#Emotional abuse tw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

byrdtrolls · 3 months

Text

Nightmare Blunt Rotation

What’s one thing you never expected to happen in February 2024? Is it an Ervmir Demork Drabble?

(hehe, a short little side thing I wrote)

It’s late into the day. You are playing an indie dating sim on your laptop in the front hall. It is the only place in your penthive apartment where there are reliably no other people or servants. Though the dark glow of security cameras reminds you are always being watched all the same. You like to stay up late in the day, when it’s quiet and most of the staff and your father’s ‘friends’ have long since gone home. You are completely bombing it on all these conversation options. You like to do no-mercy runs on kiss in the dark demon quadrant simulator and get all the bad endings.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings.

“Uh, sir?” You hear from behind the wood.

“Hello?” You reply.

“Ervmir” The voice replies, and you recognize it as the buildings security guard. “Can you get your father?”

“Depends why” You answer.

“This woman is demanding to see him, I tried to get her to leave, but I think she’s lost her marbles-“

“OPEN UP HASCHA” insists a demanding, female voice who begins banging on the doorway.

You curl up into a little ball on the couch.

“You’re a really bad security guard!” You yell. “Who the fuck is that!”

“She’s like eight feet tall! What was I supposed to-“ The guard argues.

“Figure it out!” You squeak.

“I demand to speak to Hascha” Orders the woman.

“I’m going to tase you” the guard says to her. “If you don’t leave.”

“Less warning-more tasing!” You order.

There is a sound of a large thud, and a scream.

You back further into your corner, hoping the security guard has been triumphant in whatever struggle just occurred, but the universe would never be so kind.

“Open the door” says the woman. “Hascha will recognize me”

“Yeah well” you stutter. “If you hurt the security guard! He’ll be angry!”

“Go to bed Erv,” Says a male voice. “Two in the damn morning.”

You jump as your father enters the room from behind. Against all logic, he walks over and opens the door.

A giant, horrific beast of a woman dressed like Mary Poppins straightens her back, covered in blood.

Hascha glances at the bottle of wine in his hands, and then back at her.

“Haha” he says. “I wondered if Eponin and all those bitches were crazy.” He says. “Are you real?” He says, waving a hand in front of her.

“Im real” she says. “I'm standing right in front of you” she says, sidestepping your father into the hive, much to your dismay.

“Verula, did you fall from heaven because I thought you dropped dead 50 sweeps ago” Hascha jokes.

“Ha ha. You’re drunk” she says.

“I must be. Did you kill my security guard?” They stutter.

“My kismesis was murdered right in front of me” Verula replies.

“Right” your father says, wincing, scratching the back of his neck. “Bummer. That is so rough Buddy.”

“Do you still have that cask I gave you 60 sweeps ago from that off world winery?”

“Now you’re speaking my language. But also no, I already drank it.” Your father says, leaning on the wall.

“Hascha!” You squeak. “Who the fuck is this! She killed our security guard!”

“I’ll explain to you when you’re older. Go to bed, Erv.”

“Why. It’s not like I’ve got shit to do tomorrow” you retort. “In case you forgot, you fired me”

“Who is that?” Verula says, staring at you.

“Oh this grub I adopted” Hascha replies.

“Why?” Verula.

“I dunno. For fun. To make my life worse”

“Whatever” she dismisses. “Can I stay at your place for a couple nights.”

“Of course,” he says, leading the woman upstairs. “Everyone’s trying to kill you by the way. They’ve all lost it.”

“Wonderful” the jadeblood says, wiping blood off her face.

And then you are in the front hall, alone. You sigh. It’s just you and the dead security guard. You try to ignore him for a moment, but you have not yet sunk so low morally that you can continue to play a dating sim over a fresh corpse. You take a deep breath, closing your laptop, and walking over to him. Shakily, you reach over and pull his id out of his vest, and go to call this guy's family.

You are in the front hall again the next time you see her. You had to wait even longer for the hive to empty. Hascha and their mysterious undead fling had been having some kind of kismesis grief bender for the past week, and avoiding them at very nearly any time of night or day has become more difficult and frustrating. You are trying to finish a demon’s route in the game when you are once again interrupted.

The two large trolls are walking into the kitchen, giggling with each other.

“Maid!” Hascha calls. “We can cook something- Where is the- Maid!” He says, stumbling around.

You sigh. This was not the first time he’s lost track of time and forgotten the servants go home at day. Hopefully Verula could be a voice of reason to him. You don’t want to have to tell him again. For some reason he always gets upset with you, like you were insane for reminding him the hive staff slept.

“Maid!” Verula calls. “Maid!” Oh, wonderful. You think. They’re both on something. They’re both intoxicated.

The calling out for the maid and wandering around the hive and resolving into giggling continues for some time, before you snap.

“It’s two am! The staff went home!” You shout.

“Motherfucker.” Hascha complains. “Go to bed, Erv!” He says, hypocritically. “Whatever. We’ll order online.”

“You can order food online? Like through a computer?” Verula says, like a woman who’s been dead for a long time.

“New age magic darling- the miracle of computer.” He says, taking a moment to try and doordash on his phone. The jadeblood plucks a joint from his hand.

“Do the robots deliver it?” she jokes.

“Nah, just app people” he dismisses.

The woman coughs.

“What?”

“Like the people who work for the app” he says. “They get a message and deliver the food” he attempts to explain. The jadeblood takes another hit.

“An army of people in the app?” She says, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah” he says. “Wait- give that back” he says, trying to grab the joint.

“What?” She says.

“I forget if I laced that one.” He says, taking back the joint.”

She stares at her now empty hand.

“You know Hascha” she says. “I didn’t think you’d still be like this.”

“What?” He says.

“You know. When you got kicked out of the fleet and put on planet arrest” The jadeblood says, giggling. “And you were like, I’m gonna spend every day partying like there is no tomorrow and doing hard drugs and shit. I thought you were just like. Going through something. And you’d come to your senses in like, a few sweeps at most. And get back on your feet. And weasel your way back into the fleet or something. And you’re still doing this shit? And you have a kid?” She says

“Hey” he says. “I own a billion dollar news company.”

“You’re having a laced joint on a Tuesday night after we already drank the rest of that wine.”

“One you just stole from me” They retort. “Glass hives, darling.”

“If I were a better person,” She says. “I’d be worried about you.”

“If I were a better person” He replies. “I’d want you to worry about me.”

“You’ve really been doing this?” Dentry says. “For 50 sweeps? Did 857 truly break your pan so badly?” She says, miming a knocking motion on their head. It’s unfitting the seriousness of the conversation, but he does not seem to mind.

“Maybe not all the time,” He says. “Sober up for a couple weeks, or a month, your tolerance builds back up, you can put your life back together just enough that everything looks fine on the surface and money keeps flowing, and then go have fun again.”

“Sounds like you have it down to a science” She says. “What a miserable way to live.”

“Oh it's a wonderful way to live” He argues. “Probably gonna die someday” They admit. “But it’s a wonderful view from halfway down.”

You turn up the music on your headphones, and try your best to return your focus to the game. But it’s too late- it's ruined. You are clicking through the options but your brain is barely processing them.

Eventually there is a loud thud from the other room.

“Fuck” you hear the jadeblood say. “That is- shit” the woman says, clearly having a sub optimal time.

“What?” Hascha says.

“I think it just hit me” she stumbles. “I think that was laced. That is- too much uppy. Not enough downy.”

“Don’t freak out,” he retorts.

“I’m not freaking out. I’ll be fine. Do we have more wine? Or normal weed? I’m just need something more downy”

“Maybe-“ Hascha says, and then proceeds to look in all of the various places in the hive where they kept alcohol. This takes a long time. There are many places.

“Fuck” he says. “I think that’s everything. Where’s- MAID!”

“The maid went home!” You snap, again.

“Erv” he says. “Perfect” he says, stumbling into the room.

“I need you to go to the winery on 5th and downing. The one we like. I need you to grab like 15 Domaine Leroy for the lounge and 10 Corton-Charlemagne for the cellar. Make sure it’s the one with 18% alcohol from that place in Tuscany. Take the spaceship.” He says, dropping the keys in your hand. Fascinating, how he’s able to remember everything about the winery so specifically except a very key detail.

“The winery” you say. “IS CLOSED! IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY.”

“Christ, well you don’t have to yell you little shit.” He retorts.

“I don’t think you need more wine” You say.

“Verula’s freaking out” They say, waving their hand dismissively.

“Exactly why you should not give her more alcohol, genius” You say softly.

“What was that?” He snaps.

“Nothing” You mutter, losing your nerve.

“Okay” Hascha says, turning and stumbling away. “Here’s what you do-“ he begins, and then walks out of earshot. Several minutes pass. You begin to silently hope he has gone and passed out someplace, muttering to himself, but right when you are going to go back to bed, he returns, holding a crowbar, which he then hands to you.

“Okay Ervmir- here’s what you do. You’re going to break into the winery.”

“What?” You say, hoping he is joking.

“Step one: you break the winery window. Step two, you leave 5 hundred thousand Caegar bills on the desk in reimbursement. You take all of the liquor you can fit into the spaceship- actually I don’t trust you with the spaceship. You WALK to the winery but still carry as much alcohol as you can fit in the spaceship. And everyone wins”

“I lose,” you say. “I get arrested.”

“No you don’t- you do it all very quietly.” Hascha reassures.

“I can’t WALK to the winery!! It’s day! I’ll get burned!”

“Erv, Verula is really freaking out. And her freaking out is freaking me out. And we really do need new alcohol.” Hascha says, picking you up, and placing you in the hallway outside their penthouse apartment.

“What! No! I’m not stealing you booze! What if a paparazzi sees me!!” You plead to deaf ears as he takes your keys, holding them out of your reach.

“Listen” he says. “I’m going to lock you out. And you aren’t allowed back in. Unless you go to the winery. Okay? Thank you. Goodbye Erv.” He says, and he shuts the door in your face. Motherfucker. You are going to kill him for real someday. You bang on the apartment door, part in hopes he’ll change his mind and part in an expression of anger and frustration.

Before eventually, your breathing evens enough that you pull yourself to your feet, and storm off in search of an umbrella.

Two whole hours later, you bang on the door again, with a cart full of wine from the winery.

Hascha opens it.

“Ervmir” he says. “What took you so long”

“Ha Ha” you reply, voice layered with contempt. “It takes a while to break into a winery”

“It seems like an in and out kind of deal” he critiques.

“You’re lucky I came back at all” you say.

Verula, the woman herself, peeks out of the hallway.

“Thank you Ervmir.”

“I hate you both and I hope you die. I poisoned every one of these” you say, shoving the cart into the room.

“He’s joking” Hascha reassures the jadeblood, who true to his word, looks a little freaked out.

“One of these days I won’t be!” You snap. “I’m gonna go call Esveri.” You say, your voice cracking.

“You’re gonna call your boyfriend at, what is it? 4am?”

“WHO ELSE WOULD I CALL?” You snap. “Hire me a twenty four seven therapist! You might as well pay someone to parent me if you’re going to try this hard!” You yell, storming off to your room.

You shut the door, but linger by it.

“He’s a good kid,” You hear Verula mutter softly to your father, popping the cork off a bottle.

��He hates me.” Hascha replies

“Yeah, well, no shit” the jadeblood answers.

#alcoholism tw #drug use tw #addiction tw #emotional abuse tw #ervmir writing #my writing #fantroll #fantroll rp #homestuck #homestuck oc #homestuck rp #hiveswap #friendsim #pesterquest

12 notes · View notes

muertarte · 16 days

Text

TIMING: A little bit after December

PARTIES: @ohwynne @muertarte

SUMMARY: Still learning how to handle their emotions, Metzli has an outburst with a client. Wynne overhears and checks in.

WARNINGS: References to emotional abuse and domestic abuse

Metzli struggled to keep their breath from speeding up, the sensation of crushed velvet sending unpleasant shivers down their entire body. They rubbed their fingers against themselves, the friction warm and rough enough to keep the vampire from having an outburst. Everyone had been skeptical about their return to work, only a week after they had been set free and allowed to experience the full spectrum of their emotions. The collective continued to overwhelm Metzli at a considerable rate, and despite Leila’s urging to continue to rest, they felt as if they had something to prove.

What the curator hadn’t expected though, was for an artist to come in and demand for frame changes. It was bad enough that he had an attitude and brought in examples of what he wanted to use, but then he forced Metzli’s hand onto the texture that sent alarm bell’s ringing in the vampire’s ear. They supposed he’d wanted them to enjoy it with him, see exactly why he absolutely needed the changes done immediately. The smell of his cologne just added insult to injury, and Metzli ripped their hand away with a bit too much force. The piece of velvet went flying, smacking the artist square in the face.

“I…I-I…” An embarrassing moment was taking place, a few swear words even tossed around at them, though Metzli thought it reasonable for him to react such a way. That’s why instead of giving the same energy back, they had the forethought to force their stiff body to move out of the room and into their office. That’s where things were allowed to implode and fall apart, and they slammed the door before anyone could follow inside and see them begin to pace.

Something was different about Metzli. Wynne wasn’t sure what to make of it — sometimes they weren’t sure what to think about the older vampire. They were elusive at times, mysterious at best and though they had shown them nothing but kindness and patience, they also still remembered how Metzli had ripped off heads and locked themself away afterwards. If there was any proof that there were good people who could do bad things out there, they were it.

They didn’t fully understand what was happening until the commotion between Metzli and the customer was reaching a louder volume. Wynne winced at the ugly words, peered quietly from their own workstation to see what was happening. The customer was huffing loudly, face a little red where Metzli had hit them and they bit their lip. He muttered something about going for a ‘fucking cigarette’ and stalked away, leaving them with two people having stormed off. They considered just staying where they were, but in stead quietly moved to Metzli’s office.

Their knock was tentative and soft, as far as a knock could be those things. “Metzli?” They remained, not wanting to open the door. They knew how bad it could be if someone opened a door when you wanted to be by yourself. “It’s me. Wynne. Are you alright?”

The knock at the door pulled the vampire out of their panic for just a moment, the pacing abruptly coming to a stop by the door. Metzli swallowed, shutting their eyes tightly to force the stress back into themself. It was no use. “Wynne.” They strained to say, tugging at their hair in hopes of that working instead. Still, the panic remained, and the silence that lay between Wynne and Metzli began to gain weight with every beat. They decided to break the silence, voice unable to keep steady and their morals keeping them from lying.

“No.” They laid their head against the door, the coolness of it helping just slightly. “Much…stress. Much, much stress.” The worst part of it all was that now it felt like Wynne was being burdened with a struggle that Metzli felt was a lone one. They were supposed to learn to keep their composure and manage their emotions, like any other person in the world, and yet, they had an overreaction that was now costing a friend. That alone was unfair, but the two of them were also in the workplace, which felt even worse, somehow. Still, with a sigh, Metzli opened the door just slightly, if only to offer Wynne some sort of reassurance.

“I give apology, Wynne. I, um…I am sorry.”

Two instincts were at war within them. One told them to not stick their nose in the business of their seniors and not prod Metzli in a time like this. It was disrespectful and they were overstepping. Another, stronger instinct was one born out of care. Wynne seemed incapable of just letting someone be upset, especially if they felt a connection to that person. It was that instinct that won out now, which is why they were carefully eyeing the vampire.

“Oh.” They frowned at the answers that Metzli gave, and it was still on their face as they opened the door. “Is it okay if I come in? You don’t have to apologize to me.” Maybe to the customer, but that would come later. Wynne figured that they could kind of understand the other’s predicament. They’d burst out into tears at their previous job aplenty — their emotions hardly ever exploded into anger, after all. But it was similar, wasn’t it? A spilling over of emotion. Sometimes it was all too much. It almost always seemed to be too much.

“Maybe you can talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps? Puts things into perspective.” They gave a reassuring smile. “Or so I’ve heard.”

A small, stressed sigh trembled out of Metzli when they saw the frown displayed on Wynne’s lips. Every marker pointed toward displeasure for what the vampire had done, but they were telling Metzli otherwise. They swallowed, quietly tugging at their hair while they attempted to decipher everything from all the reading they’d been doing. People often said one thing, meaning something else. Or sometimes they hide their feelings and lie to themselves so as to not hurt others, subsequently lying to others. Which was bad. Very bad. Metzli hated lying, and Wynne knew this. It wouldn’t make sense for them to do so, even to spare their feelings. This, and they looked to be genuine in their suggestion.

Metzli paused, opening the door further to let their friend into the office. They could trust Wynne, knowing they would do what they thought was right, and having seen firsthand that they were similar in more ways than one. “Um…” Words escaped Metzli once again, and they tightly shut their eyes to shroud their vision in darkness. The thing most familiar and quiet, a place they could escape to for a sense of calm, if only for a moment. “Perspective,” They parroted once their mind seemed to finally settle. “You are maybe right. Always…” With a deep inhale, Metzli took a few steps back and shuffled awkwardly to their chair.

“So wise.” They offered a crooked smile, fidgeting in their seat and wringing their fingers together. “And you are so young. I have heard this means there was forced growth in childhood.” That in itself was a quiet tragedy to realize, a cold and shaky sensation filling Metzli’s chest as sorrow grew with understanding. They knew what that was like, better than most, but there was a stark difference between them and Wynne. While they had become a beast that bristled with excitement at times with blood on their hands, Wynne was a lamb set to slaughter when they were casted out into the world where their kind heart would be exposed. Metzli’s growth ended with a monster, and Wynne’s with a person. What right did they have to relinquish their worries onto them? With another breath, Metzli avoided Wynne’s gaze and stiffly adjusted their seat.

“Did you…have to grow with force?”

They were relieved when Metzli let them into their office, glad that this bit of trust was granted them. Wynne thought for a moment about the place where Metzli had locked themself away. While they understood a wish to be alone, that sometimes it was just easier to choose purposeful solitude — they also knew there was nothing to gain in it. And so they were glad Metzli was letting them in, even if it was just in their office. They moved in, closed the door behind them softly and eyed the other’s unease. Their lips pushed together in an awkward yet sad smile.

As the other called them wise they frowned, not wanting to disagree and start some kind of debate and yet feeling like they should at some point address the fact that Metzli was wrong to think that. For now, Wynne sat down in one of the free chairs, figuring it best if they were at the same eye-height. “I try.” They bit on the inside of their cheek as the vampire said something about forced growth. They wanted to pivot the conversation back to Metzli, to the overflow of information, on what Wynne could do to make it all more okay, but it seemed their wanting was futile.

They blinked at Metzli for a moment, quiet and wide-eyed. Their question was forward and direct, lacked any beating around the bush. Wynne did prefer it like that — they just weren’t sure what the answer was. But they gave it some thought and nodded. “I guess so. I had a lot of responsibility from a young age.” Ten years old, being told by Padrig that they’d have to die in a decade to serve their community. Sanctified from that day on. “I don’t think I was given what I needed when I grew up. It wasn’t good at home.” They shrugged. “That made me think about stuff a lot. About death and dying and other things.” That was a vague answer. “And because I had a lot of responsibility people often asked me for advice, back home. I think I had to act older than I was, I guess.” They were quiet for a moment. “What about you?”

Metzli didn’t like that Wynne had to grow quickly, and they especially didn’t like that they didn’t have what they needed to prosper properly. Children were strong but also so fragile, absorbing too much too quickly about who they should be and what treatment they should accept. Thus teaching others how to treat them, even if it was to their detriment, maybe especially to their detriment.

By the sounds of it, Wynne was taught to care for others and not themself. Be seen and not heard. Metzli didn’t like that, and hoped that they could provide an environment where Wynne felt comfortable and like they were being listened to. They couldn’t tell if that was the case though, considering how Wynne tried to take back the role of listener. But perhaps, Metzli thought, if they really wanted to ask and were given the same treatment, it was really about the give and take. Love’s currency being one of reversal, a never ending cycle of reciprocation. Metzli could do that. It was the selfless option that helped them both.

“I do not remember being happy. In trouble much. I…I feel a lot back then. Like-like right now.” Emotions seemed much more intense right then, though. Metzli wasn’t sure if the difference was because their memory was fuzzy or because they were feeling it all at that moment, but they didn’t think that mattered. They chose to focus on the present. “Parents did not like when I behave like,” Metzli gestured vaguely to themself, “This.” They breathed shakily, moving on. “Did work. Father was carpenter and my mother work with bone to make things to sell. Emotions are better when I work. When my hands…” With an awkward smile, they swallowed and attempted to joke. “Hand is busy.” Metzli sighed, a frown replacing the poor excuse for a smile. “They like it better like that and would enjoy it when I was locked in my room. Um…” Their voice cracked. “Did you have a room?”

They understood by now that parents didn’t always do what was best for their children. Wynne had thought all of their struggles were to blame were because of them. That maybe because of their unusual situation, they had felt an ugly distance and lack of safety with their parents. But since they’d ran, they’d talked to others. Alex with her parents who would’ve hated her for what she was. Emilio, whose mother sounded so cruel. Teddy and their demon worshiping parents. And now Metzli, revealing that their past had also lacked the kind of parents they all deserved.

They felt heavy with it, the reality of it. And as Metzli explained how their parents hadn’t liked it when they got emotional, they felt a hint of ugly recognition. These weren’t the kinds of things they wanted to have in common with people. How many times had they been reprimanded if not punished for the same? “That’s not fair. That we – that you got in trouble for things like that. It’s okay to feel things, I think.” Was it? No matter how soft and malleable they were, they still tended to hold their emotions tight to their chest where they grew heavy until they cried in solitude.

“I understand. I think. I also like it when my hands are busy. It’s why I knit a lot. It makes me fret less.” They were quiet for a moment. Metzli locking themself in a room made a little more sense now. It was what they’d known before. They nodded. “I had a bedroom. There were also other rooms. Rooms for contemplation by yourself.” Wynne looked at their hands. They wished they were knitting. “Home wasn’t a good place. I don’t think yours was either.” They looked up again, gave a sad look to the vampire. “It’s okay, though. To be upset. I tried not to be upset for a long time and in the end that just made the emotions worse.”

It was supposed to be good to have things in common, wasn’t it? Connections were built on that, and similarities were meant to help them thrive. So, why, Metzli wondered, did the tethers feel so frayed and worn? Why did it feel like the strings were made of some cruel material? It felt so weighty and beaten, but holding steady as its root was tied to the core of their beings? For a while, Metzli pondered on that in silence, managing to nod along with Wynne’s statements. But they were wrong about one thing, and they were sure it wasn’t due to Wynne’s knowledge being lacking. They were led astray. All of them were. Cass, Leila, Nora, Siobhan, and so many more.

Their childhood dwellings weren’t home. Wicked’s Rest was, though. Metzli smiled at that realization, a tear surprising them as it glided down their cheek. They didn’t even bother to wipe it away, cementing that what Wynne said is true. It was okay to be upset, to let yourself feel things even if you didn’t understand them. So much younger than them, and yet Wynne had given them more wisdom than they could’ve found within themself, a mind over a century old. That was to be expected given Metzli’s newborn freedom, a birthing of their true self. They’d have to be a little kinder to their process and to themself if they were going to acclimate to everything, and it was thanks to Wynne that they were able to calm down and come to the realization.

Sometimes the kindest hearts truly did come from the cruelest places.

“Thank you, Wynne. You are…” A sniffle snuck up on the vampire, and they cleared their throat quickly to continue. “A good person.” Out of respect, Metzli bowed their head for a moment before finally making brief eye contact with Wynne. Their eyes were watery, but much more calm as the fog faded away. “Would you like to take your break with me? We can go to the room I keep locked for myself when I feel like sketching or painting. We can…” They took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching their fist below the desk. Anxiety was a hard feeling for Metzli to process. The most difficult one, in fact. But they had a feeling it would be good for both them and Wynne to connect while they busied themself with a task. “Make art together. Next to each other. If you will like. We can both talk and have music. Leila has shown me good music.”

There was something so bittersweet about the quiet understanding that hung in the room. Wynne found it was good to speak to people who could understand to a certain extent, but it also made them feel exhausted. A kind of bone tired, as if their limbs were somehow made of a heavier material than simple bone, making every step harder to make. Sometimes it would feel like they’d sink through their mattress with the weight of it, the knowledge that people had suffered and would suffer, that for every inch of understanding they felt and were given someone else had also been in pain.

And now Metzli was crying and they weren’t sure what to do with that. They looked at the vampire who had years and years on them, who must have learned so much in those centuries and who called them good. “So are you,” they said, and they meant it. They had called Metzli a good monster once, but they were more than that. They had learned that over the months working with them, where they were no longer just the silhouette of the person they had been before. That gallery guide who’d come for their rescue, who’d ripped off heads of vampires while doing so and had locked themself away after.

Wynne nodded at their suggestion, patiently waiting for Metzli to finish speaking. There was a tenseness in their breathing they knew all too well. “I would like that very much.” It would be intimidating, to make art next to Metzli, as they weren’t anything of an artist. Wynne put their creativity in their cooking and crafts, sometimes in the notebooks they filled with scraps of thought. “It would be nice.” They tried to catch the other’s eye. “You know what I do? When I feel – when my chest feels like it’s becoming too small to hold my lungs?” They lifted their hand, placed it flat against their own chest. Over their heart, pressed against their ribcage. “I try to breathe to my hand. To just … feed it slowly, small breaths. Sometimes someone else will put their hand there.” They’d do that at home. Breathe in tandem. Grow calm in tandem. And though there might have been crude reasons for such exercise, Wynne found they still worked for them.

The compliment made them stiff, a slight tremble trickling down their arm and straight into their hand. “I…” A breath hitched in Metzli’s throat and they closed their eyes tightly as they remained quiet and listened to Wynne. Seemed as though they understood what their idiosyncrasies meant, even if Metzli didn’t most of the time. “Okay,” They replied with a nod, eyes relaxing but still closed while they moved their hand over their chest. It helped, more than they thought.

Each breath loosened their shoulders, the coiled and sharpened weight lifting away as well. With a stuttered inhale, Metzli opened their eyes and smiled ever so slightly. “Thank…you.” They blinked slowly, communicating their gratitude and affection further. Much like a cat would, having no ability to use words. Just as they couldn’t, not anymore.

Rising silently from their seat, Metzli took a final breath before rounding their desk to meet Wynne at their seat. After a few brushes of their thumb against their palm, they extended their hand to Wynne. It was an offering of trust and acceptance. Not only was Wynne an employee, but they were a friend, too. Now more than ever, it seemed. Metzli hoped Wynne would understand the sentiment and take their hand so they could lead them both to the painting room. It felt like it could be a new beginning. One they both needed.

One they both had hoped for.

Something about it felt wrong, teaching Metzli a tactic they had used back at home. But it had worked, this way of breathing, both in the commune and outside of it. Wynne watched Metzli focus on their breathing and they hoped it worked. A small bit of relief seemed to wash over them and then over Wynne, too, who didn’t want their friend to be in any kind of stress.

“Of course,” they said. “I’m glad it worked.” Maybe one day they’d reach out and place their hand on Metzli’s, should this kind of thing happen again. It would be nice if it didn’t, but experience learned that these kinds of moods came again and again. Sometimes it seemed the best thing to do was to just find ways to deal with it, rather than get angry about the existence. It was what they were trying.

They watched Metzli get up and then extend their hand. Wynne didn’t hesitate before taking it, fingers wrapping around the other’s and getting up with them. United they moved to the painting room and they were relieved and glad, once more faced with the proof that they had made the right decision by leaving. That they had made the right decision by visiting Metzli when they had locked themself away. It was nice, to work somewhere where there were friends. Where they felt seen and not watched. To be able to simply coexist with someone, without expectation or demand.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: wynne #wynne and metzli #overreactions #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

8 notes · View notes

mactiir · 1 year

Text

advice of the week: learn the emotional abuse playbook. Like ACTUALLY spend some time reading about gaslighting, triangulation, codependency (it's not just substance abuse!), DARVO tactics, and red flags -- the real definitions, not just what the internet has whitewashed them into. Because, from experience, it is SUPER easy to accidentally end up in a borderline emotionally abusive, codependent friendship and not even notice until you're ten years in, on a hair trigger at all times, wildly depressed and anxious, wondering why you have zero other friends, hobbies, or time for yourself, because they’re always "having a hard time" and need you in some capacity.

Guys: toxic relationships aren't always cruel. Often it looks like helplessness, like feigned incompetence, like threats of self harm if you do or don't do a thing (implicit: they won't eat at all if I don't, and explicit: if i dont they will hurt themself -- both count). Sometimes it is even completely understandable. But: lying to people because you're afraid they'll leave you is manipulative. Saying yes to things because you want people to like you, and then blaming your friends because you are unhappy, is manipulative. Apologizing ten thousand times for the same thing because you aren't happy with the other person's reaction, but never changing your own behavior, is controlling. Regularly cancelling plans last minute so your friends can't make plans with anyone else, but having a mental break when anything is scheduled over regular hangouts, is controlling. Not setting clear boundaries, and then having meltdowns when your nonexistent boundaries are violated, is toxic. Expecting your friends to be on call to listen to your problems no matter how triggering, stressful, or personal those problems are, is toxic. And if your friends are pulling this shit: you will never, ever make them happy, you do not have that power, and you need to GTFO because chances are, babe, that shit's codependent and/or abusive and congrats, you are enabling/being taken advantage of.

Save yourself a lot of time, guys. Learn the playbook. Hate the playbook. Steer far, far away from the playbook. And if you see yourself doing these things, ask yourself why, get thee to a therapist, and fucking cut it out. You're hurting people and you don't even know it.

#emotional abuse #Emotional abuse tw #Abuse tw #mental abuse #Gaslighting #life advice #Self harm tw

58 notes · View notes

blimbo-buddy · 1 year

Text

Old image from the Sasha and DarkStripe Au where TigerStar is really just. Fucking with DarkStripe's emotional state

#blimmy art #sasha and darkstripe au #warrior cats #darkstripe #tigerstar #implied emotional abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #blood tw #eyestrain tw #(first two TW tags) just in case because within the context of this scene TigerStar is using an emotional abuse tactic #if I need to tag anything else let me know

127 notes · View notes

idiot-mushroom · 10 months

Text

normal trip to mcdonalds

186 notes · View notes

recoveringdreamer · 13 days

Text

TIMING: current (just after the road to hell) LOCATION: the grit pit SUMMARY: after his ‘discussion’ with wyatt and zane, leo decides it’s time to show felix a thing or two about consequences. CONTENT: domestic abuse, emotional abuse

The call came in late. Felix had only just fallen asleep, exhausted after a particularly grueling fight at work. It had gone long — something their handlers and the audience greatly enjoyed, even if Felix themself hated it. It had been a pretty bloody one, too; they’d spent a good hour under the steady stream of water in their shower, trying to scrub the blood from their skin. By the time they finally crawled under their comforter, they’d almost stopped shaking. Their eyes were heavy, and it didn’t take long for them to slip shut.

But then the phone rang.

It startled them at first. The sudden jolt into awakeness sent their heart into their throat, the adrenaline they thought they’d left in the ring after the fight seeping back in and making their breath catch. It took a moment to pinpoint the source of the shrill sound, to remember where they’d left their phone on the bedside table. They fumbled with it for a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID before answering. There was really only one person who’d call with such little regard for Felix’s rest.

“H’llo?” They slurred, tongue still heavy with sleep.

For a moment, they were greeted with silence. There was deep, measured breathing coming from the other end of the line, but nothing more than that. Felix wished they could just hang up, but they knew it wasn’t a good idea. Leo had always had a temper; the end of their relationship didn’t grant Felix freedom from its consequences.

Finally after a few more unsettling seconds of silence, the voice at the other end of the line spoke in a low tone. “I spoke with your friends tonight,” Leo said, and the cold anger was so achingly familiar. Felix sat up in their bed, their heart pounding. Instinctively, they looked behind them, as if Leo might manifest in their bedroom, as if he would crawl out from beneath the bed or stumble out of the closet like the monster every child knew haunted the dark corners of their rooms. But Felix’s room was empty. It was only them here.

(This did nothing to ease the fear.)

“I, um… I’m not sure who you mean,” they said, and they hated how small they sounded. They hated that, with nothing more than a sharp word, Leo could undo every ounce of progress they told themself they’d made. They weren’t the warm, sometimes-funny person who had friends like Mona and Teagan and Anita, weren’t the helpful hand who’d volunteer to offer Wyatt assistance he didn’t need in the kitchen or try to carry more of Luci’s groceries than they had hands for. They were the person they’d been on the worst days of their relationship with Leo — the one who hardly came out from beneath the comforter because they knew they’d get something wrong, the one who had a panic attack because they forgot to pick up batteries for the remote even after they’d been reminded.

“Of course you don’t.” Leo scoffed, and Felix could picture him throwing his hands up in the air in frustration the way he so often had. “God. You’re just as stupid as ever, aren’t you? I don’t know what would be worse — if this was an act you were putting on to fool everyone, or if you really were just this fucking useless. It’s humiliating, you know. So much of you is fucking humiliating. I don’t know how you manage.”

Felix swallowed. They shut their eyes, leaned back against the headboard. They were trembling, and they wished they could grow enough ot a spine to just hang up the fucking phone, but it was like it was glued to their ear. They couldn’t hang up and they couldn’t speak. Just like when they had shared a home with Leo, their job became to be still and quiet and do whatever was expected of them. Leo would let them know what that was; he always did.

And Felix never had to wait long.

“Come to the Pit,” Leo demanded.

“I… I just got off.” Felix’s voice was small, still. “I’m really tired. I was going to…”

“Come to the fucking Pit.” His tone left no room for argument now. “If you’re here in ten minutes, maybe I won’t be quite as pissed off.”

It was an impossible task, and Leo knew it. Even if Felix hadn’t been in bed already, shirtless and shoeless and half asleep, there was no way for them to make it to the Grit Pit in ten minutes. They lived at least fifteen minutes away. Still, they found themself rushing, tripping over themself to try to meet an impossible standard. It took them seventeen minutes to get there; they were hyperaware of every second of it.

When they did pull into the parking lot and stumble through the doors, Leo was already waiting for them. He’d probably been there before making the call, probably been stewing in whatever was pissing him off. Felix still wasn’t sure what it was, though he knew he’d find out. Leo wasn’t particularly secretive about what made him angry.

“Jesus, about fucking time,” Leo grumbled, stomping over to meet Felix at the door. His hand shot out to grip the balam’s wrist, twisting it as he yanked them towards the offices. Felix stumbled to follow, closing the door behind them.

“What — Uh, what —”

“A little gator told me you’re unhappy with your contract,” Leo snapped.

Felix flinched. All at once, the pieces fell into place. Wyatt had been hankering to take action ever since Felix confessed the nature of their employment with the Grit Pit, but they thought — Wyatt said he wouldn’t say anything to Leo. Didn’t he? He said.

But clearly, something had happened. Leo was steaming as he yanked Felix into his office, slamming the door shut behind them. Felix flinched at the sound, shrinking so far into himself that they were practically folded in half.

“I — I didn’t — I wouldn’t —” Felix stammered, desperate to find some excuse that would save them without damning Wyatt. He’d only been trying to help. Felix knew that. He wouldn’t have done whatever he’d done if he hadn’t cared about Felix, and he didn’t deserve to be thrown under the bus for that.

“I didn’t — I wouldn’t — I — I,” Leo’s voice was shrill and mocking, and Felix’s jaw snapped shut quickly. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic. How much brainpower do you use trying to string a sentence together? It must be close to all of it. How do you make it through the fucking day, Fe, honestly? I really want to know.”

But he didn’t. That was the thing about Leo — he asked questions, but he never wanted them answered. In their braver moments, Felix allowed themself to think about the way Leo just liked to hear himself talk, allowed themself to lament on the fact that he probably enjoyed the sound of his own voice more than just about anything else in the world. But this wasn’t one of their braver moments. There was no private joke to share with themself at the way Leo rambled, clearly only trying to be the loudest thing in the room. In moments like this one, Felix was an ant who’d found itself in the floor of a kitchen with the knowledge that it had just been spotted. The sole of a shoe was already hanging over their head; all they could do was wait for it to drop and crush them into nothing.

“Your buddy Lockjaw attacked me tonight,” Leo spat, and Felix flinched. “Had his hands around my throat. Do you know what he wanted?” There was a pause, though not one long enough for Felix to speak. They knew what was expected of them here — it wasn’t a verbal response. “He wanted me to let you go.” Leo punctuated it with a bitter laugh, and Felix tried not to start hyperventilating. It only ever made Leo angrier when they did. “Let you go! Like I’m not the best thing that ever happened to you. God, you’d still be living in the fucking woods if I hadn’t dragged you into society. You know that, don’t you? Everything you’ve got, you owe to me. You’re the one who fucked with my life. You, and all your pathetic fucking whining. It was suffocating. And then, I get you this job, and I think, hey, that’s the end of it. But it’s not, is it? It never fucking is. You’re still fucking shit up for me.”

It was a familiar tirade. Felix knew it by heart. They were an embarrassment, they were stupid, they were helpless. Leo was their savior, and they’d only ever made his life worse. They were lucky he’d put up with them as long as he had, should be grateful to him for it. He was kind and understanding and forgiving and they were foolish and useless and clingy. Nothing he’d ever done was wrong, and nothing they’d ever done was right. Most days, it was easy to reject it all. Or, at least, easier than it used to be. Felix still struggled to untangle things sometimes, but they had people in their life who made it easier now. Most days. Tonight, with lack of sleep lowering their inhibitions and anxiety thrumming in their chest, it was harder. Leo’s shirt was crumbled around the collar, and Felix could imagine Wyatt’s hands gripping it. They hated the guilt that sunk into their chest at the sight, hated the way all they wanted to do was apologize. They should have been stronger than this by now. They should have been better.

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out almost without their permission. They wondered if Wyatt would be ashamed of them if he heard, if he’d regret wasting his time standing up for someone who couldn’t even stand up for themself.

“You should be,” Leo scoffed. “He had your other friend with him, too, you know. The one from the boiler room.” Zane. Felix didn’t offer up his name, only looked down at their trembling fingers. “God, what did you do, Fe? Did you sell them some sob story? Convince them you’re a stray in need of rescue? Fucking look at me.” Fingers gripped their chin, jerking their head up and forcing their eyes to meet Leo’s. The grip was tight; they’d probably have bruises. It didn’t loosen, even as they held their head up to maintain the eye contact. “You know there are going to be consequences, right?”

Fear was a jackrabbit in their chest. It thumped its feet against the ground, it dug and dug and dug and tried to tunnel its way to some kind of safety. “Leo, wait a minute.” Their voice was slightly muffled, mouth unable to move around the words thanks to the hand still gripping their chin. “They didn’t — They didn’t mean it. They’re not… Please, don’t — They don’t understand. That’s all. I can tell them, I can explain it better, just don’t… They don’t deserve to be…”

“Relax, babe.” The pressure on their chin increased to something far more painful before disappearing as Leo released them. “They’ll be fine. I promised them they wouldn’t see any consequences. It’s not really their fault, is it?”

Felix’s heart sank. They wanted to look down again, but they forced their neck to stay in its upright position. Looking away would only bring that vice grip back to their chin, and they knew it. They swallowed, chest tight. “No,” they whispered. “It’s not their fault.”

“Right.” Leo smiled, but there was no comfort in it. It was sharp and dangerous, and Felix felt sick. “You’re the one who fucked up. You know that, don’t you?” He waited for Felix to nod, bringing a hand up to pat the side of their face. “So, what do we do with you? Hm? I’ve tried so many things already. More fights? We could put you up against Razor again, another three night event. Less fights? It’d be a shame if you couldn’t afford to keep your stomach full. But we’ve done that before, haven’t we? Nothing ever sticks. You’re such a bad learner. It’s a little sad, really, just how fucking stupid you are. We need a good lesson this time. One that really gets through that thick, idiotic skull of yours. It’s gotta be something that really drills itself in there, don’t you think?”

Felix’s eyes slipped shut for a moment, burning. Leo must have calmed himself down a little, because he didn’t punish the lapse. When their eyes opened again — vision blurrier now — he was still smiling, sharp and dangerous.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I’d like to be able to keep a closer eye on you. Obviously you need a little bit of a chaperone. That’s my fault, really. I should’ve known better than to release a wild animal out on its own without any guidance, right?”

Fuck you. They’d say it if they were stronger. Wyatt would have. Samir, too. But Felix was a coward, just as they’d always been, and they were silent, just as they’d always been. Whatever punishment Leo dreamed up, they probably wouldn’t get much of a say in the matter.

“First thing’s first!” Leo clapped his hands together, and Felix flinched at the way it echoed. “I did a nice thing for you tonight. I didn’t punish your friends for falling for your bullshit. Wasn’t that good of me? Aren’t you grateful?” He leaned in, so close that Felix could feel his hot breath on their throat. They knew what was expected of them here, too, but they didn’t want to give it. They pursed their lips, trying to maintain eye contact without falling apart.

A hand came up, gripped at the back of their neck harshly. “Come on, Fe.” Leo’s voice was lower now, dangerous. “Mind your manners. I’d hate to stop being so nice.”

Their eyes slipped shut again, and the grip tightened. “Thank you.” It was as if the words had been clawed from their mouth, as if their throat had held onto them for as long as it possibly could before giving in. The grip loosened, the looming presence leaned back. Hands clapped together again, just as loud and terrifying as before. Felix’s flinch was just as violent.

“There we go. Now. To repay that thanks… I think we’re done with that apartment of yours for a while. You’ll be sleeping here until further notice. Think of all the time it’ll save you on the commute! I’ll throw a mattress in that boiler room you like so much. I don’t think the rats are too bad but, hey! You’re a cat. Think of it as enrichment, sweetheart.”

It felt like the world was closing in around them. It was a small thing, their apartment. It was nothing fancy, it was sparsely decorated, the water heater leaked and the fridge didn’t get very cold, but it was theirs. It was a space they had that was their own, a space Leo had never touched and their father had never tainted. The idea of losing it pulled a shuddering breath from their chest. It would have been a sob had they not known firsthand just how much that would piss Leo off.

“And another thing!” It felt like there was ice in their veins. He wasn’t done. Unsurprising, really, given Leo’s temper. He was never satisfied tearing things apart in halves. He needed to pull the goddamn world down. Felix forced their eyes open again, forced themself to look because they were supposed to. “Your fights have gotten sloppy. We’re going to fix that, too. From now on, I want to see less Felix in that ring, more jaguar. Your buddy made a great point tonight — people don’t want to see you looking human. They want to know what kind of an animal you are. If I see you in that ring less than… let’s say three-fourths shifted? You won’t like what happens.”

Something that close to a complete shift would give Felix next to no control in the ring, and they knew Leo knew that. They knew that was the point. But what could they say? The perimeters of their contract gave Leo enough control to tell them exactly how they ought to fight. Already, they swore they could feel the strings tightening, the noose around their throat.

Leo smiled again. He stepped forward, invading Felix’s space with little regard for their comfort. His hand came up, patted their cheek like before. There was nothing fond in the gesture, though they used to mistake it for such. They did a good job not flinching now, but they couldn’t hide the grief in their eyes. Judging by the smug expression on Leo’s face, it was exactly what he’d been looking for.

“I think this was a productive little meeting!” Leo’s smile widened into a grin, and he took a step backwards. “Really, I had fun. Did you have fun?” Felix was silent, and Leo nodded as if answering his own question. “Yeah. All right! What’s say we get you set up in your new space, hm? You should try to get some sleep, Fe, really. You look like shit.”

(They certainly felt like it.)

#self para #good intentions #wickedswriting #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw

7 notes · View notes

magmahearts · 1 month

Text

TIMING: current SUMMARY: cass comes home to find an unfamiliar face waiting for her in her cave. CONTENT: implications of emotional manipulation

It was a funny test of nymph abilities, wasn’t it? The question of which thing an oread would feel first — the presence of someone in her domain, or the familiar tingle of butterflies in her stomach that came with the arrival of another fae. Cass wasn’t quite sure how it worked, didn’t know if those two things raced against one another or not. She didn’t know if, had she been in this same situation months ago, the butterflies would have won out above the feeling of feet on the floor of the cave she’d called home for nearly a year now.

She didn’t know which answer was kinder — the idea that her experience just outside the cave, with cold iron slipping into her skin and a cruel hand grasping her throat had fundamentally changed her body’s reactions to things, or the idea that it hadn’t, that nothing had changed at all and it was only paranoia that made one thing prevail over another. Both seemed cruel, somehow. Both seemed terrible.

But it was hard to focus on that. It was hard to focus on much of anything, really. There was someone in her cave, and they were fae. And of course, her mind jumped to obvious conclusions first. Was it Burrow, who often seemed a little clueless on social norms? She might drop by without thinking to text first. Or was it Dīs, coming by with some information she might need for work at the casino? (This one seemed unlikely; Cass didn’t think Dīs would drop by unless they absolutely had to, given how things had gone the last time they’d found themself in her cave.) Maybe it was Teagan, or even Regan or Siobhan, though those seemed increasingly less likely.

It was funny, almost; the idea of another fae in her cave would have filled her with dread or fear a few months prior, but she approached it now with a curious excitement fluttering in her chest. She liked the idea of Burrow dropping by, or Dīs, or Teagan, or any of the other fae she’d met in Wicked’s Rest. These fae who didn’t hate her, these ‘cousins’ (as Teagan called them) who liked having her around. It helped ease the vice grip that had been clutched around her heart since Alex left, put a salve over old wounds that she’d never realized were still healing. She had friends here. It was still a miracle to think about it.

She stepped into the cave, slipping her shoes off at the entrance so she could feel the stony ground beneath her feet. “I was thinking we could go to the Abnormality later,” she called out, figuring Burrow was the most likely culprit visiting her cave. “It’s been all kinds of weird lately, and I think it might be connected to —”

Her jaw snapped shut as she rounded the corner, nearly colliding into a large, looming, unfamiliar shape.

He was unglamoured. It was the first thing that struck her, immediately followed by recognition as to the nature of his true form. Rocky skin with glowing magma beneath it, fiery eyes with a familiar shape. He’s a volcanic oread, her mind told her. And then, he looks like me. Still, she was hesitant. She fell back a few steps, eyeing him warily. Seeing another volcanic oread in a town with no volcanoes to speak of was certainly odd. Cass wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Cass’s throat felt dry, her heart pounding in an anxious, uncertain rhythm. Finally, the stranger spoke: loud, booming, crackling. (He sounded like her, too. There was the strangest sense of familiarity about him. She didn’t know what to do with it.)

“Why do you maintain the glamour when you are alone?”

It wasn’t really the question she’d expected. She didn’t know how to answer it, didn’t know why she even felt compelled to. It wasn’t his business, was it? This stranger, this intruder. He had no business being here, in her cave. Quiet anger flared up, though she wasn’t sure why. A very nymph reaction, she thought; a very volcanic one.

“Why do you show up at other people’s houses and ask them questions?” She shot back.

There was a beat. And then, something shifted. The other oread’s face softened, his rocky lips stretched into a wide smile. He let out a low laugh, and it echoed off the walls of the cave like thunder.

“You are so much like your mother,” he said. “You have her spark.”

The world seemed to stand still. Cass’s eyes widened, darting from his face to his rocky torso, taking him in. When she spoke again, it was hesitant; as if she was afraid of the answer. “You knew my mother?”

“Very well,” the man confirmed. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m… new. To this sort of thing. My name is Makaio. Makaio Akamai.”

Cass drew in a sharp breath, chest tightening. Her voice was small now, so quiet that she thought it would have been impossible to hear at all anywhere but in the vast, echoing emptiness of this cave, where every sound bounced off the walls. “Akamai?”

“Yes. And… You like human films, don’t you? Someone told me you did. I watched a few. I’m not very well versed, but I think I know the basics. Enough to say… Cassidy, I am your father.” He smiled as he said it, head tilting to the side, waiting for a response. And Cass —

Cass felt numb all over. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling in her chest, couldn’t decide if it was a good one or a bad one. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed to make known. But all that came out was: “That’s not the line.”

“What?” Confusion furrowed the rocky brow.

“It’s misquoted. Everybody misquotes it. It’s — It’s like, a Mandela Effect thing. In the Empire Strikes Back, Vader never actually says ‘Luke, I am your father.’ Everyone just kind of… collectively remembered it that way. The actual line was a response to Luke saying Vader killed his father. Vader says, ‘No, I am your father.’ Then Luke does his big dramatic scream and everything. But he never actually says, ‘Luke, I am your father.’ So that’s not the line.”

“Oh.” The man — Makaio, her father — shifted his weight, the rocky structure of his body moving like a landslide.

He opened his mouth, clearly preparing to say something else, but Cass couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out between her teeth. “Why didn’t you want me around?” Makaio blinked, brow still furrowed as he prepared, again, to speak. Cass barrelled on before he could. “When I was a baby, I mean. My mom left me with the aos si, with your family, and you were never there. And I was — I mean, I was a baby. Right? It’s not like I’d done anything wrong. I was just a little kid. And I — Parents are supposed to be there. For their kids. That’s — That’s what everybody said. But I was a baby, and you weren’t around, and that sucked. And those people, your people, they didn’t even want me. I ended up all on my own, for the longest time. And I didn’t want to be. I wanted people around. I wanted you around! So, just — why didn’t you want me?”

Silence fell over the cave, the last syllables of her rant echoing deep into the darkness and disappearing. Makaio stared at her for a moment, sucking his teeth. “Can I speak now?” His voice was hesitant. There was something clinging to the words, though Cass’s heart was pounding too loudly in her ears for her to notice it at all, much less to pinpoint it. She hesitated a moment, then nodded her head. Makaio offered her a small smile and a nod.

“The aos si your mother took you to was the one of my kin,” he confirmed. “No one lied to you about that. But… they may not have told you the whole truth. I did not leave our island because I desired to do so, keiki. The same people who cast you out did the same to me.”

It was funny — his story was a sad one, but she felt some sense of relief at it, almost. It came with a realization that she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t belonged, and she felt a little less lonely. And still, even so… “You could have found me sooner. Years ago, decades. I was alone. I was a little kid, and I was all alone.”

The rocky surface of his features softened in a way that anyone not made of stone probably wouldn’t have been able to recognize at all. But Cass saw it for what it was. Grief, regret, longing. Her chest tightened, fluttered with something so much like hope.

“Keiki,” he said gently, taking a step forward. He reached out a hand, and she didn’t pull away; she let his hand cup her face, taking in a quiet, shuddering breath. “Do you really think I would have stayed away if I’d known you existed? What sort of father would that make me? What sort of man?”

(She wanted it to be true so badly. It was the only thing she’d ever wanted. If it weren’t, maybe she would have recognized something in the way he spoke. She’d twisted the truth so many times without consequence just by answering questions with more questions. It was such an old trick; she fell for it all the same.)

Makaio — no. Cass’s father continued, giving her face an affectionate rub of his thumb before dropping his hands back down. “What sort of father wouldn’t spend every moment he knew of his daughter’s existence searching for her, trying to find her? I was lied to, and so were you. But they can’t lie to us now, can they? They aren’t here to reject us again. It’s you and me, pua. And I think the two of us will do wonderful things together. Don’t you?”

And she did. She really did. This was something she’d been missing all her life, something she’d longed for ever since she was a child in a community of people who had no idea what to do with her. She had a father, and he was here. She had a father, and he wanted her. She had a father, and he loved her. What more could she want?

Cass shot forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her glamour dropped as her rocky form met his, and he didn’t hesitate at all in returning the embrace. He squeezed her tightly, and she felt secure. She felt loved.

And it felt good.

She was sniffling as she pulled back, throat aching with tears that were shed not out of grief, but out of joy. “I have to introduce you to my friends,” she breathed. “To Ariadne, and Milo, and Metzli, and —”

Her father let out a small hum, shaking his head. “Maybe… not quite yet. It’s been some time since I interacted with anyone outside myself in a… positive manner. Hunters are more common than friendly visitors in the mountains, are they not? I think… For now, it’s best if you tell no one I’m here. Until we get better acquainted, and until I get my wits about me. Okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, nodding her head. It made sense, and her friends would understand. And when she told them, they’d be so happy for her. She imagined her father accompanying her to dinner at Metzli’s, or watching movies with her and Ariadne. Excitement bubbled in her chest at the thought. “Okay. I can do that, Makaio.”

He smiled again, shaking his head. “Oh, Cassidy. You don’t have to call me that. You can call me dad.”

A grin split her face, wide and excited and joyous. “Okay. Okay, dad.” The word rolled off her tongue clumsily, but she’d get used to it. Used to saying it, to hearing it, to feeling it. She knew she would. Her dad smiled back at her, giving her another brief squeeze before pulling away. “Come on,” he said. “You can show me around your domain.”

Still grinning, Cass nodded. She looped her arm through his, tugging him deeper into her cave.

Outside, Wicked’s Rest was as chaotic as it had always been. But here, in the Magmacave, Cass felt safe. She felt warm, she felt loved, she felt protected.

It was a good way to feel.

#an introduction #self para #wickedswriting #emotional abuse tw #emotional manipulation tw

9 notes · View notes