fuck’s my problem?

“What’s the magic word, princess?”

You toss the tweezers aside and get up, “Okay, good luck! I’m going back to bed.”

Gator grabs your legs, strong hands clutching your thighs tightly, and you have to ignore the heat rising to your face.

“I’m kiddin’ I promise!” He tries playing it off, but his voice is pleading with you to stay. You sigh your annoyance out, kind of taking pity on him.

“One more smart-ass word or move and you’re stuck with this glass in your knees forever.”

Gator nods, beginning to stand up, but falling back onto the couch from the pain in his knees.

“Idiot, I didn’t say you had to get up.” You sit back down on the table, waiting for him to unbutton his pants. He doesn’t. “Gator, I ain’t doin’ all the work here.”

“Fine.” He undoes the button and zipper before shimmying his pants down his legs and— god, when did his legs get so muscular? He was so lanky last you saw him.

“Babe, I ain’t doin’ all the work here.” Gator mocks, pants rolled down just above his knees.

You’ll give him that one, let it slide; you were definitely staring, and you weren’t about to get in a debate about the way you ogled at his legs.

“Sit still, they can’t just come off, it’ll dig some of the glass in further. Okay? Sit still, Gator.”

“I am!”

He was, you’re just nervous he’ll do something stupid. You’re also nervous to be this close to him with his pants halfway off.

“I can do it,” He mumbles, reaching to pull them down. He’s quicker than you, surprisingly, even while drunk, but of course, what you warned would happen, happens.

“Fuckin’ moron, I said sit. Still.”

He blushes at your order, pulling his hands back to let you do the job safely.

It takes a few minutes, but slowly, you’re able to remove the fabric from his knees. You let his pants pool around his boots, trying your hardest to focus on his wounds.

“Call me ‘babe’ again and I’m gonna deck ya’.” You murmur, working on the near-microscopic shards in his skin. “How’d this break anyway?”

You knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him admit it, even though the truth would infuriate you.

Gator has no problem telling you, though. “Too drunk, forgot the lamp’s there.”

Alright, he confirmed it.

Inhaling slowly to calm yourself, you ask, “You drove home drunk?”

“I didn’t have another way home.”

Angry, you yank a shard out without compassion; he hisses from the pain.

“You could’ve called me.”

“You don’t have a car here.”

“You could’ve called an Uber.”

He scoffs with a playful smile, as if this is all a silly mistake. “Like that exists out here.”

“Asshole, you could’ve killed someone.” You’re trying your best to focus on finishing this up, but you just want to stab the tweezers into his leg instead. Somehow, you hold your actions back, but not your tongue. “You remember what happened to my baby sister, huh?”

Gator remembers. How could he forget? How your sister barely had her license when the accident took her? How you began to withdraw from life, distancing yourself from everyone—

“I could fuckin’ strangle you right now, Gator.” You’re biting back tears, roughly plucking shards out. He takes the pain, he knows he deserves it. “And we both know your daddy would get you out of a DUI if it came to it.”

He sits silent, face losing color. This got dark, fast, and he was too intoxicated to even think about the consequences. But no amount of alcohol in his system would keep him from realizing he really hurt you.

“I ain’t forgivin’ you for this one.”

“I don’ expect ya’ to.”

You finish helping Gator’s wounds sloppily, throwing the bottle of rubbing alcohol at him. “I got most of ‘em out. Clean your own wounds, scumbag.”

Gator can’t bring himself to respond, look at you, or move to try and clean the cuts. You quickly sweep up the mess before dumping it into the trash and silently heading up to bed.

Gator doesn’t leave the couch that night.

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman smut #my fics #part time soulmate full time problem

103 notes · View notes

seoafin · 1 year

Text

dog days are over | chapter two

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): none except typical gojo behavior word count: ~4.1k

fic masterlist read on ao3

You are in a store, looking at an intricately carved wooden grandfather clock, when you suddenly stand upright and look around. Satoru and Megumi are nowhere in sight, or even in the antique store for that matter. The last thing you remember was following Satoru and Megumi in the crowd. Satoru had been on the phone receiving unpleasant news, from the look on his face. But then you caught a glimpse of the clock you had spent the last ten minutes marveling over in the storefront window, and your legs had done the rest.

It’s a fine grandfather clock, undoubtedly out of your budget, but beautiful nonetheless. It's large, about the length of Satoru actually, the fine wood nearly red and carved into delicate spirals on the side, with gold touches overlaying the clock window, the second hand slowly ticking away.

You catch your face in the reflection of the glass panel, and you ponder it. One day you were a child, peering into your mother's vanity mirror, inspecting your features with the indifference of a toddler. Then you were a motherless girl, in near tears at how your father would cringe away from the familiar set of your nose and lips. You don't think your face has changed much from high school. Unless it has?

You wonder how you appear to others, what they see when they look at you.

You step away, searching for your phone in your bag. It’s not until you blindly reach for the familiar shape of your phone that you realize you don’t have it. You must have left it at home.

Satoru would find you…probably.

The man at the counter dips his head in a farewell and you smile back as you step back outside. The gravity of the situation hits you. This is troubling. Satoru and Megumi…the park is a possibility. They could’ve also gone to the department store too. Your best bet is to….stay put. If nobody comes in the next ten minutes, you’d head to the department store.

You stand outside the store, watching passersby. All types of people. Schoolgirls, couples, businessmen, older women and men. All people with lives, oblivious to cursed energy and jujustu sorcery and all the dangers that lurk in the dark. In another life, you would be someone. Maybe you’d be walking home from work. Maybe you’d be walking to see your parents, to a house that doesn’t exist anymore, not in this life. You’d be a working adult, or maybe you’d still be in school, just like you are now.

A woman walks right by you, laughing while on the phone. There is a brightly cut diamond on her ring finger. She doesn’t look much older than you. In fact, she might even be your age. You wonder about the circumstances of her marriage. She might not be married yet. She could’ve just been recently proposed to.

In another life, you could’ve been just another girl on the street, happily engaged and chatting eagerly to a friend on the phone about wedding plans.

Your world tilts a little to the left at the revelation.

“Heya missy,” a man says, walking up to you. You note the open collar of his cheetah print shirt, the sagging waistband of his pants. There’s a lit cigarette stuck between his teeth. He’s so close to your face that the ashes of his cigarette fall onto your shoes.

“You waitin’ on someone?”

“I am,” you say patiently. “He should be here soon.”

You hope anyway. Maybe you’d just make your way to the department store regardless.

“Leaving a beautiful woman like you waiting?” He laughs, blowing a fresh face of smoke in your face. “This fella doesn’t know how to treat a woman like you.”

Perturbed, you take a step backwards into the wall, but the man steps forward, closing the distance once more.

“C’mon,” he says. “Me and you. There’s a karaoke bar near here…”

“I’m good.” You turn to start walking to the department store.

The man’s tone turns ugly. “Now wait a min—” You feel fingers brush your wrist. Satoru is not there and then he is, and when you register the blur of his presence and distinctive cursed energy, he is pulling the man up by his wrist. The man struggles with Satoru’s height, toes raised in an attempt to stabilize his footing.

“Leave before I break your hand,” Satoru says tonelessly, tipping his face down to meet the man’s eyes past his sunglasses. “Out of my sight.”

Satoru lets go of the man’s wrist, and he falls, stumbling to the ground. You see a flash of his bruised wrist. He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he runs away.

“Thank you,” you say. He shouldn’t have gone that far though. You don’t think it’s right to be harming civilians like that. Especially to help you, of all things. You’re about to speak up again, when he turns to you.

“You.”

His eyebrow twitches once, temporarily marring the cool expression on his face, and you think that maybe you should’ve just gone to the department store after all because there’s a very real chance he is annoyed at you.

You suddenly find the ground very interesting. Satoru’s shoes enter your vision. And when you finally look up at him, his fingers are flattening the collar of your button up shirt, fingers grazing your bare neck where his gaze rests.

“Maybe I should get you a collar and leash,” he says casually, easily, as his fingers begin to button your shirt, out of the top three you neglected when you initially put the shirt on. The first, then the second. “Since you keep forgetting yourself.” The third. Your shirt is buttoned to the collar. He clears the hair from your face to behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck.

You stare at him. He meets your gaze unabashedly. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that Satoru just called you a dog. A lost, blind dog. Sometimes, you know him as well as you know the back of your hand, and sometimes, you think he’s completely incomprehensible, speaking in a language only Suguru can understand.

You blink. A sudden thought strikes you, and your eyes go wide, sweeping all around you. “Where’s Megumi!?”

Before a passerby can bump into you, Satoru tugs at your arm, bringing you into his chest. He takes your hand, fingers entwined around your own, and leads you. “I left him in the park.”

You’re horrified. How can he be so nonchalant about leaving a child in the park? “Satoru—”

He exhales, shoulders temporarily sagging in a contained effort. “Megumi’s a big boy now!” He exclaims, grinning. “If he can’t survive 20 minutes by himself, he’ll never survive the life of a jujutsu sorcerer.” He frowns. “At least Megumi remembers his phone.” And that's more than we can say about you, isn't it?

That brings you to silence. You…You knew Megumi would likely never experience a normal life but you still wanted to grant him whatever semblance of normality you could. You’d make it up to him somehow, feeling guilty that you had yet again, thoughtlessly wandered off. A habit Satoru remarked about over and over as headache inducing. It wasn’t as nearly inconvenient when you were alone, with nobody to answer to.

The two of you find Megumi on a stone ledge, drinking from a water bottle while clutching three pink shopping bags in his arm. And Satoru left him with Mimiko and Nanako’s Christmas presents. You shake your head, unable to even find the words.

“I’m sorry.” You say apologetically. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not really,” he replies. You wince. He’s lying in consideration for your feelings. You take a seat next to him.

“Tell me everything you want for Christmas.” You are serious. You have a few things in mind for Megumi’s Christmas presents, but if he had his own thoughts and ideas, then even better. “Satoru will buy you whatever you want.”

Satoru snorts. “That’s some nerve you got there.”

You ignore him. Megumi peers up at you, and you resist the urge to take him into your arms and squeeze, unsure if he’d take it well.

“What was it?” He asks. What caught your attention?

You are embarrassed all over again, especially since you can feel Satoru’s own interest. “There was a…clock.” You clear your throat. “Should we get dessert?” You lift your head, and see a crepe truck parked at the far corner of the park. “How about some crepes?”

You watch with Satoru as Megumi walks towards the crepe truck, money gingerly tucked in his hand, a smile on your face. It feels like just yesterday he was seven and barely up to your waist, expression oscillating between blank indifference and a scowl. He had been at the age where you could wrap your arms around him and feel his small body cling to you back. Children grow up quickly. Megumi, Tsumiki, Nanako and Mimiko. It makes you both incredibly sad and proud. Now Megumi is at an age he can buy crepes all by himself because you expressed interest in eating dessert.

…Or maybe he just wanted to get away from Satoru. The smile on your face grows wider. Some things just didn’t change. Satoru could get married. Suguru and Shoko too. The three of them would eventually leave you. But your relationship with Megumi would never change. At least, you hoped.

Satoru clears his throat. You blink, taken from thoughts, and turn to him. You see that he’s taken off his sunglasses, head angled forward to allow his eyes to take center, flashing in a calculated, pointed look, and you are already bracing yourself for some kind of inane request. Or so you assume. You resist the urge to turn back forward and ignore him.

“...?”

His voice is light. Almost pleasant. “Don’t you think you’ve been spending a little too much time with Megumi recently?”

You are wholly unsympathetic as you stare at him, tilting your head to the side. “...That’s a little pathetic of you, don’t you think?”

His bottom lip juts out in a displeased expression, bordering on a pout. Though you aren’t sure if it’s because of the blunt manner in which you replied or your actual response.

“...”

You feel…a little bad. Especially because he won’t stop looking at you. The days where you could comfortably ignore him have seemed to pass. The two of you aren’t in high school anymore. And you’re not the same person you were in those days you could indifferently brush off Satoru’s crude comments and easily irritable attitude.

“I like spending time with Megumi,” you say lightly. Suguru’s so good with the girls that sometimes you worried Megumi felt left out. Not because Suguru didn’t make an effort to include him, but because there was only so much a ten year old boy had in common with his similarly aged sisters. So the two of you went off together in search of bookstores and record stores in Jimbocho, tried your hand at arcade games (and spectacularly lost in a fashion that Satoru would undoubtedly make fun of you for), tried different types of matcha at the department stores, and more.

You’ve never considered it a chore or babysitting. Megumi’s silence was different from Satoru’s constant activity, his overwhelming presence you’ve watched others get easily drawn into. Or even Suguru’s dominating calm and peace. On some level, the two of you understood each other. You think if anything, it was nice to be understood without any words needed.

Satoru does not look appeased. “More than you like spending time with me? ” With Suguru?

You wonder what has him so agitated lately, if the incident earlier could be indicative of something more, something that’s been troubling him. You don’t know who had called him earlier, or the contents of the call, but you think it has everything to do with Satoru’s recent moods. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him so antagonistic.

“Of course not,” you say evenly, carefully, but his mouth drops in a greatly aggrieved gesture, as if you’ve just told him you killed his dog.

“Liar!” He exclaims, purposefully raising his voice and inviting several curious glances from onlookers and several women who seem both invested in the potential drama and Satoru’s good looks. “Just who do you think you’re fooling!?”

You sweat. “Satoru…” You see a man turn to the woman next to him and mouth couple fight . You’re inwardly mortified. Satoru straightens. “I really can’t speak to you while you’re like this.”

“He gets you more than I do,” he huffs, crossing his arms.

You blink, before staring down at your lap, feeling warm enough that the chill outside doesn’t feel as cold. You meet his gaze. “You…miss me?”

“No needa sound so surprised,” he says unhappily, eyeing you as if you’ve said something wrong. You seem to be making a habit of saying all the wrong things. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

It hadn’t occurred to you that Satoru and maybe Suguru and Shoko too, missed you as much as you missed them. You didn’t expect Satoru of all people to tell you as such. Your smile grows wider. He misses you. It’s an oddly vulnerable declaration, especially from Satoru.

He impatiently taps his foot. “...Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

You laugh. “I love you too Satoru.”

A strange look crosses his face. You aren’t sure if he’s pleased or displeased at your words, but you’ve never been one to shy away with your own declarations of love. You love him, you love Suguru, you love Shoko. You love the kids. You hope they all know how much you love them, so much that you’d do anything for them. You think your love, in all its meager, useless glory, for all its joys and sorrows, is the only thing you have to offer.

Satoru only looks at you, and takes a seat next to you. His fingers brush yours. “I’ll make you take responsibility for those words, you know," he muses. "One day."

The two of you watch Megumi wait in line for crepes. You rest your head on his shoulder. “You don’t need to get married if you don’t want to.”

He exhales roughly, confirming your suspicions. He doesn't need to ask you how you know, or anything else. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think it matters what I think,” you close your eyes to the heat of Satoru’s body. “What do you want?”

There’s a silence. When you open your eyes and raise your gaze, Satoru is looking at you.

“Everything.”

It’s an answer very characteristic of him. A smile nudges at your lips as you straighten yourself. “As long as you’re happy.” Then nothing else really mattered, did it? Maybe you were selfish for wishing it. Everyone’s happiness at the expense of everything else, but you found that you didn’t really care. If Satoru decided to quit the life jujustu sorcery tomorrow, you’d support him. Just as you’d support Suguru and Shoko and whatever Megumi and the girls wanted for himself in life.

“I do feel a little bad though,” you admit truthfully to him, sheepish. “I wish you’d still at least drop by those matchmaking ceremonies.” It makes you sad to think of all those women, working themselves up to look their absolute best, ignored and disappointed because Satoru couldn’t be bothered. You know it was expected that Satoru would do whatever he wanted, just as he always has, but it wouldn’t kill him to say a nice word or two before politely excusing himself. Though, if anything, it seemed Suguru was undertaking that duty for him.

Satoru makes a face that confirms your thoughts. As if even the mere thought of it all is a much too bothersome task.

“Suguru says they’re all very nice girls.” Great conversationalists. Mostly disappointed at Satoru’s lack of interest, some relieved. They had interesting thoughts and opinions, but very rarely an outlet for them, which made Suguru’s kindness even more meaningful.

“Does he,” Satoru comments dryly. His voice drops into a mutter. “If he likes them so much he should just marry one.”

You look at him sympathetically. Satoru probably isn’t used to feeling jealousy. You’re not sure of what to say to him, so you settle on covering his larger hand with your own, and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Nobody could ever replace what the two of you are to each other.” You pause, deciding there’s really no way to approach this topic lightly. So you bluntly say, “Is everything alright between the two of you?”

He flips his hand over, tightly interlacing your fingers as he looks straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. “Just don’t understand him sometimes.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. Satoru raises an eyebrow, but you’re too busy laughing to respond right away. It’s been a while since you’ve been so thoroughly amused.

“I’m,” you let out the remnants of your laughter, shoulders trembling, “sorry.” You shake your head, straightening. “Instead of not understanding him, are you sure you’re not frustrated because you know him too well?”

You think in Satoru’s case, his frustration is born from an overt understanding of all things Suguru more than a lack of understanding. It’s because he knows Suguru so well he also has to recognize that, like himself, Suguru can be more than implacable. Stubborn to the point of nonsense. Stubborn, just to make a point. Satoru knows Suguru as well as he knows himself, from the inside out. But Suguru isn’t Satoru, and sometimes their conflicting opinions cause more strife than necessary, especially considering their competitive streaks and antagonistic natures.

Satoru opens his mouth to rebuke you. Then he shuts it, resigned. You’ve won.

“Suguru’s just being being polite and kind,” you point out. You don’t point out that you’re sure Suguru would never entertain the affections of a woman he knows Satoru wouldn’t like. That there are many things the two of them have agreed on, and this would just be another. “You never know when you might need a friendly face in the crowd. I’m sure Suguru’s thinking about the future.”

Satoru’s existence was regarded as much as it was scorned, feared. The strongest jujustu sorcerer who would only grow more into himself, into all the abilities of limitless that the six eyes afforded him. The strongest. A once lonely title now shared. You don’t want Satoru to be feared or reviled, despite Satoru’s own indifference towards it. And you’re sure Suguru shares that sentiment. If Satoru has spurned jujustu society, then Suguru has embraced it. This is Suguru’s way of navigating jujustu higher society and politics, subtly crafting and pulling strings and favors, maintaining illusions of hierarchy and power, dangling promises of power and advantageous relationships. All in Satoru’s absence.

Or, more rightly, you suppose it’s Satoru letting Suguru take the reins.

For all its many flaws and hardships, this is a world Megumi and Mimiko and Nanako will inherit. All of them have been hurt very much. There’s so much work to do to make it hospitable, inhabitable. To grow a garden where there was once a barren wasteland.

Satoru is looking at you oddly. Like he’s trying to convey to you something you don’t understand, all through the intensity of his gaze.

“?”

He quickly masks it with a conspicuously suspicious look. “You’re taking his side, aren’t you?”

You smile, shaking your head when Satoru’s thumb starts massaging circles into your hand. “I know better than to get in between the two of you.” Your smile turns a hint sheepish. “But…Suguru says that they’re all very nice girls. You never know…” you trail off suggestively, thinking of Suguru and his charmed white lotus girl. “There could be a girl—”

“Absolutely not.” There’s a finality in his voice that gives you pause.

“That’s okay too,” you say slowly, shrugging. Satoru has always known what he wants. Maybe in the end, all Satoru wanted was Suguru, and what could you say about that? You only wanted Satoru to know that love came in all shapes and sizes. If you could love him and Suguru and Shoko, then it was only reasonable to think another potential lover between the two was possible. Besides, the future was unpredictable. You knew that better than most. Maybe not now but…

You squeeze his hand tightly enough that it should be uncomfortable, but Satoru doesn’t even flinch. He returns the squeeze, his hand so large they nearly engulf your own. You don’t remember his hands being so big. And then the two of you are squeezing each other’s hands, trying hard not to laugh. You’re glad the tension has somewhat left Satoru’s shoulders. There’s a lopsided grin on his face as you meet his twinkling gaze, and you are struck by the thought that he looks like a delighted child on Christmas, and you think everything is right again. If you could help him (and even Suguru to an extent), you’d be happy. Everything will be the same when you see the two of them again. It makes you think of living another life, and everything you’d be missing if the misfortunate events of your life hadn’t happened.

You watch as Megumi is handed two crepes. He begins to walk back, carefully balancing them in his grip.

“Earlier,” you say. “I was thinking about what life would’ve been like if I had never become a jujutsu sorcerer.” You think about the woman who rushed past you earlier, and the glinting band on her finger. Her palpable happiness. “I don’t know who or what I would’ve been in another life, but the fact that I’m here says something I guess. Right now, right here, I’m content.”

You have more than enough. You could never ask for more. You’d upset the precarious balance of the universe somehow. The same forgiving universe that had somehow deemed your unworthy existence deserving of happiness. As fleeting as you knew it to be. You were content. It was more than you knew you’d ever get.

Satoru goes silent, face discerningly blank. “Is it enough?”

“It is.” You’ve never needed much. You had grown up without much love at all, and to still somehow find so much of it was something of a miracle you were thankful for everyday. “It is, for me.”

The two of you sit in silence. A girl falls down in the sandbox, scraping her knees. Sitting upright, her lips wobble, fingers curling into her thighs as she tries not to cry. Seconds later, her father scoops her into his arms and they walk away. You become aware of your heart dully beating in your chest.

“I would find you,” Satoru says calmly, gaze burning. “In another life, I would still find you. The three of us would be together.”

The words fill something cavernous and aching in your chest. A wound that never healed right. A wound that grew as you did. Something that makes you selfish and sad and always leaves you wanting. It’s a dangerous thing.

You don’t know if you love or hate it. The inevitability of it all. The promise of happiness in his words. Satoru doesn’t break his promises, but you do. It’s why the both of you try not to make many in the first place.

You find yourself smiling. “You’ll get my hopes up,” you joke, resolving to take his words as just that, a joke. You’ll get what you deserve, one day. In this life or the next. Expecting any different would be…

Satoru opens his mouth to respond but Megumi returns, sticking Satoru’s crepe in his free hand. When Megumi takes your free hand with his own, he hands you the crepe the two of you decided to share. You stand, moving to be released from Satoru’s hand but his grip on you tightens.

You shoot him a look. “Satoru, let go.”

“I won’t,” he says with a scowl that says that the two of you have unfinished business. You would prefer he wouldn't. To Megumi: “How much to take a walk around the park by yourself?”

You are appalled. You hope your gaze conveys how pathetic he is being. “Satoru…”

Megumi takes a bite of the strawberry crepe. “No.”

Satoru sends the boy a flat stare that Megumi meets with his own. You finally yank your hand away from Satoru’s with an exasperated huff, and an overdramatic betrayed look crosses his face as he gapes at you. You smile at Megumi as he offers the crepe, which you take a bite of.

“Let’s forget about him,” you say pleasantly, swallowing a mouthful of sweet cream. The two of you start walking towards the street.“Should we stop by the record store on the way back?” You’d buy him any record he wanted. It was so hard to spoil Megumi. You liked to do it at every opportunity. It was your guilty pleasure despite all you had read about moderation for children.

“Yeah,” he quietly agrees. “I’d like that.”

The two of you leave Satoru behind in that park, a double chocolate nutella banana crepe in his hand.

#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ddao #m.jjk

373 notes · View notes

annlillyjose · 10 months

Text

Rock Salt – WIP Intro

hello again! on today’s news, your girl has a new wip aka something to fixate on and mould her life around for the next couple of months (or years). and because i cannot keep any exciting news to myself, here’s a wip intro.

but before we head into that, here’s a little backstory to how it happened. i finished writing dairy whiskey, i worried about my brain being incapable of forming new book ideas, two to three days after i get this new book idea that i’m totally hooked on, struggles to find a name, names it, decides to go forward with it, so again, here it is – rock salt!

here are the specifics:

disclaimer: this is an original work of fiction. plagiarism of any kind will not be tolerated. don’t be a pathetic loser.

genre: literary fiction

pov: first person retrospective

structure: probably going to be just full-length chapters

projected word count: 50k

concept: identical twins rain and norah move out of their family home for college where they purse two different degrees, live with different people in separate homes, and fall in troubles of their own. these begin to affect each other and they grow apart, being forced to navigate the the most confusing part of their lives – their shared existence as twins.

aesthetics/vibes: indigo skies, the beach, moths, seawater, salty breeze, chopping off one’s hair because existential crisis and queerness, lesbian relationships, house parties, fire, gloomy days where you feel like it’s going to rain but it doesn’t, cheap housing, bad grades, rotten food in the fridge, the moon, hanging plants, weed and local flowers

CHARACTERS

if you’ve heard these names before, no you haven’t, but again, they’re from twinepathy – the short story i wrote nearly three years back and scrapped afterwards. i tried to create new characters for this book but they feel like the perfect fit, so here they are.

norah

lesbian, she/they

her real name is eleanor

the protagonist and the narrator

studies political science

shoulder-length black hair, dark brown eyes, 5'3, skinny, wheat-coloured skin

always wears basic t-shirts or sweatshirts with a pair of mom jeans

distant, secretive, in constant disapproval of everything

strives on academic validation (and is being too hard on herself to bring in good grades)

rain

also 18

aroace, she/her

her real name is lorraine

studies painting and the applied arts

long black hair, dark brown eyes, 5'3, skinny, wheat-coloured skin

is a goofball, sunshine and rainbows, has a lot of friends, is extremely talented in her art, golden retriever energy with some drama to be unleashed

cannot keep her mouth shut so ends up in trouble with norah

don’t want to introduce them officially, because they’re not key characters, but here’s a little info on their older sisters –

harper

is called harp

is a high school geography teacher

engaged to her college boyfriend

oldest child in an asian household (i guess that’s saying enough)

violet

is called viv

the neglected middle child

in her last year of a nursing degree

wanted to study music but was too scared to bring it up to her parents and ended up being stuck at a hospital

plans to go abroad and marry a rich guy

well, that’s all i’ve got for you today. i haven’t started writing this book yet and i think i won’t until i finish editing dairy whiskey in august. i think i’ll start in september and then hopefully do nanowrimo for it in november. i’m super excited to work on it because it’s so different from dairy whiskey in a lot of aspects. but i’m discovery writing (as always) and we’ll just have to see where it goes. but until i come back with an update for this book, you take care, stay hydrated, water your plants, and eat a second dessert tonight.

– ann

general taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@shaonsim @heartfullkings @vnsmiles @dallonwrites @wannabeauthorclive @sienna-writes @violetpeso @flip-phones @silassghost @ambidextrousarcher @zoe-louvre @writing-with-l @magic-is-something-we-create @femmeniism @frozenstillicide @wizardfromthesea @rose-bookblood @coffeeandcalligraphy @rodentwrites @saltwaterbells @snehithiye @at-thezenith

#rock salt #rock salt intro #rock salt update #wip intro #wip tag #new wip #new book #writeblr #my writing #wip update

57 notes · View notes

seraph-of-sizes · 7 months

Text

Broken Homes of Different Sizes pt2

Borrower Lyney and Lynette, Human Freminet (Slight au with borrowers existing, everything else is the same as canon)

--------------------------------

Freminet was exhausted.

When the House of the Hearth had changed hands, he thought it to be of no consequence to him. He would just follow the orders of the new caretaker and vanish into the background again.

Wrong.

The new caretaker was a literal Harbinger. Number Four, the Knave.

Honestly he could admit to himself that the first impressions of her left him terrified. The way she spoke, how she held herself. She was so confident in a way Freminet could never imagine for himself.

She had spent the time to meet with each orphan within the Hearth personally, and his meeting with her had been the most stressful encounter he had to date. Not even watching his claymore drip with the blood of his targets held a candle to the focus he had to have to maintain his composure.

She had reduced his tasks to simple espionage. The blood he was used to was now replaced with fake prop blood. He was placed behind enemy lines as a helpless child that needed to be taken care of. It still had orders to follow, but now he had to navigate social situations as well. Intel gathering was alright, but that meant speaking to people.

So he would usually spend hours in the oceans to clear his mind before returning home, or on especially exhausting days he would skip the trip and go straight home.

But spending more time in his home, he began to notice things. What he had originally chalked up to mice was more… methodical. Planned out, paper wasn’t chewed up but cut cleanly. Small slits in food bags that were practically unnoticeable, which should have been more obviously ripped.

It reminded him of some older fairytales about creatures called Borrowers.

He almost ignored it, if there were borrowers here they were just trying to lives their lives, just like him. But he couldn’t help the small curiosity in his heart as he reread all of his books on the tiny race. It was the one thing he began to look forward to.

He started buying more foods, stuff he could leave out for them, but it also meant he was eating better than he had in a while. His own health became a side thought when completing an order after all.

It was after a horrible day where he had disappointed Father that he saw them for the first time. He had performed his task perfectly, however while returning to the Hearth to report back he had been attacked by some Treasure Hoarders.

He was already tired from his mission, and it was one that required him to leave his claymore at the Hearth. All he had to defend himself was a knife and his vision.

He yelped as an arrow lodged into his shin as he jumped off of a cliff and dove into the water. To avoid them following him or tracking him he would have to swim far past the meeting spot. He grumbled softly as he realized he would have to emerge from the water, dress his wound, and still trek for 10 minutes to the spot.

He was going to be late for certain.

“I’m disappointed in you, Freminet.” He hid his flinch at The Knave’s silent jeer. “Late and injured because you let your guard down.”

He swallowed roughly, keeping his mouth firmly shut. After all, machines do not speak unless they are told to.

“Hm. I suppose you have been working quite diligently. Take a week to rest, perhaps I’ve pushed you too far with all of these tasks back to back.” She hummed. “You are dismissed.”

“Yes Father.” He bowed and carefully walked away, only to nearly collapse once he was out of her sight. He placed a hand to his chest and could feel his heart fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. He took deep breaths as he retrieved his claymore, aptly named ‘the Bell’ for its likeness to a clock, one that could be cranked to chime on certain hours.

The trek to his ‘house’ was a slow one, he took his time, but stuck to alleyways since he still had some fake blood still caked on his skin. He winced as he noticed his wound had bled through the gauze and was leaving a trail of red behind him.

He picked up his pace. The sooner he could get home, the sooner he could wash up and redress his leg.

He fumbled with his keys before walking into the empty home. Perhaps he could make some sort of perpetual music box to fill the silence.

He leaned his claymore against the wall and collapsed onto his couch. He knew he should get cleaned up as soon as possible, but his mind was forcing him to feel all of the emotions he had repressed from the day.

He stared into space, trying desperately to lock them all back into a tiny box, then throw away the key. But the damn box wouldn’t stay closed!

“Father said I mustn't cry…” He whispered, tears pooling in his eyes, no matter how long he held them open. A choked whimper left his throat as the first tear fell, then another.

He tried. Really he did.

At least he knew better than to cry loudly, the silent tears were accompanied by an occasional hiccup, but after a few moments they were forced back.

A gentle ticking made him sigh as he wiped his face. He slowly stood up and turned towards the kitchen to get a quick snack before his wash.

His eyes widened in shock as the soft gasp that came from what looked like a tiny girl, stood shock-still on his countertop. Panic response in crisis, Fight, Flight, Fawn, Freeze.

She was obviously the Freeze type.

“H-hello?” He greeted awkwardly, taking a slow step forwards. Just as he was going to introduce himself a hiss left him as the sharp pinprick of pain that brought all of his attention back to the wound on his leg.

He blinked as he watched the girl race off, aided by anemo somehow. It wasn’t until he noticed the ousia residue from her attack as it reacted with his neuma alignment that he realized she must have a vision.

Which was almost more startling that discovering her in the first place. After all visions are given out by Celestia, so therefore the heavens must view Borrowers as people.

Ugh, his head was starting to ache, and his leg was starting to burn. He glanced down only for his eyes to widen as the small arrow buried in his leg, the fletches of the arrow smoking from Pyro infusement.

So there are two.

Mulling over that thought, Freminet removed the tiny arrow, placing it on the counter. He then went and cleaned himself off, redressed his leg with proper bandages, even ate some restorative medicine.

Once that was done he returned to the main room, his curiosity eating at him. He had to figure out more about his roommates before it would let him sleep. The fact it felt like a recon mission has nothing to do with it.

Slowly he denoted every possible entry and exit point, and multiple holes in the walls. After thoroughly memorizing it all, he began to try to locate their built spaces in the walls. Echolocation wasn’t just for bats, a lot of marine life used something similar. Sharks, whales, and more.

Freminet frowned as he walked to the other side of the massive bookshelf. Another knock confirmed his suspicions.

Carefully he pulled the massive paperweight away from the wall, grinning triumphantly as he heard the pitch of the knock change dramatically.

Found them.

#genshin g/t #g/t #genshin impact g/t #g/t writing #sfw g/t #tiny!lyney #tiny!lynette #Broken home au

20 notes · View notes

aplaceinthedark · 5 months

Text

chapter nine: FIND a HIDDEN MEANING

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.

CW: supernatural themes, mention of death, mentions of vehicular accident, mentions of motorcycle accident, ptsd, bodily injury, religious trauma, angst, blood, alcohol consumption

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.

A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know.

Noah and I had swept the perimeter of my house and property, checking to see if anything else had been left behind. Nothing was out of place, but that didn’t stop Nick from worrying. Nothing I did or said seemed to stop him.

"I'm sure it's not intentional. Maybe they were driving around, saw my house, and stuck the flier in my door when they realized I wasn't home," I said to a tense Nick, who was thumbing through all the papers I had brought from the library yesterday.

Jesus fuck, that had been yesterday. So much had happened in just twenty-four hours, and I was just… rolling along with it. Nick, Noah and their group, and now a possibility of the reemergence of the Cult that destroyed their lives? A year ago, I might’ve run away. Now, I might be becoming a part of their crew.

“We’re not gonna take that chance,” Nick said, whether to me or himself, I wasn’t sure. “This whole town knows we hung out. If they know about the Watcher, then they know what I can do. They might think you know just by associating with me.”

“Well…” I trailed off. They wouldn’t be wrong.

My eyes fell onto the flier that stood out amidst the stark white papers.

PRESERVATION OF VESSELS

We are all perfect Vessel's, no more worthy than the rest. A perfect Vessel exists to serve the Divine Power. We must offer up our Souls to be Hollowed and imbued with His Grace. Each member of our Family shall serve in a way that best suits their potential. All shall live for the coming of the Great Singularity, as all become One and reach True Enlightenment.

The Children of the Revered Father fear not the pursuit of His Grace, for our purpose is pure and resolute. The Children of the Revered Father fear not the quest for knowledge, for our path has been cleared of peril and strife. The Children of the Revered Father fear not that life in thrall, for our Souls exist to serve the Divine Power.

“Maybe the name is a coincidence?” I said, though my voice betrayed how I thought of that idea. Nick’s look that he shot out of the corner of his eyes said the same.

“If you’re trying to make me feel better about this situation, it’s not working.” He turned back to the table, putting his chin in the palm of his hand.

I frowned as I got up and limped over to my kitchen window. Noah had run off to tell Jolly and Nick Folio about the situation, promising to return with a plan at some point. I had caught the look in his black eyes: the plan would most likely involve death, which I didn’t know if I was down for.

Of course I shouldn't be down for that. Shouldn't I? Even if that meant the possibility of losing…

I shook my head vigorously to get rid of that train of thought, like my brain was an etch-a-sketch and shaking it would erase the Bad Thoughts. I grabbed three beers out of the fridge. I left one bottle outside on the offering plate; a small conciliatory gesture that I hoped Noah would understand. Then I limped from the front door over to the couch.

“Are you okay?” Nick asked, looking me up and down as I handed him a bottle.

“Yeah, it’s just all that walking is taking its toll on my hip.” I winced as I collapsed back onto the cushion. I nearly moaned into the bottle in relief as the pressure was lifted.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I forgot about that,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have taken you out there.”

“Nick, there’s no way I would’ve stayed here after last night. I would've followed you, and I probably would've gotten lost again," I said. “And if I would’ve been home, then I would’ve come face to face with those people.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He took a swig. “I mean, you could’ve at least told me you were hurting.”

I snorted in amusement. “What would you have done? Carry me?” I asked. The image flashed through my head, and I had to turn away from Nick to hide my flushed face.

“You probably wouldn’t hear the end of it from Noah,” he chuckled. I groaned at the thought of him laughing at me in my mind.

He absentmindedly picked up a page and glanced over it. “He’s probably still mad at me for yelling at him.” He looked up at me. “Noah doesn’t like being yelled at, even if he knows he’s done something wrong.”

“Like when an innocent person trips and hits their head?”

“Exactly,” He sighed. He let the paper slip through his fingers. It was about the rhyme I had found about “The Towering Man.” Nick let his head fall back onto the back of the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. “I can understand if you don’t want to stay here anymore.”

It took me a second to remember that Noah and I had conversed in our minds, not spoken aloud with Nick. I just assumed that Noah had told him. “I’m not leaving,” I stated. Nick actually looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m not moving back to Newport. No creepy forest cults can make me do that.”

Nick straightened up, a movement that took me off-guard. “Was it really just your brother's death that made you move to the other side of the state? Or was it something more?”

My mouth popped open slightly. “H-How did–”

“You’re not the only one who did some research,” he said.

I racked my brain for the possibility of how he found out, when it finally hit me. “You… you looked up my brother's obituary?” I asked, my voice stammering.

“I got curious. I wasn’t going to say anything about it until now,” he said, “but you happened to leave out the part where your parents were in the same accident.”

My throat constricted as the blood rushed to my face. “Then you probably saw that Taylor isn’t—“

“I don’t care about that. That’s not who you are to me," he said, putting his hand over mine. I stared down at the shark tattoo on the back of his hand. “But I can guess where you got the name from, and I think it’s a sweet reason. I just can’t understand why you would rather be here than—“

“Cause I couldn’t stand the emptiness, okay?!” I blurted out, my voice coming out louder than I wanted. I stood up quickly. “All my family was gone in an instant, and I was left by myself to pick up the pieces!”

“Hey, Tay, I didn’t mean to—“ Nick paused, taking in my stance. That’s when I realized my breathing was labored, and I could feel my eyes starting to mist.

I took a deep breath. “It’s fine - I’m fine,” I stated, holding up a hand. “I just… I wasn’t expecting this.”

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and I felt he meant it in more ways than one.

A painful silence fell between us. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of my emotions. "It was a freak accident,” I blurted out.

I heard the couch creak as the words tumbled out. "I think a car was changing lanes and didn't see my parent's car. I don't remember a whole lot, but I remember hitting one of the cars and being thrown off the bike. I remember–"

"Taylor, you don't have to–" he tried to interrupt.

"--crawling along the road, breaking my fingernails in the asphalt as I tried to reach Mike–" I couldn't stop talking.

"Taylor–"

"--the smell of blood from his cracked–"

"TAYLOR!”

I startled, feeling a sharp pain in my biceps. As Nick pulled my hands away from my arms, I realized I had dug my fingernails into them hard enough to draw blood. With Nick's shout and sudden presence in front of me, I relaxed.

"You're bleeding. "

"S' fine," I mumbled, my adrenaline rush leaving me shaking. Nick pulled me back to the couch, making me sit down. He gently rubbed the marks with the sleeve of his flannel shirt, wiping away the blood. Luckily, the marks were shallow and had pretty much stopped bleeding immediately.

While he did that, I absentmindedly played with the string on my pinky. “Do I keep this on forever? Or can I cut it off?” I asked, holding my hand up. I couldn't look at his face. This was the third time I had a flashback in the last 24 hours, and I knew that if I looked up at him, I would lose it at the slightest inconvenience.

Despite my fiddling, the string stayed put. It must've been made of strong stuff, having survived the hike over the trees and rocks. “Here, lemme take it off. Cutting it is bad luck,” he said. His hands moved from my arms to my finger; his fingertips lightly dragging over my skin. Taking my hand, he untied the knot with swift, precise fingers. I felt exactly the same as when he had tied it on.

When the string was off, I was surprised to feel like it was still there. Like a phantom string, a thread of gold tying us together.

“Taylor?”

My eyes snapped up to his face, and I realized that he had been watching me this entire time with eyes clear as glass. “Y-yeah?” I asked, voice cracking. I was afraid that he was going to say something about the previous fifteen minutes, and I really didn't want to cry in front of him.

Anything I had been thinking about or feeling flew out the moment his mouth had pressed to mine. The accident, the monsters, the cult; everything. The universe had come to a complete stop, and nothing else mattered except this.

There was hardly any time for me to register what he was doing before he leaned down and placed his lips on mine.

I inhaled sharply, but when Nick cupped my face in his hands, my eyelids fluttered closed. The small amount of moisture in my eyes rolled down my cheeks, collecting on his thumbs. I found myself mimicking the motion of his lips, tilting my head by a few degrees.

Every sense of mine felt elevated. My cheeks felt like fire under his touch. The gentle scrape of his stubble against my chin. The taste and softness of his lips. The feeling of his flannel shirt as i slid my hands up to his shoulders.

He was the one to pull away first, and I almost fell forward as I tried to catch my breath. I felt his forehead press against mine as he tried to do the same.

“‘M sorry… if I went too… far,” he panted, leaning back. I felt myself lean forward, as if my body was somehow tied to his. I even felt a pang of loneliness as he parted from me.

I slowly opened my eyes, and when I looked up into his, grey with flecks of blue and green that were almost obliterated by the dilation of his pupils, it finally hit me that nothing was going to ever be the same again.

And I was fine with it.

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t go too far. You didn’t go too far at all,” I babbled almost incoherently. “In fact, you didn’t go far enough.”

The dumbfounded look in his eyes almost made me laugh, killing the moment, but then his lips were crashing back onto mine again, and that chuckle quickly turned into a sigh.

Absolutely fine with it.

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

12 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 months

Text

Part Three. But with just TJ :)

@tragiclyhip

She sits in the driveway; engine off and rhythmically ticking as it cools down. Hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn her knuckles white and pins and needles to form in the tips of her fingers. She can’t bring herself to go inside; not yet. Not with her tattered nerves and the unbearable heaviness that sits on her chest; it hurts to breathe, it’s uncomfortable to even move. She can’t go into the house like that; she’d already missed the bus drop off and their usual after school routine and she’s certain there’s hurt feelings and a little animosity on the kids’ parts.

She’s been gone a lot. First leaving Mumbai for Dhaka and then not returning to Australia when they did; relying on Ovi and Nik and Anil to keep them safe and happy while she stayed by her husband’s side. Their little lives have been turned upside down; a parent stuck in the hospital, the other nearly non-existent and their mind and their heart in another place even when they are home. It’s not fair to them; the upset to routine, the lack of proper quality time, all the missed hugs and kisses and cuddles and bedtime stories. They deserve more than that. So much more.

“I hate this,” she whispers, and her entire body begins to tremble. It finally releases; fear, worry, sadness, rage. “I fucking hate this!” she yells into the confines of the SUV, and tears stream down her face as she repeatedly stomps her feet against the floorboard and pounds her hands against the steering wheel. Screaming until her voice is hoarse and her throat is dry; continuing the assault until her wrists ache and her thighs burn. Then she slumps back into her seat and cries; hands pressed to her face as the sobs wrack her body and the tears stream down her face.

It takes several minutes for the moment to subside; until her body stops shaking and there’s no more tears left to cry. And she’s scouring the middle counsel for tissues to clean up her face when she hears it; the repetitive tapping of knuckles against her window.

“Mommy!” TJ stands in the driveway; already tall enough to see into the SUV without standing on his tiptoes. He’s long and lanky; all torso and limbs and beautifully tanned skinned. He’s only visible from the bottom of the nose up; the freckles across the bridge, those enormous blue eyes framed by impossibly long and dark lashes. “Mom!” He slams his palms against the glass. “Are you okay?!”

She nods, then places her palm against the window, covering his.

“Open the door!” TJ demands, and he’s suddenly so much his father. The concern that darkens his eyes, the furrows in brow, that assertive and demanding tone.

“I’m fine!” Esme assures him.

“Open...the...door!” He repeats, slowly and clearly pronouncing each word. “This isn’t funny! I know you’re upset! Open the door!” His eyes soften and he gives that charming, almost cheeky smile. “Please?”

He’s learned well. A true product of his environment.

“Go around,” she instructs, and watches as he hurries around the front of the SUV; sandy blond hair damp, the longer top strands sticking to his forehead and pushed in several different directions. He’s in his normal after school ‘attire’; shirtless and board shorts.

“What are you doing?” There’s a mixture of both concern and annoyance in his voice when she pops open the passenger side door, and she notices how impossible large his hands seem for only five; long fingers curling around the handle at the top of the door as he hauls himself inside. “Why are you sitting out there?”

“Why are YOU out here?”

“I asked you first. What’s wrong? How come you’re not coming inside?”

“I just needed a few minutes. It’s been a long day.”

“I was taking the recycling out,” he jerks his head over his shoulder; indicating the blue boxes that sit at the curb. “That’s my job, remember. That’s the job daddy gave me when we moved here. You didn’t see me?”

“You must have snuck by me. Like a ninja.”

“I don’t know how you didn’t see me. I’m hard to miss. Uncle Koen says I’m tall and skinny and awkward. Like daddy.”

“Your father is far from being skinny and awkward. You on the other hand…”

“That’s not nice, mom. When I’m big enough, I’m going to work out in the gym too. With daddy. He can show me how to get big muscles. I want to be big too. And strong. Do you think he’ll let me? Work out? When I’m old enough?”

“I know he will. He’ll like having a gym buddy.”

“Do you think I’ll be as tall as him? I hope I grow that big. I WANT to be that tall. I want to be a giant, too.”

“I think you’re well on your way to being just as tall as your dad if not taller.”

“Imagine?” His eyes widen in excitement. “If I grew taller and bigger than daddy? Daddy’s big. Like REALLY big. Sometimes he has to duck to get through doors in some places. Not to mention his hand is bigger than my whole face and his arms are massive! Imagine if I got bigger than him? That would be fucking awesome.”

Esme frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he gives a sheepish smile. “I don’t mean to swear. It just comes out!”.”

“You really do learn by example.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your dad has to watch his mouth around you guys.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Best Part of Me

6 notes · View notes

mfmilligan · 1 year

Text

In the Midst #1

The fantasy of running away is a nice one…until you realize you never really wanted to run away. You just wanted somewhere to escape to every now and then.

I’ve been stuck in this…place for nearly two months. And no matter how hard I’ve searched for a way out, I can’t find one. It’s as if this place doesn’t want to let me go.

I say “place”. Perhaps I should say world. Place is too small for what I’m living in. But if I admit it’s a world, then does that mean I’m forever lost? That there’s no hope of finding home or family or anyone ever again?

Nearly everywhere is a place designed for humans. Neighborhoods of cookie-cutter houses, malls, grocery stores, restaurants, offices, schools, playgrounds, pools (lots and lots of pools). Any and every kind of building or place you could imagine. Everywhere you go, there’s intent behind it. Someone had to have built everything. But in two months of wandering, I have yet to meet anyone else.

And that lack of people makes every doorway and every hall feel ominous. Like maybe even if there isn’t a person around the corner, something else is waiting and watching. Something I can’t begin to imagine.

It’s to the point where I avoid going inside most buildings. The only ones I step into are grocery stores for food and the Pink Mall to sleep. You might think it strange, sleeping in a mall, but if you set foot in one of the empty houses, you’d understand. With no life and no furnishing whatsoever, you get the feeling that something else is inside. Something else will find you sleeping and –

It’s creepy not just because everywhere is barren. Everywhere is familiar. I remember places like this from the late 90s and early 2000s when I was a kid. Rigid carpets, peachy-beige walls, warm lighting that throws lots of shadows, glossy sheens, wacky colors. Even this notebook I’m writing in is straight from childhood. It’s the same Lisa Frank journal my older sister had – two hugging penguins with bright purple and orange accents.

It’s like I’ve been left behind in a strange bubble where the past never stopped existing. It’s just abandoned like a stage when a show is over and for some reason, I’m the only actor left.

I can’t keep thinking about this right now.

Another day in the world of nothing and nowhere.

I know there’s no one to read any of this except me. But I can’t lose my mind. I need to at least imagine the hope that someone out there will see this. That someone out there can find me.

I haven’t done much exploring lately, but I’ve been constructing a map of sorts. Naming places. I’ve even started a list.

Pink Mall = explored

Daisy Hill (suburb) = unexplored

Sweet Tomato (grocery store) = explored

White Collar Avenue (business district) = unexplored

Waterworks (park) = unexplored

Familiar School #1 = partially explored

These are just a handful. And as you can see, mostly unexplored. I’ll admit I’m a terrible coward, but…even if there isn’t anyone around, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I can’t ignore that feeling, however irrational or paranoid it seems.

I realize I’ve said nothing about how I got here. “How” is a question I really can’t answer because I don’t know how.

The last time I was in the real world, I was alone in my apartment. I remember it was almost 3 AM because I’d stayed up late again to finish homework. Around that time, I went to brush my teeth and when I looked out the bathroom window, I saw someone high tailing it from my car. I ran out to check, but nothing looked damaged or broken into. Shrugging the incident off, I went back to the main door of my apartment complex.

When I opened it, nothing was the same.

Ahead lay a dim hallway with beige walls and dirty carpeting. The only light came from a bulb at the end that kept flickering.

Thinking the all-nighters were getting to me, I closed the door and opened it again. I blinked. I pinched myself. Nothing changed.

When I turned around, the parking lot was gone. There was only open road and open fields. All darkness except for a few lamps.

Now I was properly scared. Inches away from hyperventilating. But I didn’t want to lose reason. You’re tired and stressed, I told myself. You’re not in your right mind. The last thing you should do is freak out.

With no other options present, I started walking down the road. Alone and vulnerable in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. The quiet out there was unnerving – not even a faint whistle of wind to cut through the darkness.

About 20 minutes later, I finally saw a gathering of lights in the distance. A town. Surely there’d be someone to help. My feet dragged as exhaustion kicked in. I don’t remember closing my eyes for the last time. I only know I woke up later in a playground on a grey foggy morning (Pinwheel Playground = explored).

From that day on I kept track of my time here by leaving tally marks at the Sweet Tomato every time I came for food. That and the watch I got for my birthday last year are the only things keeping me grounded.

I was scared once I realized this all wasn’t an insomnia-induced hallucination. Still, I had a sliver of hope of finding a way out in that first month. Or at the very least, of finding anyone else. It was the only thing that kept me wandering the streets, knocking on doors, and peering through windows.

But the longer I spent walking through the stillness…

Hearing in the quiet a near-imperceptible hiss …

Seeing things out of the corner of my eye…

Seeing no end to this emptiness…

The longer I’m here, the closer I tip-toe to the edge of my own sanity. This place which months ago was the kind of place my mind would have gladly run to in darker moments…

This is why I’ve started writing. I know I could just talk to myself to deal with my reality. But this world makes you feel like anything you say will be lost. That eventually your existence will lose all context, just like these buildings made for people that have no people.

I’ve already lost the real world. I don’t want to lose anything more.

#liminal #liminal spaces #creative writing #fiction #short story #speculative fiction #original story #writing #writer #series

16 notes · View notes

rosenallies · 4 months

Note

does donut exist in the phone sex au? if she does, i would love a prompt of rosie and donut really bonding while nali is away🥹 i know she is nali's baby, but i would love to see that sweet doggy growing close to her other mommy

Denali stood by the door, her suitcase by her feet, duffle bag slung over her shoulder. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

Chuckling, Rosé kissed her cheek. “I’ll be fine, baby, you’ll only be gone a couple days. I’ll miss you, but I’ll be okay.”

Before Denali could reply, the Uber that was parked outside waiting for her honked impatiently. “Okay then,” she said, standing on her tip toes to kiss Rosé properly, “I’ll call you when I land?”

“Sounds good, tell your skaters good luck. They’re definitely gonna do great with a coach like you.”

“I will, though some of them will be disappointed you’re not joining me,” she giggled, thinking of one of her youngest skaters who told her Rosé and her pretty red hair reminded her of Ariel.

“Next competition, promise, but you better get going before your Uber cancels and you miss your flight. I’ll miss you!”

“I’ll miss you too, oh and before I forget, I wrote you instructions for Donut that I stuck to the fridge. Bye! See you in a few days!”

Rosé hovered by the door until Denali was in the car, halfway down the road before she shut the door, sighing and looking down at the dog at her feet. “Looks like it’s just you and me for a couple days.”

Donut cocked her head to the side, huffing and sauntering off to her little area in the living room Denali had set up for her.

“She’ll be back soon,” Rosé sighed, plopping down on the couch.

She’d never been much of a dog person, having mostly grown up with cats, but she didn’t mind Donut, even if the dog didn’t fully trust her quite yet. She’d been living with Denali for nearly three months and still, the dog hesitated whenever Rosé got too close.

Hours went by with Rosé glued to her spot on the couch, first watching tv, then talking to Denali, then reading; whatever she could do to keep her mind off of the fact that she was alone. It wasn’t until after 10 when she decided the call it a night, the sudden storm that raged outside the window shutting off the power and her reading light.

When she crawled into bed, she’d almost missed it but behind the sound of the rain hitting the roof and the occasional claps of thunder, she heard soft cries coming from underneath the bed. She’d nearly forgotten about Donut and immediately felt guilty thinking about how afraid she knew the little dog was of storms. The last time there was a storm like this one, Denali didn’t sleep a wink because she was too busy coddling the dog, wrapping her tight in a blanket and holding her like a human baby to get her to stop shaking.

“Oh Donie,” Rosé cooed, kneeling on the ground and calling for her to come out, “come here, I won’t hurt you. I know I’m not your mommy but I won’t hurt you.”

It took a few tries, but eventually, Donut slinked out from underneath the bed, still shaking like a leaf. Rosé went to pick her up, which she knew immediately was a bad idea as Donut nervously snapped at her hand.

“Guess I’ll stay here with you,” she sighed, sitting against the bed frame and letting Donut tentatively sniff her hand.

Eventually, they got to a place where Rosé could pet her head and scratch behind her ears. The storm still shook the house, but at least Donut seemed slightly less fearful, until a clap of thunder louder than any Rosé had ever heard before boomed from outside, making Donut jump into her lap, nuzzling her face in Rosé’s neck as she whimpered.

“Are you finally gonna let me pick you up now, hmm?” She tried, holding onto her and lifting herself off the ground, successfully getting herself and Donut into bed.

Rosé sighed as she settled into bed, exhaustion finally setting in. She scratched Donut’s head gently and yawned. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said softly as if Donut could understand her.

Hours later, early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, pulling Rosé from her sleep. She moved to roll over when a tiny wet tongue licked her nose, surprising her. She’d nearly forgotten Donut had fallen asleep curled up against her from the storm.

“Well, good morning to you too.”

Donut replied with a content sigh, laying her head back down and snuggling closer to Rosé, something she often did with Denali. It was too cute for Rosé not to snap a quick photo, sending it off to Denali.

‘Look, we’re bonding,’ the text had said.

Denali replied quickly with a ton of heart emojis, claiming that it was about time her two favorite girls bonded.

Rosé chuckled to herself, patting Donut’s head. “Maybe you are a good dog after all.”

#remember when rosé said donut was a bad dog bc she didn’t give af that rosé was dying from hot sauce #phone sex au #prompt request

3 notes · View notes

faithfulcat111 · 7 months

Text

Stonathan Sunday

Stonathan Sunday Prompt: "We're going to have to stay here tonight."

Whumptober Day 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Post-July Break Bingo Prompt: Huddling for Warmth

Halloween Horror Bingo Alt Fill Prompt: Can't Get Warm

"We're going to have to stay here tonight."

Steve turned away from the cracked window back towards where Jonathan was lying on the floor. He gave a weak smile at that but didn't respond. Steve frowned. He knew that Jonathan was quiet, almost abnormally so and Steve was just one of many people who kept threatening to put a bell on him because he tended to just suddenly be right there, scaring the shit out of you. Not the best for when you live in an apocalyptic situation.

But there was something noticeably different about the quiet he was now. Steve stepped closer, crouching down beside him to check the tightly wrapped cloth around Jonathan's leg. "It's not too tight right?" Steve kept his voice low, all too aware that the Upside-Down was not the place to attract attention.

Jonathan shook his head and motioned back towards the window. When Steve raised an eyebrow at him, he finally spoke up, barely audible as he whispered, "You need to cover the window."

"I don't think any monster is gonna see us through the curtain, Jonathan. They can't see to begin with, I'm more worried about them smelling us out than that," Steve responded.

"No, not them. The..." Jonathan was cut off by a far too audible clack of his teeth. That was when Steve noticed how he was barely trembling, tense all over. Like he was trying far too hard to keep himself from shaking.

"The cold," Steve finished, feeling like an idiot. He immediately got up, rooting around in the rotting house they were hiding in to try and find anything to cover the window and block the putrid wind from slipping through it. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a lost cause. But, he did find a small inner walk-in closet-like room. It seemed mostly untouched by the Upside-Down's effects, no vines and minimal slime. He came back out to the living room, dreading moving Jonathan into such a small enclosed space. But it gave them an additional layer of protection from monsters finding them, had two doors (which was weird, but Steve wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth), and was away from the window. It was the most ideal place and if he played his cards just right, maybe it would work out.

Steve walked back out into the living room, crouching beside his boyfriend once more. "Hey," he whispered, drawing Jonathan's attention from where it was locked on the window, arms locked tight around himself. "I found somewhere we can hide. But you need to trust me and listen to me, okay?" A flash of fear came across Jonathan's eyes before he could hide it, but Steve knew it wasn't personal. Or at least it was as unpersonal as it could get in the tangled-up mess he knew existed in his boyfriend's brain. Finally, Jonathan gave a quick nod, which was the most Steve knew he was going to get. "Close your eyes and stay close to me," Steve added and waited for Jonathan to close his eyes tight, scrunching up his entire face as he did so. He carefully slid his arms under Jonathan's legs and back, lifting him the best he could into a bridal carry. One of Jonathan's hands immediately latched onto his shirt as he tucked his face in. The shaking was much more obvious now, consistent as the cold of the Upside-Down that they had been stuck in for nearly 12 hours now was starting to seep in.

Steve carefully made his way back through the house and into the closet. "Keep your eyes closed," he whispered, carefully closing the door behind him with his back. He slid down against the wall, his arms relieved as he settled Jonathan in his lap, still tucked tight against him.

"Steve?" That one word held so many questions, but Steve just tightened his hold on Jonathan. Jonathan had always had a tendency to run hot, but there was very little warmth coming from him now. It wouldn't be long before they were both shivering. They had to find a way back across town to the base. Maybe they could get through to Will or El or Joyce and get a portal opened somewhere.

"We gotta stick close," Steve whispered, doing his best to keep his voice soothing. He figured Jonathan saw right through it, but was choosing to listen anyway. He was way too perspectivey for his own good. "We got to stick close to keep warm, so stay right here and don't move."

#stonathan #stonathan sunday #faith writes #whumptober2023 #hhbingo2023 #post july break bingo 2023

3 notes · View notes

the-haunted-office · 1 year

Text

( @drchandras-sanctuary-for-ais - Continued from here!)

“Oh, this office is one of many in a neighborhood of offices,” Thursday explains patiently. She knows the concept of a multiverse of offices that are connected to each other can be confusing even to adults, much less a child, so she endeavors to simplify it wherever possible. “Basically think of a neighborhood of houses. Each house is its own universe. The houses all exist in one area together that is its own universe. And they’re all connected to each other. That’s how these offices work! Mine is just one. There are at least dozens of others. Pretty amazing!”

The Narrator is happy to share in the child’s excitement about prehistoric creatures, until he’s suddenly upset about not getting to actually see the prehistoric creatures in person.

Caught off guard she leans back and blinks.

Oh dear. She hasn’t been around a child throwing a tantrum in a long time. How does on handle this situation?

“Okay, all right,” she says, attempting to placate him. “You weren’t being rude. You’re excited! And why shouldn’t you be? I mean, we’re talking dinosaurs here! The pinnacle of awesome things, yeah?”

And there are the puppy dog eyes. And fidgeting with the stuffie. Oh she’s weak against that. Very weak. Thursday doesn’t have any children of her own, but if she did, she knows she’d be a total doormat. Her best bet for raising children would be to have a partner who isn’t afraid of putting their foot down where hers would never be touching the ground.

“Well. Maybe we can work something out,” she says with a smile. And Thursday, being the trusting creature that she is, doesn’t have any reason to question that the portal gun might need recharging. “Just like, a quick peek won’t hurt anything, will it? And your portal gun needs to be recharged, this ought to give it some time to do that, eh? All right! Come one with me while I fetch my friend.”

The Narrator stands up and brushes off her pants from where she was kneeling down on the floor.

Leading him off to where the friend in question resides, she says, “Now, my friend is a little different than, ah, quote unquote ‘normal’ folks. You see, she’s a ghost. Those don’t frighten you, do they? There’s actually a couple of ghosts who live around here, her being one of them. She can float around and sometimes make scary faces, but I’m sure she’ll tone it down for you. Just don’t be alarmed by the glowing yellow eyes - she can’t really do anything about that. And her teeth. Yeah, sometimes those look like shark teeth, but she can’t and won’t hurt you, I promise you that. She’s just gonna take us to see the dinosaurs, sort of like a little field trip.”

When they reach the ghost’s room, Thursday knocks on the door a couple of times, flashing a reassuring grin down at Tau while they wait for her to answer.

Moments later, the door creaks open and floating there, just as described, is a ghost. Who looks nearly exactly like Thursday herself. Everything from her hair to her eyeglasses to her clothing is an exact copy. The only differences are the ones Thursday herself mentioned, with the addition of the way her brunette hair fades with a ghostly bluish transparent effect. And her skin, the way it’s deathly pale, to the point of simply looking like alabaster.

The ghost grins, momentarily flashing the aforementioned shark teeth before they transform and dull themselves right before Thursday and Tau’s eyes. She gazes down at the small child and then back to Thursday, expecting an explanation.

“Hi,” says Thursday, casually as ever. “Tau, this is Ghostday. Ghostday, this is Tau. He accidentally found his way into our office while looking for woolly mammoths. We were hoping you’d be able to take us to see some. You know, just a quick peek, make a youngster’s day.”

“Ohohohoho,” the ghost laughs, her yellow eyes glowing even brighter. “Why not? Just make sure you don’t get lost, or you might get stuck with them forever, ehehehehe.”

#drchandras-sanctuary-for-ais #let me say right now that i have a tendency to get carried away in replies #so they end up really long sometimes #but please don't ever feel compelled to match my post length! nn;

16 notes · View notes

thepoetsvortex · 2 years

Note

I hate James Potter with a whole passion (as I should!) And honestly, I want to here your thoughts on how Sirius continued to bully Severus in Ootp and no one really gave a shit..

Because everyone in the series were blinded by the Light and Dark side of magic and never saw who was ‘good’ / ‘bad’. When in reality no one in the whole series were good nor bad. I’m straying away from my hatred to James Potter since I pulled out the Sirius Black card but James is dead. And we’ve covered his bullshit excuses on why he decided to become ‘rivals’ with Severus. (I know they weren’t rivals)

This ask doesn’t really make sense, as it is 10pm and my brain is slowly turning off.

Have an amazing day/night <3

As promised:

I think the way Sirius treats Snape in OOTP is very much a reflection of his current living situation. Here he is, a grown man thrust back into the childhood home he hates, forced to lay low, forced to stay out of the action and be cooped up day after day in that awful house. As many others have said, this really mirrors Severus's situation in HBP where he can't fight either for fear of exposure and is also stuck in his childhood home where he was abused.

So.

Why does no one give a shit? Because Dumbledore needs Sirius happy. He knows he's pushing it having him locked up there, knows his reckless impulses, and so he ignores Sirius's snide comments. I think I also must point out Severus makes his own share of snide comments too, but it doesn't really compare. Sirius starts the whole thing and Snape really is looking out for Harry's best interest (and maybe Sirius would know that if he looked beyond his own insipid, stupid prejudicial views and saw Severus for who he was).

Also- don't get me started on how in GOF, Dumbledore treats Sirius and Severus as if they are both at fault. Which is not fair because Snape is really just reacting to the presence of the man who nearly murdered him and made his life hell for years and traumatized him because he existed. And he's supposed to be happy to see him?? Nah fam. They aren't equally in the wrong because, as you said, they aren't rivals. It's very annoying.

Ugh. I really hate Sirius Black.

Also yes it did make sense!!

Thanks for the ask, I hope it got the point across! Please, please send more

#anti sirius black #anti marauders #severus snape #prosnape #eating-mak-n-cheese

24 notes · View notes

agirldying · 1 year

Note

Hi, Aura here.

My trauma anniversary is coming up really soon (in 19 days—which also happens to coincide with him being a year and 19 days older than me), it’ll be five years on March 7th. I can’t stop thinking about my abuser. I’m obsessed with him. I don’t know how to reconcile the two parts of me—the twelve year old boy who still loves him and the seventeen year old who is terrified of him and hates him. It’s like the little kid inside me slips through the cracks and fills me up with the same feelings I had. As much as I hate to admit it, I miss him. I want to go back to him. I want to see him. I want to turn back time to when he wanted me. To when he was there, even if he really wasn’t. I don’t know what to do. Or why I feel this way. I literally can’t stop fucking thinking about him. I just hit a new high (or low, depending on your perspective) of obsession. I don’t even remember how I got there but I found myself looking at his school’s student directory from a couple years ago (he goes to one of the other schools in my district) and staring at his name, phone number and address. I went and looked it up on my phone because I wanted to see how far away it was from my house, then I’m pretty sure I saw that his parents had sold his dad’s apartment in 2021. I know he lives in the same suburb as me, if his mom’s house has stayed the same (his parents are divorced), then it’s about a mile away from my house. So I live in constant fear and on high alert wherever I go. I feel like a stalker or something, but I swear I’m not. I wouldn’t go scout it out or anything. Now, I want to go to his school just so I could have the possibility of seeing him. I have this problem with intentionally triggering myself, I do it a lot. I’ve been listening to music I used to listen to when I was friends with him. I don’t feel like he hurt me anymore, or at least, right now I don’t. I feel like the part of me that still cares about him has taken over. I have BPD and he used to be my FP, as horrible that is to admit. I feel like I’m somehow slipping back into that mindset of desperation and obsession like when I was younger. I don’t know what to do. It always gets bad near the anniversary, I can’t stop thinking about it. And the fact that it’ll have been five full years is baffling to me. In my head, not a day has passed. He is still the same as he was when I knew him. I know for a fact he looks different now but in my mind, I still see him as the thirteen year old he was, even in dreams (even though he’s literally an adult now, he’s 18). I feel like I’m stuck in the past and it’s grip just gets tighter when I try to break free. I don’t even know if I want to be free. Sometimes all I want is to forget. Sometimes all I want is to remember. Trauma is so fucking confusing and sometimes I feel like it’s tearing me apart. I can’t reconcile the two opposite sides of me (as is true with nearly everything because I have BPD) and I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop myself from obsessing over my trauma or my abuser. I’m still attached to him, as much as I dislike it. A part of me loves him, wants to come crawling back to him, beg him to speak to me and hurt me like he did then. I feel like a mix of me then and me now, but a confusing, paradoxical mix. I feel like I’m grasping for things that aren’t there, parts of me that don’t exist and being consumed by the past as it seeps into the present until it bleeds together like a watercolor painting. Why do I feel like this? Nothing makes sense. I’m sorry if this also doesn’t make sense, I tried my best to describe it as coherently as possible.

I just forgot to mention that I’m struggling with also wanting to reach out to my abuser. I know that this time of year is always especially difficult for me and always makes my PTSD worse and near constant rumination regarding either my trauma or my abuser. It’s extremely difficult but I hope it might possibly reassure you to know I am hopefully seeing both my therapists in the two days following the anniversary and also the anniversary will be on a school day so I might have that to distract me but I honestly don’t know how much it’ll help, but at least I have therapy.

Hey Aura,

It's okay to have mixed feelings about your abuser. As for almost wishing for it to be how it was, there are a few reasons why someone might feel this way. One of these reasons may be that there is a sense of comfort in the predictability of that toxic environment, whereas safety is disorienting.

Another reason might be for self-triggering purposes, wanting to be hurt, perhaps to feel alive. I always say that trauma often sets a precedent that every other experience falls under, which can make your life feel incredibly dull when you're not indulging in things that put you in survival mode or whatnot.

I think something you may resonate with as well is that you might miss the affection that your abuser provided, as superficial as it may have been. It's possible that this is related to some potential trauma bonding.

What you said about the twelve year old boy who still loves him reminded me of Internal Family Systems and its concepts of parts and their ages. You may find that video interesting.

You're not alone in doing research into your abuser. I paid to see public records, addresses, relatives, phone numbers, emails, places of work, criminal records, even info regarding properties him and his family owned. It's not like I have plans with any of this information and I don't even completely understand why it matters so much to me, outside of finding out the extent of my abuser's lies. But even then, I don't know why I feel like I must know what he lied about (closure?). Either way, this doesn't make you and I stalkers by any means. Looking up publicly available information or subscribing to Truthfinder doesn't constitute as stalking, at least in a legal sense. It's one thing to keep these things to yourself, and it's another to actually go out and harass them.

I also resonate with your trauma feeling more recent than it actually is. For me it's been 8 years, and yet the events are fresher than the ones afterwards. This is simply the nature of trauma and PTSD. I don't know if it actually works like this (I think it does) but the more you think about something, you strengthen that neural pathway. So I for example have thought about my trauma much more than the events before and after it, so the neural networks are much stronger in that interval, whereas both before and after are much weaker.

I also strongly relate to your abuser remaining static in your head, as opposed to aging or updating. There are multiple versions of my abuser in my head - the one I knew him as (a skinny 16 year old), the one before his accident (who I believe was still definitely abusive), and the one after his accident (most up-to-date, unsure whether or not he's even capable of abuse anymore). The youngest version of him is often the one that appears in my dreams, though recently it seems to be updating. I believe there is a name for this, and it's called parataxic distortion.

There's a latin word called cacospectamania which is basically the inability to look away from something awful and I think you may also resonate with that in terms of trying to heal from trauma.

Another term I use which I think loosely ties into this obsession with your abuser is mythologization wherein we give our abusers an almost mythological amount of power, a supervillain persona, etc.

Ultimately it may just take time to work through these feelings and come to a new consensus within yourself, you know? Healing takes time. I think it's important to write out what you're experiencing as it can help you make sense of it and process it. I don't know if you keep a journal, but you may find that useful in your recovery journey. Additionally, I don't know if you're in therapy, but I would recommend that as well, especially as a trauma survivor.

I'm glad to hear you're in therapy. I think they can definitely help you with all of these things, especially the urge to contact your abuser. It's important to keep that door closed, and explore those urges to ensure you don't end up in a dangerous situation.

I hope I could help. Here if you need anything.

#text #asks #trauma #vent #trauma vent #aura anon

3 notes · View notes

jjamjamm · 2 years

Text

Into the Woods

Masterlist

Wordcount: 1306

Summary: "Reader from our world figures out how to survive for months in the wild. Encounters Ori and helps him, in turn asks Ori if you would come home with him. Maybe showing some of Dori’s and Nori’s influence in Ori’s actions towards you." requested

Camping had never been your forte. The outdoors, the bugs, the weather, the lack of restrooms… it was not your favorite place to be. As a result of your lack of experience, when you wound up stranded in unfamiliar woods, you had to learn a few things.

At first, you had tried your phone, only to find that you had no service. That ruled out calling for help or even using the GPS to find your way to a road. Who knew how long you’d be stuck out in the wilderness.

After channeling your inner Bear Grylls, you had found yourself a decent enough spot to set up a camp and used whatever was around to build yourself a shelter. Over the next few days, you learned how to block out the rain, where to find some food and that there was likely something big and angry roaming the woods across the river.

It wasn’t until the third night that you heard it though, deep rumblings like roars chilled you to the bone. While you began to fret that it was a bear or a wolf, across the river, a skinchanger was chasing off orc that meant you more harm than you thought he did.

Of course, skinchangers didn’t exist where you had come from. The only thing comparable came from fiction, so you never would’ve guessed that was the sound from over the water. As your stay in the woods grew longer and you adapted to surviving in nature even further, you began to forget about the creature from over the stream.

A month and a half later, your new and improved camp had an intruder. You were so grateful to see another person, though he looked terrified.

“I-I’m so sorry.” He was shaking like a leaf, looking around for any sign of his group, “Have you seen any other dwarves come through the area?”

“Dwarves?” You repeated. What was this kid on about? Dwarves? He didn’t look like a threat and you didn’t want to make him feel any worse. “I’m afraid not, here, let’s start a fire and you can tell me about them.”

He had no idea what he was doing and you took over as he told you how he had wound up in your camp.

“My brother’s and I were heading back to our house and there was a bear.” He explained, “We got split up, I hope they’re alright.”

He worried his lip between his teeth and you tried to take his mind off of it, “I’m sure they’re fine. You must be hungry though; would you mind going to check if I’ve got enough food stored away for the two of us?”

He agreed, following your instructions as you started the fire and sat back.

“I found it!” He declared, bringing the food you had scavenged for out, “Do you live out here?”

“I have for a while.” You admitted, “I got lost and I didn’t know enough about the woods to find my way home, so I had to learn how to stay here.”

“How long have you been out here?” Ori asked.

“Forty two days.” His eyes went wide, “Though, your brothers must be close by. I’m sure we’ll be out of here in no time.”

‘No time’ turned out to be five days. You showed Ori a few of the tricks you had learned about living in nature and on one of your rounds of checking the traps, he stopped.

“Y/N?” He asked, “I think, we were heading this way when the bear came out of nowhere.”

“Do you think you can find the way out?” You asked, eager for any glimpse of civilization, a nice shower, a warm meal and a bed.

He brought you through the woods, further and further from camp until you nearly asked him to turn back and he recognized exactly where he was.

“Nori marked the tree.” Ori said, running his fingers over the notch in the bark, “This is the right way.”

The two of you carefully made your way through the trees, wary of what you may come across. Suddenly, Ori burst through the trees ahead of you and you were too slow to try and pull him back.

“Nori!” He yelled, waving his arms wide over his head to catch the attention of the stranger up ahead, “Nori!”

The other man looked up, not believing what he heard. You stayed put in the foliage as Ori was pulled into an embrace, hearing the laughter and calls for Dori to come outside.

Soon, the eldest brother came out and once he saw what was going on, threw his arms around both of his brothers.

“Where have you been?” Dori asked, pulling away to look him over, “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, Y/N helped me. She was lost too.” Ori said, gesturing to where you had come from. Dori looked in your direction, hoping to at least be able to thank you for all you’d done. However, he couldn’t so much as spot you, “Y/N, you can come out, these are my brothers.”

So, you did, trying to brush your clothes off to look cleaner than they were. Dori grew sympathetic in an instant, waving for you to come over.

“Oh, just look at you.” He lamented, “How long were you out there?”

“Weeks.” You replied, wanting to leave it at that. Dori was having none of it and shook his head.

“This just won’t do. You’ll come inside, have a wash, and get a proper meal in your belly.” He insisted.

“You can stay as long as you need to.” Nori agreed, an arm still around Ori, as though he were worried of losing him again, “We owe you for getting this little bugger home.”

“Hey!” Ori grumbled, shoving his pestering brother off.

“You better wash up too, you smell like a forest for sure.” Nori teased.

Dori shook his head at the two of them and lead you to the door, “You two, start dinner, Ori can wash up after our guest- Y/N, was it?”

You nodded, thanking him again as he brought you to their washroom and set everything up for you. Once you had your privacy, you stripped down and settled into the bath, savoring the warmed water against your skin as you started to scrub at the dirt on your arms. You scrubbed and scrubbed at your skin, coming back to yourself as you lost the layers of muck that had covered you and began to weep in relief of being rescued by Ori like this. Even if you had helped him learn how to stay safe in the woods, he had brought you to safety. You owed him everything but he had asked for nothing more than your help.

In the kitchen, the Ri brothers were silent as they listened to the soft sobs coming from the washroom.

Dori was working on chopping vegetables, Nori on getting the fire started under the soup pot and Ori set the table, though they were all distracted by everything that had happened.

“Ori, once the table is set, could you go fetch her some clean clothes?” Dori asked.

Ori nodded, heading to the bedroom closet to find something that would be the best fit for you.

“This isn’t going to be like when he brought a stray cat home, is it?” Nori whispered once Ori had left the room.

“She will stay as long as she needs to.” Dori warned, pointing a knife at his brother to make a point, “And I won’t hear another word about it.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” Nori insisted, “But how can we manage feeding another person?”

Dori set the knife down on the countertop and dumped the chopped vegetables into the pot, “We’ll find a way.”

#the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #Ori

18 notes · View notes

annieintheaair · 19 days

Text

Turned on the radio and it was our song. Shoulda turned it off, but I just sang along.

I’m trying to be more positive lately and more accepting of God’s plan.

When the apartment didn’t work out, the locator, Amir, assured me that we would find something better. He was right— I toured an apartment on Wednesday that checked nearly all of my boxes. It’s so much more amazing than the original place I had applied and it’s newer and more affordable. I can see myself being very happy there. I just don't know, with 100% certainty, that it's what I want right now.

As much as I hate my drive to work every night, I’ve found joy in my car karaoke drives, memorizing lyrics and singing my heart out to my favorite songs. It lifts my mood before arriving at work.

I’ve realized lately that there’s so much joy to be found in the little things in life and how important it is to take those disappointments and turn them into something to be thankful for. Sometimes it's a struggle but I'm really trying.

Since moving in May, I have driven back to my old area 69 times. Since it hasn’t even been a full year, that’s more than once a week. It has been so draining that it seems to be taking a toll on my dogs, too. During our drive there and back yesterday, both of them had a lot of anxiety. The constant panting and shaking just made me feel so bad. Even though they didn’t want to do the ride, they were so happy to spend the afternoon with their dog sitter, Irina, since they hadn’t seen her in months. I could see their excitement when we pulled into her neighborhood.

I feel so torn. Part of me just wants to stay here in my house and accept that this is my life right now because I love the house and I’m too lazy to move. The other part of me goes back every week and visits with friends and feels a sense of belonging. For a few hours, it’s almost like I forget that I don’t live there anymore.

Even in yoga this week, George asked about me moving back. Of course that turned into a conversation about how Todd and I broke up but my plan was always that I’d move back, regardless of Todd. George spoke for the group saying that they wanted me back there attending yoga classes with them. I don’t know what it is but stepping into that yoga studio sends me back in time. For the hour of the class, it’s like it’s 2023 and I still live there.

I can’t lie— every night I go to bed and I wish I’d wake up in 2023. I wouldn’t move an hour away, I’d keep the life I loved, even if it meant moving into an apartment. Maybe I wouldn’t even meet Todd. I’d forget he ever existed and I’d go forward with my life, staying the happy person I was back then. This whole year has taken such a toll on me.

After deleting my profiles on the dating apps, there were still a few guys, including Brady, to whom I had given my number. Brady has continued to text me every day and night saying good morning and goodnight and checking in throughout the day. Finally, I decided to tell him the truth— that I can’t date right now. Briefly, without too much detail, I explained it all to him and wished him the best of luck in finding what he was looking for. He responded by saying that he understood and “You are an amazing woman, so just make sure you don’t forget that!” I would never want someone to get stuck in the crossfire and end up in pain like I have just because someone neglected to tell me the truth and used me for their own personal benefit.

This week has been hard and exhausting. I've already driven back to my old area twice this week and will do it for a third time tomorrow. On Wednesday I was there for yoga and Students but also went to see that apartment and looked at a room in a lady's house. She seemed nice and the house was great but I don't love the idea of moving into someone else's space and she's currently dealing with a legal battle with her ex-boyfriend since he assaulted her. It didn't really strike me as the best choice for a place to live.

Yesterday, Thursday, I dropped the dogs off with their sitter and then Julie and I volunteered for the wine event. We helped with the setup so we can enjoy the event tomorrow without working. They had us assembling wine glasses -- adding the stems onto the plastic cups -- and then we had to add lanyards to the VIP ones. My hands hurt so bad from the lanyards and this morning, I woke up and my entire body hurt. I feel like I spent the entire day at the gym. Since I can't drive back there to my chiropractor today, I went to go to yoga and it only slightly helped. It would have been better if I didn't feel sick the entire time.

After volunteering, Julie and I grabbed dinner at a new Thai restaurant. I had seen it on Instagram and it was really good. After over 9 years in Texas, I think I finally found a good Thai restaurant.

Luckily the traffic died down in time for me to pick up the dogs and drive home. The drive home always feels the longest. I was so tired since I didn't even get to take a nap after work yesterday but got home, showered, put on my pajamas, and watched TV for a bit. I ended up watching Bobby Chandler on YouTube, doing a sermon called "Looking for Love in the Wrong Places". It was everything I needed to hear at that moment.

I ended up crawling into bed around 11pm, which was later than planned. Even though Kirby wanted to get up early this morning, I made him go back to sleep until 9:30am. I got some work done this morning and then made my way to yoga, just as it started raining.

I'm hoping the weather this weekend turns around for the wine festival tomorrow but at least I booked myself a hotel to not have to drive all the way back home tomorrow night.

xoxo

Annie

0 notes