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caseyqdilla · 1 year

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My MS Journey

Hello again! This isn’t a fic like I’ve been posting lately, but I wanted to post about the process that led to my diagnosis. I want to post this not only for myself, but for anyone else that may be going through this as well to hopefully shed light on the process from a perspective that people can relate to better. Being that I would look up what things were that I didn't understand or wanted to know the process beforehand I was usually met with the medical terminology; as smart as I am, when it comes to this kind of stuff I would just prefer it to be in laymen's terms.

So I hope this helps someone that is going through the same thing that I went through. I'm always happy to answer questions to the best of my ability, I will also add a few parts to this as well so it isn't too terribly long.

Sending you love and positivity, the journey is scary but you can do this! You're a badass!

Warnings: mentions of medical procedures, blood mentioned (in the capacity of it being drawn for testing), vision loss/low vision, and anxiety/fear are mentioned.

I hope this has helps someone that may be going through this experience as well. If you have any quesitons concerning MS, understanding your diagnosis, or the process of being diagnosed please reach out to a medical professional. My experiences are only meant to serve as peer support so you can understand the process from a perspective of someone that has already gone through these procedures.

While I haven’t been diagnosed with MS very long, I do have some things that I’ve learned are associated with it. Some are temporary, but there are a few that I’ve come to terms with the very real possibility that it’ll be permanent. The main one that’s been a hinderance that has not been one to go away is Optic Neuritis, for those that don’t know (because I was definitely one that didn’t) Optic Neuritis is swelling of the optic nerve. It sounds painful, but my experience it hasn’t been; it’s mainly been an inconvenience more than anything. There’s things that I used to be able to do that I no longer can or if I do, I have to be extra cautious whilst doing so. It started slow, I was doing haunted tours in Savannah, Ga where I would be able to walk around and tell the history of the beautiful city and make it fun. I noticed that it was more difficult to see out of my right eye when it was dark, it was almost like when there was no light I was basically blind in my right eye; which losing my vision is one of my biggest fears. Since I wore contacts all the time I just thought maybe I needed to take a break from that and wear my glasses, but when it didn’t subside I knew it was time to bring it up to my doctor, hopefully they’d just tell me to not wear my contacts for like a week or two then I’d be cured; wishful thinking on my behalf.

When I went to my primary physician and told them the symptoms the best I could, it’s really hard to describe when you don’t know exactly what’s happening or have any kind of inclination of what it may be. She recommended that I go see a neurologist, which made me super nervous; it made everything feel more serious as I booked an appointment with them. so began the waiting game unfortunately since they were so far booked out, but they had a cancellation so I got in earlier than anticipated. Which made me feel a little better knowing that I would hopefully get answers sooner rather than later. Little did I know, it was just the beginning of a long process a process that I thankfully didn't have to go through alone; knowing my family would be there for me no matter what the outcome would be.

Now there aren't many things that give me genuine fear, anxiety yeah of course; I'm an anxious bitch, but when I found out that Optic Neuritis is a symptom that is commonly associated with MS, I was terrified. All the thoughts I associated with a disease like MS bubbling to the surface and just stayed on my mind all the time as I waited for a test that the neurologist wanted to perform to try to rule out MS.

The very first thing the neurologist had me do was to get an MRI done, which for me meant that I had to prepare for it. What I mean by that is that I had to go and get retainers put in for most of my piercings cause I was afraid of them closing up if I simply took out the jewelry. It's not the worst test, unless you're claustrophobic, which if you are and you have a good team doing your MRI they will give you ways to prepare for it beforehand so that you won't be too uncomfortable. The worst thing for me was the cage they put your head in since they were needing to do a scan of my head.

So the results came back and normally if they're not bad then you get a call just saying, "Hey they're normal so followup in like a month or whatever." (Obviously they're not going to talk to you like that, but you get the picture.) However, I got a call to schedule an appointment to go over my results. He told me that they saw white spots on part of my brain, but I also have a piercing (it's a dermal on my right cheek below my eye) on that side that I was unable to remove so they had to do another test to make to further eliminate or confirm the diagnosis he was suspecting.

The second test that I had to do first was called a provoked potential test, without going into all the medical terminology (because lets face it, I'm not a doctor and will 100% get all that crap wrong). Basically it's a test where you get sensors attached to your head, there's something else they put on you but for the life of me I can't remember what it was, and you have to watch a center focal point on the screen and whenever you see something you push a button on the remote they give you. (Again I could be remembering this wrong and I apologize if I do, I promise you the test sounds daunting cause of the long ass name, but it is quite literally probably the most boring medical test you can take aside from the ADHD test you take at a psychologist's office.) I wanna say I was there for about 2 hours I know they had to redo parts of it a few times cause my hair kept getting in the way and throwing off the sensors.

The last test after that was a lumbar puncture, also quick side note, most of these tests come with a complimentary blood test with them, so there's that too. Also, you can't drive yourself to the test and you can't drive I think it was either 12 or 24 hours after the procedure until the puncture they have to make essentially closes up, they'll tell you all the side effects that are possible as well as precautions, but just so you know especially if you're someone like me that prefers to do things alone. (However, I am extremely happy that my mom went with me because she eased my anxiety so much, just knowing that she was in the other room. They won't let anyone in there with you since its a sterile environment.) So after I got my blood drawn for what seemed like the millionth time, I had to lay on a motorized table so they can adjust for the height, angle, and whatever else they may need to perform the test. Before I got on the table I had to take off my shirt along with my sports bra, and pull my pants down so they access to the base of my spine without me having to get completely nakey (cause it was cold af in that room). You're given one of those flimsy hospital pillows to get as comfortable as you can. Once you're comfortable and they adjusted the table, they'll clean the area with what I assume was iodine given the color that it was on his glove. After the area is clean, they'll go ahead and numb you, I don't think they used an IV or anything; I'm pretty sure it was just a syringe of anesthesia I tried not to pay attention and spoke to the nurse that was in there with me to assist during the procedure the entire time to keep my mind occupied. Much like any procedure when you're needing to be numbed or given any kind of local anesthetic to numb the area but stay awake they'll tell you if you feel any sharp pain to let them know so that they're able to administer more and keep you as comfortable as possible. Sometimes though when you're experiencing something new, your body won't know the difference between pain and pressure; so if you feel anything that makes you nervous or uncomfortable just let whoever is performing the procedure know and normally they will ask you to describe the sensation as best you can so they can better determine 1) where to put more numbing or 2) if you're feeling the sensation of pressure as you're experiencing something new. Once that's all figured out and you're all prepped, they'll insert a guiding tool to allow them access to your spinal column to extract the spinal fluid they'll be testing.

Once they get what they're needing, you'll be patched up, it's like a gauze and surgical tape they put over the opening that they had to create to get the fluid. After you're all patched up they'll give you the instructions letting you know that you essentially can't do a whole lot for the next 12-24 hours until the puncture closes up for fear of some of the fluid leaking out and causing unwanted side effects such as migraines (I can't remember the other ones honestly.)

Then just like the other tests, it's a waiting game once again. Waiting for the results to come back and see if you have the antibodies that are present in MS patients. If you are going through this, I hope and pray that your results are negative; if they're positive though just know that there are some resources out there for you, should you need them.

In conclusion, I fell like I'm writing an essay for a lit class with that start haha, my results came back and I do have those antibodies that are present in MS patients. So after that I was officially diagnosed with MS in November last year. Yeah it was scary, but I think not knowing and things getting worse would have been even scarier.

I would just like to reiterate that if you have any quesitons concerning MS or understanding your diagnosis, please reach out to a medical professional. My experiences are only meant to serve as peer support, so you can understand the process from a perspective that has already gone through these procedures.

#MS #Multiple sclerosis #autoimmune disease #peer support #optic neuritis #lumbar puncture #evoked potential test #Christina Applegate

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scentedchildnacho · 9 months

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I told David a pool crowd is way better here at night then during the day.....I had a stalker that was trying to call something my spot......it's way better to get kicked out by community ownership then by my stalkers plans to see a jail rape....ya know the type that wants to see four armed uniforms use random objects to molest a lady

The democrats have a hard time doing anything until things are shocking enough....

Ya know if it's finally about chaining people up or children getting cancer or unarmed undamgerous and defenseless civilians like women then they finally stop processes

They could have made a decision awhile ago to just not enjoy the executive corporatism as much as something snobbier but it only gets better if I'm under threat of more cop rapes and the cops with serial night stalking habits constantly put up on TV for it

The pool isn't a resort it's a sport pool like it use to be for school districts so I asked David if he actually knew any of these families

Or do they all travel to here?......David said he didn't really know.....

I started realizing it's not just me that has to find them very unfriendly strangers

I confessed to David I just feel very laid over here I want to get to California as soon as possible I don't ever want to spend a winter as cold as Las Cruces ever again it was so cold my hands and feet felt battered with something electric....and I was screaming at shelter staff that I don't care if their given assault and battery records for human trafficking and claiming aid just to sell people very very cheaply

I've thought of surrounding populations are involved and it is just the shelter system and the creepy executive that owns it

I explained otherwise new Mexico is way too awful for migrantcy if you don't have state sponsorship there is no peace it's so awful the worst most unregulated space ever so awful

So the dark people were showing me about work that they go through these weird shock processes so I would stop finding the pool too inexplicable

Pushed back into the water that's the fishing to do though

David thought more lights on the lawn so I said no David please don't God....if it was Alaska where a natural gas economy makes sense near Russia I would say yes but when it's here....you are technically suppose to be allowed to train to see in very dark spaces....

No one can see in the dark anymore?

Everything is light you can train to see very microscopic light levels...

Most people with natural gas here display that their need for schedule causes them homicidal ideation there were several hit and run threats

I'm not sure about locomotion and renewable energy but gas pumps have a lot of personal solar on them

Dermatology most spaces can be sued for taking in excess retail theft then never augmenting their business to a resort standard none of the money stays in the space...

Like this space could really benefit from filters on the outside security lights it's always a cop drama

That's what I have learned about perpetration in my life it can't be provoked if you play the scene or fantasy it wants it's psychopathy just kind of gets bored or better then you and leaves you alone

I told David I was welcomed here but even if it hadn't been shockingly psychologically and emotionally abusive to me in new Mexico I don't want to fit in here...I think about getting a glass ceiling complex and feeling old and trying to be young again but I really wouldn't want it here

Anyway I told her even if the situation wasn't abusive in my world if seasonal one can't stay because it's make believe and others get to go otherwise the united States is a harsh climate

I have had to learn about myself that my relationships are much better if I give others personal freedom....if people may come and go I avoid a lot of the awfulness some of my bad relationships were

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derealfeelz · 11 months

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Dream of 6/7/23 (Kodoku's Lilacs, The Life of a Flowstar, No. 20)

20th post, and to celebrate, I have a dream to share from last night! I'm not sure how to exactly describe it, I feel like it was another day type dream, because it seemed so normal. It does take place at night tho, and something does happen, but it's not fantasy stuff, just stuff that can happen. I'll add some stuff in it because I don't remember the exact details and to make it a little more adventurous like, but anyways, story time.

Our family was getting home from a field trip somewhere, let's say from seeing Mount Rushmore. We are in the car in our home state, and it consists of me, my mom, my stepdad, and one of my brothers. My stepdad's driving and he's driving at night for some reason, as usually, we would stop at hotels, but let's say there was one 20 minutes away.

As we were driving, something annoying happens, and we ran out of gas on the road. My stepdad gets annoyed because he thinks he might be able to bring us home, but luckily, there was a gas station nearby with a couple cars there. I did feel like I had to use the bathroom, so I asked if me and my mom can go to the gas station, and they said yeah.

It was a nice area with street lights, feels like I'm really in a linimal photo since there wasn't really any cars driving outside, so I felt a sense of peace, but at the same time, paranoia because anything can snatch us up in the night. Anyways, we made it into this store, I do my business. I looked on my phone, doing my thing, and I get out. Turns out my mom also had to use the bathroom, so I had to wait, although wondering why she didn't go earlier lol.

Anyways, while I wait, I'm just sitting on my phone to try and pass time a little faster. But while I was there, a girl my age came up to me and tapped on my shoulders, she may have been calling me and I didn't hear her because I had earphones in, I was listening to xxxtentacion - catch. Since I was really tired from driving, I was processing what was happening and said "hi" to her, and she wonders what I'm listening to. I told her and she says that the artist is her savior because his music's so good, mind you she listened to the newer stuff, but I did agree. Her friend was there too, since I see him there and she introduces me to him, and he had a conversation about stuff.

She told me that they both tend to hang out at this gas station because it's their favorite spot, I thought to myself that seems a little sketchy because that's what drug dealers may do, but she and her friend looked healthy, so I figured it's their hangout spot. She also told me that she knew her friend since 6th grade and that they both want to be photographers. I told them about my trip with my family to see Mount Rushmore and how nice it was, how I'm also wanting to be a photographer that and I take pictures of nature, and I showed them the photos I took (I imported them on my phone from my camera), and they were amazed. I managed to get both of their numbers and they added me into a group chat instantly, I can tell they're enjoying talking to me.

After my mom comes out of the bathroom, she sees me talking to my new friends, I introduced her to them and she talks to them too, she told them how our car ran out of gas. Luckily, the man (18, a year older than me and the girl) had money for gas and got us a gasoline can, my mom was like "you didn't have to do that", but I was grateful and said "thank you" and I hope to see them again. They told me that anytime, if I wanna hang out, give them a call, and they seem genuinely fun to hang out, so of course I would.

We get back into the car with the gas filled up, and there was a motel nearby. We get our rooms, one for my mom and stepdad, and one for me and my brother. I texted my new friends that me and my family were sleeping there, and they said that they hoped I got enough time to hang out before I left tomorrow. I then fell asleep and that's how the dream ended. The end.

I'd say about 60% of that story is what I dreamed of last night, just the big parts about my new friends was fictional, and I wish it weren't. I don't hang out with my friends since they never had my mom's phone number, although I did get one to text her. Hopefully, I can get to hanging out with him soon, and that we can have fun. We'll, I guess goodnight yall!

Sincerely, Kodoku.

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heart-reach · 1 year

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To the one that shone a light I thought would never be cast upon me.

I remember your face so clearly in a time where I felt nothing

As we walked along the sand I found a small fire burning within me

As we dove into the ocean with all of our clothes on I felt it stoke to life

I felt something gnawing at my soul and decided to push further down this line

I realized that all I wanted to do was remember you

I remember the way your hands looks in your hair

I remember the way you look over at me as you fiddle with your rings

The slight angle that you hold your head when you are interested in something

I remember our car ride that was too long for a second date and how we both had to go pee so badly

I remember the mild awkwardness we felt in the sushi bar

And when we went to CVS to get sunscreen because I burn like a pizza in an oven too hot

I remember looking over your tattoos that graced your skin so elegantly

And being told to get out of the water because it was a surfer only zone

Then we saw NOPE and I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by how much you were taking in the scenes

I was fascinated that you were getting so much out the experience and were totally transfixed

I knew at this point that there was something very interesting about you

We went to the bar that had pool and Karaoke, we met Elon there who was a jerk

But this was rivaled by a moment that was so serene I could not describe it well enough

Maybe it was acceptance, embrace, and peace all wrapped up in curly hair with dimples

I felt something I haven’t felt in years

Passion and desire

From this point on I wanted all of you, to drink you in completely and learn about your world

It would not be untrue to say that this is a greedy thing, but I was desperate for your love

I still want you, but I see that the entitlement of man is what pushes me past your boundaries

Thus, I sit here contemplating my next move, my next action

I want to maintain something with you, but how can it be so easy to forget the fire you brought to life

Sure, this may be my body but a fire does not light itself

I was gas, formless, desireless, ever changing and who’s intention is unknowable

I see this as the flaw in myself now and that may be the reason for where we are, and I accept this

But to remember the way you held me in your bed, and the warmth of your skin and lips

It is a curse to bare those thoughts and consider you just a friend

To remember your face laughing next to the other serious couples at the restaurant on the beach

To remember the touch of your hand on my neck

To remember the feeling of your skin and how the lines in your tattoos were so slightly raised

And remembering the blue light shining off of your face at the comedy club

I remember you were wearing a light blue dress that you put on in my car after the beach

But then I started cracking, my past creeping into my mind and I became desperate

I started panicking when distance was applied for too long

I grew to want you so much that I could no longer process the idea of being by myself

I sought something that an old me craved, and still does crave… despite my anger at it

Union and Oblivion

A state of togetherness that nulls my senses until I become a nothing more than flesh and bone

And still you pushed me to find myself

A courtesy I still have trouble understanding today, not for my lack of worthiness though

It is troubling to know that I had never received that from a lover before

Maybe, that is what I am after again

I want to hear my heart sing its song again

This experience will not stop me from trying again, this shows me what I want

I just hope I can settle these feelings in my heart to find my way back to you

As a friend

I just need to calm my storm, so I don’t unsettle your ground

We are both fragile, I believe more so than we would like to admit

Thus, I wait

I will wait until I can talk to you without the pain of loss

I’d rather feel the joy of a shared experience as friends then mourn a “missed chance”

You told me what I had to say was special, how am I not supposed to love you.

#creative writing #poetry #original poem

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firsthousevenus · 3 years

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I made a throw away comment about how our household wasn’t a very physically affectionate one and my roommate genuinely didn’t understand what I was talking about. She literally pointed out her partner rubbing her back as proof that we have an affectionate household and he said that he though he was a pretty affectionate person

Am I crazy??

#I may or may not be in the process of gas lighting myself because of this conversation #because no this is not an affectionate household y’all are just fucking each other so you’re affectionate WITH EACH OTHER #and obviously your affectionate with your child #but there is a whole separate person (me) who live in this house who sees SIGNIFICANTLY less affection on a day-to-day basis #which is WILD because I’m the one who’s PRIMARY love language is physical touch #the person who needs it the most to feel reassured in their relationships gets it the least #BUT CONSIDER #maybe the are affectionate and I’m just needy 🧐#a distinct possibility #a probability even #I’ll never know #and I gas lighting myself or am I genuinely too much 🧐🧐🧐#things I should consider but probably won’t #op

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darthwheezely · 3 years

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with you - f.w.

summary: based on the song ‘with you’ from ghost the musical

warnings: y’all this is a dead!fred fic strap in i’m so sorry :,), anger/resentment, a shit ton of death mentions

a/n: i love you, Freckles.

i picked up your shirts this morning

i don’t know why

The bedroom hadn’t been touched since May 2, 1998. A slew of clothes strewn about the room. A broken painting. A faint memory of him holding you. You didn’t know what was more messy, what happened to him or the world he left you with.

You started to clean.

every place we ever walked and everywhere we talked

i miss you

you never leave my mind

so much of you is left

behind…

Diagon Alley in September was a fever dream. It always was, children and their parents hopping from place to place to collect school supplies, teenagers wandering aimlessly to meet up with friends, go on dates, etc.

Diagon Alley in September was Fred’s favorite time of year.

You watched him at the shop light up and bounce about like a beach ball the moment a child asked for assistance, or even just carrying in an inventory box.

Fred would be frequently exhausted at the end of the day, but demand to take you out to the Cauldron for fish n chips, or buy you a butter beer (or four) or take you to Eeylops. You always agreed.

“One day we’ll be doing this for our own kids, Y/N,” he said softly, looking at the storefront for Wizard Wheezes, the tall animatronic lifting a rabbit from his hat slowing down for the night, even in the healthy chaos of Diagon Alley.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hated Diagon Alley in September.

you

took my days

with you

took my nights

with you

You had never really lived after Fred.

How does a person live after watching their person get crushed under a wall?

How does a person live after they run to said wall and scream, cry, beg for mercy from some being up in heaven for this to be a nightmare?

How does a person live after trying to push a wall far too heavy for force and being carried away by another while they cried so hard they lost air?

How were you supposed to live after Fred?

those unfinished conversations we used to have

still speak to me

“Y/N?” He shouted over the enveloping noise, spells and curses being fired so hard you’d think the ceiling would cave in.

“Fred, this isn’t a really good time-“ you yelled back.

“When we make it out of this-“

when he makes it out of this

“-I’m building us that nursery you hear me?”

No one built the nursery.

all this wishful thinking gets me nowhere

i can’t stay

though my heart is broken

it keeps breaking every day…

Sometimes, on a good day, you’d get the boom box out of the closet. You always tell yourself you’ll never touch it again, but there you are, touching it again.

That mixtape he made you will get fed through the muggle machine, and then it will spit out the song Crazy by Aerosmith.

“Come on, love, get up-“

“Fred, we’ve been assembling this bed frame we can’t just give up on it-“

“Say you’re leavin’ on a seven thirty and you’re head in’ out to Hoooooll-ay-wOOood - come on Y/N, bum up and get groovin’ with me!”

You two would dance until you were kissing and then he’d hold you standing up because to Fred Weasley, there was nothing on this planet but you.

You didn’t get through the whole song this time.

you

took my hopes

with you

took my dreams

with you

Kingsley Shacklebolt had left a message on the phone:

“Hey Y/N…I’m sorry to call you on a Monday night of all days - just busy lines everywhere else. I’m um…I’m really sorry but we um…we can’t have you as an Auror right now. We don’t want to ah - speed up your…your process right now. We know you’ve had a - hard - time recently and that job’ll only make it worse. Call me back if you want and maybe we can get you back in at Magical Accidents, they’ve got an opening. Alright. Well. See you, Y/N.”

i keep thinkin that you’ll be callin

everyone says that it’s all in my head

and i can’t accept it yet

You could’ve sworn you heard him.

You felt him in the shop (when George could force you to go.)

You saw him in every laugh and giggle little Dominique made.

Fred was everywhere and nowhere. It confused you, rage swelling in your chest like a hot air balloon only awaiting gas to take flight.

You had yelled. Told him going on that mission was selfish when you’d both been too risky for the Order as is.

“You can push me away all you want, Y/N-“

“Fred, stop-“

“No you need to listen to me for once in your life and it’s that i’m not going anywhere, I’m going to do that damn Seven Potters mission and I am coming home to you, do you hear me?”

You looked at him.

“I am always coming home, Y/N.”

“What a good joke, Fred, but where’s the punchline?”

i can’t comprehend this

and pretend that i don’t care

any place i wanna be

i wanna see you there…

“Hi, Freddie,” you hoarsely called to the barren-ness of the house.

“I hate sleeping here, did you know that? I feel way too close to telling myself that we’re okay, that I’m okay, kinda dumb isn’t it?”

No one answered.

“‘S alright, you always did hate the serious stuff. I’m just heading out to Gin and Harry’s for the night okay? I promise I’ll come back tomorrow. Will you be here?”

No one answered. You smiled, tears falling on your lips.

“That’s okay, I understand.”

You choked out a laugh and shrugged. “I love you! Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You shut the door.

you

took my life

with you

took my world

with you…

•••

taglist! @lumosandnoxwriting @billyhxrgrove @wandsandwheezes @harrysweasleys @fredweasleyisart @luvfrommars @luvshack @babyjordy @jillys-feral-fandoms @vibraniumwing @vixen @goddessofdawns @sagittarius-flowerchild @sinfulweasley @animprxperworld @daedreamss @lilypad-55449 @i-love-scott-mccall @omghufflepuff @vivianweasley @wh0reforthemarauders @amrtxntias @sunrisefairy @theorangedrummer @loony-loopy-lupinn @band--psycho @melmalone

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred and george

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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years

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Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble.

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas.

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context.

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists.

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age.

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in.

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’.

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters.

Wait, what?

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage.

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this.

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake.

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way.

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’.

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom.

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sylvain-writes · 3 years

Text

Cold Pizza (Raphael x Gender Neutral Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, power outage, banter, light angst and fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, Raph can cook <5k words

Snow falls gently upon the city outside your window, and it should be calm. You should want to listen to soft jazz or something. You should be sipping tea and enjoying the sight. But instead you're stifling a laugh at the sound of Raphael swearing behind you as he stubs his toe in the dark.

"Shit. Why the hell is that in the middle of the floor?"

"It's a coffee table, Raph. It's in front of the couch same as always." You haven't redecorated the apartment in months, but it's only Raph's second visit. You can't really blame him for not knowing the layout of the place by heart. But he's a ninja, isn't he? Shouldn't he be better at finding his way through the shadows?

The table scrapes against the hardwood floor as he drags it back into place and you snicker into the sleeve of your long-sleeve tee. The building only lost power ten minutes ago but your hands are already getting cold.

The crinkle of the last bag of potato chips gets louder as Raphael comes up behind you. "Don woulda neva let this happen."

"Really?" You huff. "Donatello wouldn't have let the blizzard get so bad that it took down the power lines?"

"Well, he woulda made sure the generator was workin', but no. That's not what I'm talkin' about." He crunched and munched in your ear.

As payback for the purposefully annoying chew, you snagged a chip out of his hand and gnashed your teeth over it hard. Crumbs fell to the ground and he snarled, shaking his head.

"You heathen. This is the last of the food! Your cupboards are bare."

"My cupboards? Ok, grandma..." You don't hide your snicker this time. "There's canned soup and, like, other stuff in the pantry, dude. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We can't turn on the stove if there's no power, genius."

"It's a gas oven, genius."

"I don't know what difference that makes, Einstein."

"It means all I need is a lighter and I can ignite the gas, Einstein."

"Well, you don't smoke, Edison."

"Valid. But I do have a lighter. It's in a drawer somewhere."

It does take another ten minutes to actually find the lighter, in your nightstand, having been tossed there after you used it to light some candles in your room forever ago. And even after you find it, you set a pot of water to boil only to have Raphael complain that he can't find the pasta you were sure was in the pantry.

"Well, what is in there?" you ask as you light a few more candles around the kitchen.

Raphael places a jar of tomato sauce on the counter, but his tone remains unimpressed. "Flour and shit."

"That's fucking gross."

"You know what I mean." Raphael opened the cabinet door wide. "Flour, sugar, salt... I don't know. Like, a thousand different jars of seasonings you've probably never used ever."

"How do you know I've never used them?"

"Probably because they've all got their plastic seals on?"

"Right. I don't really cook that much."

Raphael gestures to the otherwise empty shelves. "I'm shocked."

"Well..." You pass the jar of tomato sauce you were going to use for the pasta you actually don't have from one hand to the other as you think. "There's gotta be something. Grab the cereal, at least."

The Honey Nut Cheerios barely have a bowl left. It's hard to ignore it when Raphael's stomach growls.

"Ok, ok. Maybe we should order take out?" But as you form the question, you notice something more than hunger and frustration in the way Raphael wraps his arms around himself. "You feeling alright?"

"Sure." Raphael shrugs, and though you have to squint in the evening's fading light, you think he looks a little paler than usual.

"Raph?"

He's the master of compartmentalizing and hiding his feelings -- until they bubble over into a fiery mess -- but he's utter crap at suppressing the shiver that runs through his arms while you're staring.

"Dude… you're sick or something."

"I'm not," Raph says, relaxing his arms from around his body to his sides, but his shoulders remain tense. His arms stay tucked tight against his sides. "I'm fine. There's nothin' to say. We're stuck here. Right?"

"Call Donnie."

"He can't… he can't come out in this weather."

"The weather?" The winds had died down. And yeah, the drifts were pretty high in some parts of the city, but it was dark enough that- "Are you too cold?"

Raphael shrugs.

You move closer to him, reaching out, and his arm under your hand feels cold to the touch. "Raph…"

He leans into your touch a second longer than he wants to, chasing the heat as you pull your hand away. You're close friends, but you don't go around holding onto each other or anything. The way he chases the warmth of your hand, the small needy sound in his throat, breaks you inside.

"It’s why we got generators at the lair. They mostly run on street power Donnie got hooked up, but… don't do so well in the cold, y'know?"

"Shit. I'm sorry." You turn on another burner and fill another pot of water. "Can you, uh, get in touch with D? I know there's a way to get the oven going but I, er, don't wanna blow up the apartment in the process."

Raph nods and you notice another shiver. He hunches in on himself as he thumbs out a text to his brother.

While he's occupied, you rush over to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. You're not sure he wants to admit just how cold he is, so you don't wrap it around his shoulders yourself, but you place it on the counter with purpose and head into the bedroom to find a heavier sweater for yourself. And some socks. You definitely need to double up your socks. And shit, maybe you should offer Raph some socks too.

But what the hell socks do you have that'll fit him?

You grab the comforter from your bed and hug a pair of pillows to your chest. The way to the livingroom causes you to stumble and you know you're not looking the cutest you've ever looked when you crash into the couch with your load, but you manage to grunt like a buffoon when you bounce off the couch cushions and land hard on the floor.

"Graceful." Raphael says from the kitchen counter. He saunters over, wrapped up in the blanket, wearing it like a shawl and looking ever so much like a reptilian version of the big bad wolf pretending to be grandma.

"My, what big eyes you have." You kid, and you smirk, but color blooms high on Raphs cheeks and you watch him duck his head just a bit as he tries not to break your gaze.

"They um… they're the same as always , y'know?"

From there on the floor, you look up at him and wonder when he became so shy. He's been your best friend for ages. He's muscles and bravado. He's a ninja skill set and a heart of gold. He's fire and sugar and the kind of spicy that'll catch you on fire if you stay too close, but you always want to be close to him and you know one day you're going to get burned. It's why you don't touch. It's why you point to the blankets and pillows on the couch and you back away from the pile so he can get them himself.

You know if you get too close. If you let yourself linger near him, you'll stay too long. You'll get burned. What's between you simmers when you keep your distance. That's good. That's better. You don't want him to push you away, so it's better to keep some distance. He hasn't pulled you closer, so you think you're doing the right thing. If you were reading this wrong, there would have been some clue. Someone would have said something. Raph would have said something. He's not one to mince words about what he wants.

He's very much the guy who tells you what he wants when he wants it.

"Don says we can light the pilot and have the gas oven heat the room, but you're gonna have to do it because my hands are too big."

"Know what they say about a man with big hands?"

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, unamused. "Woulda lit the damn thing myself if my hands were smaller so it don't really matter what people say about big hands. At the moment these big hands are useless."

"Geez, Raph," you scoot around him to get at the oven. "You're not useless. Chrissake."

The oven lights and you crank it up to 500°F. "We can leave the door open a crack and let it warm the room."

"Or we can make pizza."

"Sure. Yeah." You say, dripping with sarcasm. "We could totally learn how to make pizza in the dark with no electricity or ingredients."

"We don't got no ingredients." Exasperated, Raphael throws off the blanket and gestures toward the pantry. "You got spices. Sauce. Flour."

"What about cheese?" Your hands are on your hips and your toe is tapping because you just know he's going to come after your snacks.

"I saw like 7000 Polly-O string cheese things in your crisper drawer-"

"Don't touch my string cheese!" He wouldn't dare.

"We can grate it down for-"

"You monster!"

Raphael is more snarl than laugh when he crows, "You're being ridiculous! I'm making pizza. Are you in?" His gaze narrows and you think he may be serious about tossing you out of the kitchen. "Or are you just in my way?"

As it's the only warm room in the apartment, you're ready to make all the sacrifices necessary to keep your ass in the kitchen.

Raphael and his big hands leave you at a loss as he uses his thick fingers to ever so delicately arrange his phone against the tomato sauce jar. “Sit still ya lil fucker.” With each adjustment he makes, the phone slides down the counter, unwilling to stand in place so that he can read the recipe without getting his phone dirty with sticky doughy hands.

You shouldn’t just stand there watching with a grin, but you really can’t help it. It’s adorable. You really think you may be falling in love with him just watching the way he shifts the phone inch by inch. Then when he finally has the phone in place, he throws his hands up in the air, victory writ large upon his features. His smile is open and wide and it’s such a stark contrast to see him now, his body flooded with joy and warmth as opposed to when he was near frozen, that you can’t help but smile back. You’re a little thrown by just how charming that smile can be. You lock eyes and get stuck. He’s so handsome. He’s so true to himself. He’s just real and raw and he doesn’t care that this is only a tiny victory of some phone vs man vs counter slip ridiculousness. He’s excited and he lets you join him in this celebration because it’s fun and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than fun.

You shake your head as you grab the flour from the pantry and place it on the counter. “One small step for a man, one giant leap toward making a pizza. We actually need to get some ingredients in a bowl, methinks.”

Raphael takes the flour and tears the never opened bag open from the top. He’s obviously never done it before. Flour ends up everywhere and you don’t even bother to tell him that he could have easily unfolded the flour bag and made far less mess.

As you watch his flour dusted face reemerge from the plume of flour, you’re actually glad you didn’t mention it. Or else you wouldn’t have had the chance to see him look so surprised. To surprise a ninja, now that had to be some kind of feat.

Raphael’s green eyes blink at you, stark contrast green from the white floured face around them. His mask is caked in the stuff. You laugh as you reach forward. “May I?”

He hasn’t really said yes, but he’s spoken no objection either, so you slide the mask over his head and dust it off before laying it on the counter.

Seeing him without his mask is always a pleasure. One of the small pleasures you don’t mention out loud. Like standing too close, it runs the risk of being burned. Something Raphael could take away if you make too big a deal of it. So, you try not to stare, while simultaneously trying to memorize every bump and slope of his features.

“You’re a real mess,” you say, wiping Raph’s cheek with a clean hand. “How much of this flour are we gonna lose before you whip up dinner, huh?”

Raphael has been staring at you. He hasn’t even been paying attention to your words. In fact, he’s not sure you’re speaking. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion because your hands are reaching toward him for the second and third time today and that never happens. That never happens and Raph knows for sure because he pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices when you come close because he waits for it. He wishes for it. He clocks each step you take toward him and bites back a pout each time you pull away.

When your hands reach for his mask, he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays still. And you unmask him. And the world doesn’t stop turning, but it sure feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. But you’re smiling, so he knows nothing bad has happened.

You’re smiling so the world is still spinning.

His mask is in your hands and flour is falling to the floor like weightless raindrops and he can almost make out your laughter past the sound of his own thoughts. There’s nothing Raphael loves more than his time with you. The sound of your voice. The curve of your smile. The barely visible sunburst of silver under the pigment of your iris.

He shouldn’t know about that design. He shouldn’t pay such close attention to your eyes that it would be plastered in his memory. But he has. He does. He watches you when you’re not paying attention. When you’re playing around with his brothers or working at your computer. He watches the light reflect off your eyes. He could map the lines of your irises. And that’s probably weird. He’s no artist. He knows that. He can’t do flowery words or paint a picture. But he has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything about you.

So, when you tease him about making dinner, he knows you’re probably thinking about your own lack of culinary experience. You’re worried about screwing things up and probably relieved that Raphael is a little clumsy himself.

Raph uses this to his advantage, to make things a little easier for you. With a kind smile, he points to the cabinets. “I need a mixing bowl and some measuring cups. Oil, salt, and sugar. And yeast. We need yeast.”

“Yeah. OK. Like I have fucking yeast up in this bitch.”

Raphael hums and turns. He’s pretty sure he saw something that looked suspiciously like yeast in the cabinet. And there, on the row with all of the other unused herbs and spices, was a jar of the stuff. “You really suck at this.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t I know it.” There’s no way to argue around it.

Taking orders from Raphael isn’t a turn on or anything. You’re not getting goosebumps from his praise or hanging on his every word like it’s the air that you breathe. But he’s standing close and the way his breath is warmer than the air around you makes your blood feel like it’s thrumming through your veins a little more quickly tonight than it was just minutes ago.

Standing in front of the open oven is hot work. You don’t know much about dough, but you’ve watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this rise is going to happen fast in the hot kitchen.

“We should close the oven door,” you suggest. “Get the inside temperature right and let the dough do it’s thing before we shape it and sauce it up and stuff.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta we talk. You sure you’re up to the task? Thought you were taking more of a supervisory role, here.”

“I grated the cheese, didn’t I?”

“You made more wine than cheese, sweetheart.”

“Yes, well, it was my favorite snack.”

“It’s sacrifice will be worth it.”

The pizzas only took about ten minutes in the oven before the dough was crispy, the cheese not quite burned, and the sauce was bubbly hot. Raphael moved them onto the bare countertop to cool. “So, we keepin’ the oven on or?”

“Of course we can.” You glance at the oven and then at the pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. “Can’t we?”

“I could ask Don? Seems like the power could be out all night. Not sure we should leave the oven on indefinitely.”

“Well… we’ll figure that out after we eat, I guess.”

Eating was weird. You sat close, sharing the light of a candle to make sure you weren’t dripping sauce all over yourselves. Your elbows nudged each other as you moved and you had to stop yourself from shifting further away each time. It would look suspicious. You weren’t close because you wanted to be, because you desired to be as close to Raphael as physically possible without fear of your feelings being known… you were sitting elbow to elbow with him now because you needed to. He wasn’t going to read anything into it.

“You have sauce on your chin.”

“I what?”

“Sauce,” Raphael said, quieter than you expect from him. Perhaps he worries about shouting in your face. Things do seem louder in the dark. So then why does he sound like he’s whispering?

“Oh. Yeah. The sauce is good, Raph. You, uh, know your way around that spice rack.”

“Nah, I mean…” Raphael shakes his head good naturedly and sighs before lifting his thumb to your chin. He takes your face in his hand as he drags his thumb over your chin, wiping your skin clean with a smooth drag of his thumb.

“Raph?” You suck in a breath and you catch his gaze. He’s squinting at you as you struggle to make sense of his sudden closeness.

When he pulls away, you watch as he wipes his hand on his shorts. “You had sauce. Ya know? It was uh, just there.”

“Oh!” You wipe at the spot Raph has already cleaned, your cheeks and ears growing hot. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah, no prob.” Raphael clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s still not wearing his mask, so each twitch of his eyes is out in the open. But you wonder if it’s a trick of the light, him looking embarrassed and unsure.

“The blankets and stuff. I was gonna say we should tuck under them. I don’t know about you, but that oven’s been off for a minute and I’m already feeling like-”

“The blankets are good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Raph says, swallowing hard. “The cold makes me a little tired, you know?”

You shrug. You suppose it makes sense. You feel a little tired yourself. “You could sleep. Do you mind if I share the couch with you? That’s my stuff from my room.”

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean. I don’t mind sharin’. Donatello says humans run hot?”

“Compared to you?” You know you probably shouldn’t joke about something like this when Raphael was vulnerable, but you always joke about everything. To not joke about this feels like it would make things worse, make them mean more, give the vulnerability more weight than if you treat it the same as everything else. “Yeah. I guess. We’re warm-blooded.” It feels weird to refer to humans as we and the turtles as they. You rarely think of yourself as different from them. You haven’t thought of them as other than the guys for so long. “It’s um…”

“Yeah, so, like sharing would be fine. It’s cool.”

“You wanna use my body, Raph? That what this is about? You tryin’ to steal my heat? My human fire?”

“Are you kidding?”

“About mi fuego humano?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby you can light my fire.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You wanna sleep with a stranger! For shame!”

“Don’t slut shame me. I never slut shame you.”

“Yeah ok, sure, dude.”

“What? I don’t.”

“Uh, you crap on every guy I’ve ever been out with.”

“No, I don’t. No I haven’t.”

Suddenly all the joking isn’t fun. Because if Raphael can’t see how hard you’ve tried to get over him. How hard you’ve tried to move past your feelings for him, feelings that he so very clearly does not reciprocate, then you really don’t want to play this game anymore.

You stand up and move to the couch. You won’t deny him your body heat if that’s what he needs, but you don’t think you can carry on this conversation. By the time he gets to the blankets, they’ll be warm, you think. Then maybe you can have a minute to yourself.

Raphael follows you to the living room in quiet contemplation. “I hate the guys you date.”

“Great. They were real winners anyway so, thanks for running them off. Never did stand a chance with them.”

“They weren’t good enough for you.”

“Pfft.” He doesn’t get it. None of them were good enough, yeah. Because every guy you’ve ever talked to, ever listened to talk about their hobbies and dreams and hopes and family, every guy who has ever taken an interest in you, you’ve compared to Raphael. And every one of them has come up short.

“You know how good you are? Like, a good person. Not like 'tries to be good' or 'does the right thing' kinda good…”

“Gee thanks, big guy. I’m blushing.”

Raphael turns to face you on the couch, his back braced against the arm rest and honest to god shoves you with his bare foot. You can’t help but notice his toes are ice cold. “What I’m saying is you’re the 'real' good. A good heart. You do the wrong shit for the right reasons kinda good. You hurt because you care, yet you still care.”

You let Raph ramble because you don’t know what you’d say if you stopped him, if you acknowledge the things that he says. You let Raph ramble and you pull his ice cold foot into your lap under the blankets. You warm it in your hands. Maybe it should be gross. He’s been walking around the apartment since early this afternoon barefoot. But it’s just feet. Just skin. Just flesh and bone and it’s all so cold between your palms.

Raphael scoots down against the armrest, just a little so that his foot is resting comfortably in your lap. He turns away from you to look at an alert on his phone, all the while still talking about how good you were when you tried to help Leo with his attempt to try every flavor of Pringles that you could find at the gas station mini mart. It was a valiant attempt and Leo didn’t want to do it alone. You both ended up with pretty bad indigestion, but it was fun and Raphael had seemed extra happy to see Leo making a friend and being a total idiot with you.

“Donatello says the power should be up and running again sometime tonight. There was an update on the website or something.”

“They give updates on this shit?”

“I guess?”

Your hands move to Raphael’s other foot as you nod. “I don’t really like the guys I date either,” you admit aloud. “It’s not that I set out ready to dump them, it’s just that they don’t interest me. I try to get to know them, I try to let them get to know me. But it goes nowhere. I don’t get that feeling, you know?”

Raphael’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t answer.

You think maybe he doesn’t know that feeling. Maybe he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way you do. “Raph, have you ever-”

“I don’t like it.”

You nod, thinking you’ll get more out of him if you stay silent. But when he doesn’t elaborate, you realize you have to say something. “You don’t like…”

“All those guys goin’ out with ya. They don’t know ya. They don’t treat ya the way ya should be treated.”

“Really? How do they treat me?”

“Like… like… They don’t let ya let go. I see ya going off with them and you go quiet or you laugh too loud.”

“I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. Which is it, Raph?”

“You deserve somebody who lets ya have fun. You make jokes and goof off and sometimes yeah it’s cause you’re nervous but mostly it’s cause ya have funny shit goin’ on in ya head and ya wanna let me in on the joke.”

You nod. You really do think you’re the most hilarious person on the fucking planet. It’d be a shame to keep all the good stuff to yourself. Even so, you don’t share your thoughts with just anybody. Raphael is right, it’s him who you want to let in.

“If I took ya out, it’d be like tonight.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” You say thoughtfully, sarcastically, poking fun and rubbing at your chin not caring a whit that you just had Raphael’s feet in your hands. “Like tonight. You’d cut the power to the city so we could freeze our asses off, then set up a super romantic dinner where we eat by candlelight.”

“We’d be laughing. Teasin. I’d make you dinner and if you want fucking candles I’ll light you a fucking candle.”

“And I’d rub your feet to thank you for making me such a delicious dinner.”

“Yeah. I deserve some pampering.”

“What about me? I don’t deserve to be pampered?”

“I just made you a romantic dinner with candles and all that shit.”

“Hypothetically. Yet here I am, literally rubbing your feet.”

“So what do you want, you want a foot rub for you too? Huh? You want a little shoulder rub cause you worked so hard watching me work my ass off in the kitchen?”

You pinch his ankle surprised he can feel anything when it all feels like rock solid muscle. Instead of answering with words, you give him a wry grin and move around a bit under the blankets. You relax into his chest, lying your head over his heart and settling your body between his and the pillows. “You’re a real smartass.”

Beneath you, Raphael lies still.

“This OK?”

Raph shifts a bit, you feel his hands rise and fall. “I don’t really know what to do with my hands.”

You hum and nod your head against Raphael’s chest. You reach blindly for Raph’s arms, one by one, and wrap them over your back. “Don’t have to do anything.”

Raphael relaxes a little at the news. He ducks his head low and you think you can feel him breathe you in. He rests his cheek on the top of your head before asking, “This that body heat thing?”

You nuzzle his chest, allowing yourself to slip under his arm a bit. Better position for falling asleep. “Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Raphael squeezes his arms around you, but he doesn’t say anything. You have to ask or you won’t be sure. Even if it means getting burned. Even if it means you’ve put too much meaning into things and you’re going to be pushed away, you have to know.

“This is more than a body heat thing. For me.” You bury your face in his chest as you wait for his response. At least, for a few seconds longer, you can pretend his heart is beating for you.

“When I take you on a proper date, there’s gonna be tables and napkins. And maybe something fancy to drink...”

“And then-”

“This. And then, this.”

“I like this.”

“Me too.”

#Raphael TMNT #Raphael x gender neutral reader #raphael #gender neutral reader #this was left in my drafts for a long while #i don't think i've posted it #enjoy it's got some cute shit in there especially toward the end #my writing

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nightwingshero · 3 years

Text

WIP Tag

I was tagged by @minilev and @simonxriley, thank you!!!

Tagging: @strafethesesinners @water-writings @pen-in-hand @theknifegame @chyrstis @smithandrogers @lilwritingraven @chuckhansen @fadedjacket @geronimo-11 @scungilliwoman @shellibisshe @witchofinterest @witchesconstellation @aceghosts @archetypesinthefog and whoever wants to share!

So...my Far Cry 5 babes are coming back.

Wren’s first Baptism and, if you look closely, Randy’s cameo/debut.

“Don’t kill her! John wants them alive, use the bliss bullets!” Bliss bullets? I pulled my pistol back out, taking aim from around the tree to return fire. I didn’t understand what they were talking about, all I knew was I needed to get the hell out of here, and quickly. I was outnumbered and injured, clearly at a disadvantage. I was trying to come up with a solution, anything, that would help me get out of this mess. A panic attack was beginning to work its way in, and I fought as hard as I could to keep from hyperventilating. I reloaded and my vision swam. Reds and greens becoming vibrant, making anything solid turn blurry. Small lights danced in my vision, I couldn’t tell if they were stars or lightening bugs, or something else entirely. Was I going blind? I began to feel tired, my body becoming heavy. I stumbled from my cover, my mind trying to tell me that that was a terrible idea, but I suddenly couldn’t remember why.

“Ow.” I said as I landed on my knees, my hands palm up as I began to attempt to study them. My body teetered off balance, and I tried to catch myself, rocks and twigs cutting into the very palms I was looking at merely seconds before. I heard cheering far away, but I couldn’t remember where I was or whom I was with. I finally collapsed, my body now too much to hold up. My arms and legs were jelly, my brain like static. My eye began to close as I felt hands lift me. I tried to reach for something before everything went completely black and I was gone.

“This one?” a male voice echoed as I fought against heavy eyelids to see a blurred night sky. I saw a man in the corner of my eye with a wool sweater and messy hair, pointing to something on the ground.

“No. This one.” Another male voiced, his voice deep and well-spoken. Had it been any other situation, I would dare say it was soothing.

The scruffy man found his way to me, leaning over as he studied me with confusion. “Doesn’t seem very worthy.”

“It is not for us to judge.” The other man came into view, and he was much more put together than his companion. His dark hair was neat, and beard trimmed. He donned a trench coat, giving him an air of importance. “Deliver her unto the waters. The Cleansing begins tonight.” The grungy man reached for me just as I faded back to blackness.

The falling out with John that leads to the Atonement

“I warned you, Wren. I told—”

“Yeah, you told me to stay away. And maybe then it’ll keep the resistance from Jacob’s region, right? That’s what it’s all about, right?” I demanded as my heart tugged painfully. His brow furrowed and suddenly, just like that, I was looking at a mask.

“My brothers mean everything to me, Deputy. I’ll do anything for them.”

“Except open your heart, right?” I sneered as I ignored the jab that I felt at him using my title. “Joseph asked you to love, but you can’t, can you? That’s what he had said to you that night you almost drowned me. ‘You have to love them, John.’ How’s that going for you? How’s Hudson?” He said nothing for a moment, just stared at me. That only made it worse, my insecurities screaming at me, forcing my panic and anger to grow.

“She’s right where you left her.” He replied lowly and my breath staggered as I felt the preverbal punch in the gut. I clenched my fists as tears pooled in my eyes.

“Right. That’s on me. How stupid of me, right? It was so easy for you, wasn’t it?” His brow furrowed a bit before he hid his confusion once more, but it was enough to keep me going. “That’s all it was to you, some fucking game. The ultimate conquest. Get the Deputy to fall in your bed, make her fall for you while the resistance suffered for it. I should’ve fucking known better.” A flash of hurt crossed his features and my mouth went dry as I regretted it immediately. But he only just glared at me and took a step forward.

“What happens between my brothers and I is none of your concern. I wanted you to join—”

“Oh, right. How could I forget about that? Manipulating me by luring me into your fucking bed—”

“I didn’t hear you complaining!” he snapped.

“No, I suppose you didn’t because for once in my fucking life, I believed that someone could fucking love me!” I screamed. “I thought I finally found someone who didn’t ask me for anything, who didn’t want something from me. God, I was so fucking wrong! You’re just like them! You manipulated and lied to me to try and get me to join this stupid cult of yours, so your brother wouldn’t kick you out!”

“I have never lied to you!” he snapped, and he took another step forward as he pointed at me. “I may be a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. And don’t you dare use Joseph against me. You don’t know anything—"

“Oh?” I laughed bitterly as I took a step forward, forcing him back a step. “I know that you’re scared, John. So fucking scared because Joseph tied our fates together, and I’m still running around causing hell. You were so scared that you fucked me, manipulated me, thinking that it would keep me on a leash, but guess what? It didn’t work, did it?! No! Your brother is fucking insane—" He caught me off by chuckling, dark and bitter. He looked at me with a twisted smirk, anger burning in his eyes. There was a darkness coiling, I could practically taste the wrath coming off him in waves, and I knew then that the line had been crossed.

“What if Joseph was right? Did you ever stop to think about that?” He taunted lowly. “Everyone thinks he’s crazy, but he’s not. Look around you, the world is on the brink. You can feel it in your bones. Look at the headlines. Look at who’s in charge!” he yelled suddenly, making me jump a bit. He grabbed his key, making a show of it. His knuckles turning white as he held it tightly, I thought for sure it would break. “You want this key because you think you’re saving people, but they’re already safe. We have a plan. You don’t understand. You don’t believe. You don’t CARE!” He screamed as he turned away from me, knocking a stack of files to the floor before placing his hands on his hips. His heavy breathing making his shoulders rise and fall rapidly. “So fucking wrathful, you’re looking for every reason to unleash it on anyone who gets a step too close. I don’t think you care about anything else. It doesn’t fucking matter to you, it never did. Our fates being tied…what consequences that come with it. You’d rather let it consume you, even after everything. You’d rather have the emptiness than…this…and that is disappointing.”

My heart broke, shattering into pieces as the silence hung heavy. I took a step back as the tears fell. I turned, grabbing my gear, and ran out the door. I fished out the keys from my pocket as I jumped into my jeep. My fingers shook as I fiddled with my seatbelt. I jumped as I heard the slam of my passenger door. Turning I saw Randy as he put his seatbelt on, giving me a quick nod once he was settled in. I wanted to ask but thought better of it. I just needed to get the fuck out of here. I started the car, put it in drive, and slammed on the gas. Something in me wanted nothing more than to turn around, to apologize. I wanted him, wanted to take it all back. Kiss him until we were both forgiven, everything forgotten. But I couldn’t. There was nothing to go back to.

“Deputy!” Jess called over the radio. “We’re heading to the Jessop Conservatory. You coming?” I looked at Randy and he looked back. John was expecting me to go to Jacob’s region. If he were to send anyone after me, he would send them there. For once, I was thankful for Jess’s timing. I sighed as I picked up the radio.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Wren’s fight with Faith

“He had to choose, you know. Between saving a Herald—the sister of the Baptist…or you. He chose you.” I turned back with eyes wide, and her tears finally fell. “I thought the Father was taking from me in the beginning, taking who I was away from me. But that wasn’t true. He was giving me the chance to help others the way he had helped me. He offered me salvation. And I want the same for you.” She tilted her head slightly. “I know you see John in the Bliss; I’ve known for a while.” She looked back over my shoulder once again. “If you kill me, Wren, you will have to kill the others because that’s how it has to be. There would be no going back, the choice would be made. It would hurt him; it would hurt John deeply and put things so far into motion that you won’t be able change it. You know this, don’t you?”

I look at the river, flowing swiftly and offering a soothing melody. “Yes,” I whispered. “I can feel it.”

“Which is why you’re standing here in front of me.” She whispered. “I know that you feel it, and we both know that Jacob would be next. Instead of just hurting one side, you will hurt both. You will ruin John, while destroying yourself in that process. One path will lead to John, the other to heartbreak. Is it worth it? Because if it is, continue. Kill me, I won’t fight you. But you can go back, it’s not too late. It’s not too late for both of you.”

#oc: wren blake #ch: john seed #ch: faith seed #far cry 5 #my ocs #tag game

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sunshineandaisies · 3 years

Text

Tuesday

Words: ~3.3k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injury, a tad bit angsty?

Note: I haven’t written anything new in the marvel fandom for 4+ years now, so this is me dipping my toes back into it before I start working on new series that I have planned. And because I hate myself sometimes, I decided to write something for a character I’ve never written for, our smol bean peter. Hopefully I did okay???

A typical Tuesday for you was, well, normal.

You’d go to school, mildly pay attention in class, and do your best to stay out of whatever drama was currently overtaking the halls of Midtown High. When the final bell of the day rang, you walked home with your headphones in, playing loud music to drown out the sounds of the city. You’d get home from school, maybe have a less than healthy snack, and watch a random television program until your mom was trying to pull you away from the couch for dinner. After dinner was eaten - and the dishes were cleaned and drying, because you needed that weekly allowance money - you shut yourself in your room to work on homework and to subsequently procrastinate that homework by playing mobile games on your phone. Usually, you’d end up falling asleep with one of your textbooks open to the page you’d been in the middle of reading and with your phone slowly dying in your hand because Candy Crush was lighting up your screen and draining the battery.

Pretty uneventful, right?

This Tuesday, however, was anything but uneventful.

You should’ve known from the moment that Peter Parker spilled chocolate milk on your white top at lunch that the day was going to be anything but your typical Tuesday. It only got worse when he shoved a handful of napkins onto your chest, dabbing at the stain while stammering and blushing and being so frustratingly cute that you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him for practically pawing at your chest in the middle of the cafeteria.

It didn’t end there.

Your locker jammed between fifth and sixth period, preventing you from grabbing the calculus assignment that you had spent hours trying to complete over the weekend and making you unable to turn it in on time. The worn strap of your backpack finally broke on your walk home from school, and you were forced to carry the heavy bag in your arms, making the limbs numb and tingly by the time you finally reached your apartment. Your mom had picked up a rare night shift at the hospital at the last minute, leaving you to fend for yourself for dinner – which, in normal circumstances, would have been fine, but the Moroccan place down the street that you ordered from had given you the wrong food and you were too hungry to call them and have the order corrected.

You figured that would be the end of it. You figured that there was absolutely no way that anything could go wrong as you spent the rest of your evening actually working on homework, sprawled lazily across your bed, and bopping your head in time to the music coming through your headphones.

Oh, how wrong you were.

It had to be nearing midnight when you were startled from your chemistry homework by the sound of banging on the fire escape outside your window. You paused your music, slightly startled and more than a little confused. Sure, there were occasionally stray cats that somehow found their way to the metal platform outside your window, and sure, sometimes those cats where assholes and pushed each other around every now and then – but this…that thump either came from a very, very large cat, or someone was outside your room.

You got your answer when a very sweaty, very tired looking Peter Parker stumbled through your window and landed face down on the floor, groaning softly. Your mouth soundlessly opened and closed, opened and closed, opened and closed as you tried to find your words, but the Spider-Man suit that he wore and the red mask clutched tightly in his hand had left you absolutely speechless.

You easily stared at him for five minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Did Peter Parker really just crawl through your window and then pass out on your floor? Was Peter Parker fucking Spider-Man? Was Spider-Man – the Spider-Man – in your bedroom? Did Spider-Man touch your boobs today?

“What the fuck?” you finally spoke, startling Peter as he looked up at you with wide chocolate eyes before panic sunk in and he jumped up to his feet abruptly, which in turn only served to startle you more and make you repeat, “What the fuck?”

“Y/N?” he asked, as if he wasn’t sure that it was truly you that sat in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he started to pace, pulling at his hair nervously. “Mr. Stark is gonna kill me.” He glanced back up you, eyes still wide. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re Spider-Man,” you countered, eyes flitting over the tight suit before focusing on the mask in his hand. “You’re Spider-Man, Peter.”

“Okay, so- so maybe it is what it looks like, but I-” He cut himself off, and you could tell that he’s struggling to explain the entire thing away. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, yes. I’m Spider-Man, but you can’t tell anyone. Please, Y/N. No one else can know about this.”

You nodded slowly, abandoning your textbook and sitting at the edge of your bed as you stared at one another awkwardly. “Don’t tell anyone. Got it. But, like… Are you- Can I ask questions?”

“Um, yeah, I- I guess.” You watched him scratch the back of his neck nervously as his checks tinted pink. “Ask away.”

“First question – why are you in my room?” It seemed like the obvious question to ask. If Peter – Spider-Man – hadn’t crawled through your window in the first place, you wouldn’t even need to ask him any questions at all.

You had to bite back a laugh as you watched his eyes widen momentarily as he finally took in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the few photos you had of you and your friends hanging on the walls and the stack of books that sat on your desk just waiting to be read. “Your room? I, uh- To be fair, when I crawled through the window, I thought it was my room.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he continued, “I live here. Well, not here, here, but in this building. With my aunt May. We live here. In this building. I must’ve swung to the wrong fire escape.”

“Swung?” you asked, his explanation providing more questions than answers. “Like with your webs?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you swing around the city and fight bad guys?” Another nod. “You’re Spider-Man.”

He paused, as if thinking his answer through. “Yeah.”

“This is wild,” you commented more to yourself, leaning in closer and poking at the material of his suit. He stayed completely still as you prodded the suit some more, feeling the thick fabric beneath the pads of your fingertips. You let out a short laugh and looked up at him, repeating, “You’re Spider-Man.” You laughed freely then, and the little smile he gave you was enough to make your heart pound wildly in your chest. “Don’t worry,” you assured him once the laughter died down, “your secret’s safe with me, Parker.”

You could almost feel the tension and nervous energy leave his body, and you watched as his shoulders slumped forward, finally relaxed since he first realized that you saw him as Spider-Man. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I’m asking a lot, but I- It’s really important.”

You smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Parker. My lips are sealed.” You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key, and it made a small burst of laughter escape his lips. “Besides, you have more things to worry about than me telling the world that you double as a superhero after school hours. Like our Spanish test in first period tomorrow.”

“Spanish test t- Shit!” You watched his eyes widen again at the reminder of the test that you both had to take in eight hours, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he quickly scrambled towards the window. Halfway through your window, he glanced back at you with a soft smile curling his lips. “I, uh- Thanks again, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Spider-Man.” You winked, and he was gone, crawling up the wall to the fire escape above yours. You crouched down at your window and listened for a moment longer as the sounds of Peter hauling his body over the rails of the fire escape and the opening of a different window – presumably his – echoed through the alley between your apartment building and the building next to it. Knowing that he’d be able to hear you, you called out, “Goodnight, Peter,” and shut your window.

After that night, your typical Tuesday was anything but normal.

Your mom started to regularly work night shifts on Tuesdays, and while there were no more mishaps with incorrect takeout orders, no more chocolate milk spilt on shirts, and no more jammed lockers, there was Spider-Man.

Peter was quick to realize that every Tuesday night, you would leave your window slightly open just for him regardless of how cold the autumn air outside was. Some nights, he crawled through your window as early as eight. Other nights, you didn’t see him until nearly midnight. Some nights, you would spend hours going over chemistry and calculus homework with him – because, seriously, Peter Parker may just be the smartest sixteen-year-old you’ve ever met – and discussing his latest superhero escapades. Other nights, you simply sat together on your bed, sharing candy as you talked about school, friends, family, and everything else that happened to come up in the course of your conversation.

The easy friendship you had formed with Peter had confused a few people, to say the least.

His best friend, Ned, had openly stared at you with wide eyes the first day you sat beside Peter in the cafeteria, and your friends looked at you with confused expressions before quickly following suit and taking a seat at the table. MJ – who you thankfully already had somewhat of a tentative friendship with thanks to a history project during freshman year – simply lifted her gaze to you, shrugged her shoulders in greeting, and returned to the book she was reading. Flash was quick to make a mean comment about Peter once he noticed you and your friends sitting at the table, but after you made a passing threat of sharing his Spider-Man fanfiction with the school, he scurried back to his own table with his tail between his legs.

Peter, though. Peter looked at you with such a tender expression that made your heart flutter uncontrollably in your chest and your cheeks flood with warmth as you settled into your seat beside him. You playfully knocked your shoulder against his and made a quip about Spanish class that made him laugh before falling into easy conversation with the others, though your mind never drifted far from the way that your thigh was pressed against Peter’s or the way that his pinky finger would occasionally brush over yours.

That first day you sat with Peter in the cafeteria had a domino effect. Over the course of a few weeks, you spent an increasing amount of time with Peter, both during school and outside of school hours. You walked home from school with Peter every day (or at least every day that he didn’t disappear for Spider-Man duties); you joined him, Ned, and MJ for movie nights on Fridays; and you even had dinner with Peter and May on the rare nights that you spent hours studying in Peter’s bedroom rather than alone in yours.

But the domino effect didn’t stop at just changing how you typically spent your days.

Without any warning, you found yourself falling painfully in love with the nerdy boy that lived in the apartment above yours and that masqueraded as a crime fighting superhero in the evening and on weekends (though you knew that if he were really needed during school hours, he would find an excuse to disappear from class for as long as Spider-Man was needed).

You thought about telling Peter, you really did. Every time he crawled through your window, a wide smile on his face and his cheeks tinted pink from the exertion of swinging through the city, you thought about telling him how he made your heart race in the best way. Every time his fingers brushed against your arm as you walked home or across your fingers as you sat in the cafeteria, your thought about telling him how he made your skin tingle pleasantly with just the slightest touch. Every time he appeared at your place with sandwiches from Delmar’s and spent hours on your couch watching old sitcoms, you thought about telling him how moments like that were what made you happiest.

You thought about telling Peter, but you never found the courage to speak up.

Your friendship with Peter was too valuable to risk losing it because of your feelings, and you didn’t miss the way that he would look at MJ when she wasn’t paying attention, the way that he would go out of his way to speak to her in the halls between classes, the way that he seemed so in tuned to everything that she was doing and saying. Your feelings would fade eventually, so you kept them to yourself and told yourself you were content with just friendship.

It was only fitting that it was a Tuesday night when everything changed nearly three months after Peter mistakenly crawled through your window.

Despite the December chill and the light dusting of snow on the fire escape outside your window, you left the window cracked open just enough for Peter to easily pull it open and crawl inside. It may have made your room almost unbearably cold, but it was nothing that fuzzy socks, a comfy sweatshirt, and a heated blanket couldn’t fix.

It was later than usual when Peter finally arrived, stumbling through your window when he finally managed to open and it, and it didn’t escape your notice that his fingers had left bloody streaks on the glass pane of the window.

“Peter!” You heart leapt to your throat as you scrambled from your bed to support him, and he slumped forward, struggling to stay on his feet. “Pete, c’mon. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Stabbed,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “He had a knife.”

You were not prepared for this. Absolutely not. No one had ever told you that being friends with a superhero would mean them stumbling into your apartment at two in the morning with a fucking stab wound. “Okay. Uh…” You led him to your bed, helping him lay down before scanning your eyes over his body. And just as he said, there was a large slash across his abdomen, his red suit staining an even darker red as he bled from the wound. “Shit, I- Pete what do I do? Tell me how to help you.” You tugged at his suit with shaking hands, trying – and failing – to pull the material away from his body. “How do I take this fucking thing off?”

You stepped back as his hand pressed against the spider symbol on his chest, and the suit instantly enlarged, allowing you to pull it away from his body and to bunch the material around his hips. (If it hadn’t been entirely inappropriate given the circumstances, you most certainly would have taken your time appreciating the sculpted muscles on Peter’s chest and abdomen).

You inspected the damage, your eyes burning with unshed tears and the fear you felt increasing exponentially the longer you looked at the gash that marred his skin. It wasn’t too deep, but it was deep enough to nearly send you into a panic. “We should call 911, Pete,” you told him once you found your voice, though it was still thick with fear. “I- I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know how to-”

“Hey,” he whispered, his warm hand curling around yours and squeezing reassuringly. “I know you can. I watched you stitch that pig up in biology at the end of the dissection a few weeks ago.”

“I just didn’t want to leave it cut open like that,” you defended, though you knew there was really no need to. “But a dead pig is much different than a living human, Peter. I don’t…” You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m scared, Pete.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I promise.” He let out a hiss of pain, his jaw clenched tightly. “Your mom has a first aid kit, right?” You nodded. “Get it.”

You did as you were told, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet in your mom’s bathroom before returning to Peter. You worked slowly after you had cleaned his wound as well as you could and threaded the needle. Your hands shook as you started stitching the wound back together, careful to not make it any worse than it already was. Peter hissed in pain each time you poked the needle through his skin, but he whispered reassurances to encourage you. Soon, his abdomen had been stitched together, and while it certainly wasn’t pretty and would definitely scar, it looked stable.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do wi-” he began, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you hissed. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified I am right now?” The tears you’d been holding back while you stitched him up finally spilled from your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it fucking hurt to see you like this?”

He sat up on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. You didn’t miss the way he winced in pain from the movement. “Y/N, I-”

“I’m not done talking, Peter,” you snapped, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “I get that you’re Spider-Man, that you feel responsible to protect the city and do whatever it takes to stop the bad guys, but- Fuck, Pete! You could die!”

“But I won’t!”

“You don’t know that!” you shouted, your lip trembling as you sat next to him on the bed. You lowered your voice to a whisper and repeated, “You don’t know that, Pete. You just don’t. Tonight, you got lucky. But what if next time, instead of a knife, they have a gun, and you get shot.”

He glanced up at you sheepishly, his chocolate eyes pleading with you to stop crying. “I heal fast,” he tried to reason, but it wasn’t enough to appease you. You looked away, but a gentle hand on your cheek brought your attention back to him. “Besides, I’m pretty motivated to not die. I can’t take you on a date if I’m dead.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him before promptly snapping it shut. Did he really just say that? Was it the pain and the exhaustion talking, or did he really mean it? “Date? Did you just- What did you say?” It was definitely the pain and exhaustion talking, right? It had to be.

He leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder, and you froze, concentrating on the way his warm breath ghosted over the skin of your neck. “A date, Y/N. Uh, if you- I mean, only if you’d want-” You giggled as he stumbled over his words, tilted your head slightly to rest atop his. The action must have soothed his nerves, because he took your hand in his and confidently said, “I wanna take you on a date, Y/N.”

Your lips curled up into a wide smile, unable to contain how absolutely giddy you felt in that moment. “I’d like that, Pete,” you told him. “But we really need to have a conversation about superhero safety.”

He laughed, but it was cut off by a groan of pain. “We can probably do that.”

And unsurprisingly, your first date was on a Tuesday.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker reader insert #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction

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hearthandhomemagick · 3 years

Text

A Cottage Witch Love and Appreciation Letter

Just to preface, the literature within this letter may contain adult content. Read at your own discretion. This is my love letter to my Significant Other/Lover. I feel a lot of love right now, especially with Aphrodite in April, and want to express it.

Logan.

I can't express how much I love you.

A feeling I have never really experienced before....the need to stay, even when things are getting harder. The want to keep going after the World has been pushing against you relentlessly. The images of you and I conquering battles, and enjoying the mysteries of the Earth we stand on. It's hard to express to you how much you have changed the very life I live day to day. This letter may never do justice in expressing my feelings for you, but God Damnit I hope it comes close.

I want to start by saying telling you how happy I get when you show me the things you love. Your excitement is childlike, and amazing to witness. The cogs behind your eyes get to going, and I can see the factory of your mind working. A bright light flashes there, just as you lift your eyebrows a bit, lean forward with a smile and just say, "Dude..." before going off on your wonderful tangent. You show me the things you love, what makes you laugh, or excited, and what reminds you of me. I am so grateful to be a part of your life's pleasures, and to be the person you get to come to to show those pleasures. I never thought I'd enjoy video games, motorcycles, guns and adult 80's cartoon movies until you started showing them to me. I take pride in being your person, thank you for trusting me with that.

I also pride myself on your physical touch. Your love seems to caress me the same way your arms do at night, right before the edge of sleep. Your fingertips brushing my skin, leaving soft, warm rivers of goosebumps in their place. It sends tingles across my skin, like your lips do when leaving constellations over my collarbones. You allow me to feel a lightness I have never been able to truly have from another person. A gentle squeeze of my cheeks. A moment of solitude on your chest, as well as a moment of energy between your legs. Our intimacy is untouchable, a euphoric experience of pure love and devotion to the bodies we give each other.

I feel heard with you more than anyone else. Throughout my life, I was bragged on for being the quiet girl who did great in school and didn't cause any problems. I also didn't have many people listen to me who actually cared about what I had to say. You and I could get into a tiff or two, and you are still actively trying to understand me and where I am coming from. You may not be able to understand what I am saying in that moment, but you are trying and that it more than most have ever offered to me. I find solidarity in the idea that even if we don't agree, don't understand or miscommunicate, we will still come out the end of the argument with our relationship being the resolve. We try to keep in mind that the relationship comes before the argument every time and fuck I have never been able to "not win" a fight before until now. Telling you everything is just secondary nature at this point, and you're the only person I'm comfortable with telling that to.

You are my Best Friend, my Partner, and my Lover. And you are amazing at all three titles. Everything you do, you do it head on, full throttle, all gas no breaks and I admire the fuck out of that. I've watched you work on things, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, focused look on your face. It doesn't take much to get you angry when figuring things out or doing a task that is difficult, but you're so fucking smart and persistent anyways that you figure it out yourself in the end, and then EXCELL above others in the process of learning! You really are a force to be reckoned with and I am so happy I get to witness you succeed more and more throughout life. I want to continue watching you grow and do more, see more, accomplish more in an attempt at following your dreams. I want to stand by your side and say, "Yeah, I support you. I've got your back. You've got this. I'll do whatever you need in order to help you succeed." And I know that you will do the same thing for me. I want us to grow together, and I can't express how excited I am to continue growing with you.

The comfort I get from waking up next to you is enamoring. We wake up in tangles, bare skin and loose limbs. We simply enjoy the quiet of the morning before the alarm jerks us from each other. We walk around the house talking shit, smoking, and just being authentically ourselves. I notice more and more how intricately you are woven into my life. And I adore every second we get to be in each others presence. We could be silent, loud, mad or happy. Either way, I am comfortable and okay with it, because you are my comfort zone.

My love, I'm not sure when, but you became my everything. Maybe it was the first night we slept in the same place together. Maybe it was the first kiss. Maybe it was the first touch. The first fuck. The first date, the first week, the first clothes we shared. The sweet family we have created, the home we have manifested. I don't think there is a single moment where I said, "He is my everything." and yet I have known for a very long time now. Forever doesn't have to be a ring, but if you feel so inclined then know I'd say "yes"...but only for you. Forever could be forever minus a wedding. It could be forever and a day. It could be forever until it isn't forever. All I know is you are forever in my eyes, and I enjoy every moment, kiss, touch, conversation, blunt drive and goofy antic I spend with you.

Thank you for being my person. Thank you for being your own person. Thank you for being alive. Thank you for being you. Just....thank you.

I love you. I appreciate you. I respect you. And I hope you know.

#lover #loveletter #literature #writing #aphrodite #journal #journalentry #spouse #couple #so #significantother #partner #forever #lovestory

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obaewankenope · 3 years

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Okay so, I have ADHD. I'm 18 and was diagnosed 2 months ago? Maybe one? I don't remember. Anyways, I'm constantly thinking about and bouncing between the "hey it's okay you can't do this, it's not your fault, you just need some extra help and you can do it!!!" and "you're so stupid, just try harder, if you cared enough you'd be able to do it. why are you asking for special treatment and being a burden?" lines of thinking.

And that, especially lately, has led me to hyperfixating on the fear that, hey, maybe even when I do start medication and have finally figured out how to manage this with my therapist... what if I still can't do it?

This is especially difficult when it comes to art. I'm an aspiring artist & illustrator, and the struggle to do something that I love so much is so incredibly frustrating.

And it makes me worry that, even when I am finally medicated and have what I need, and even now when I'm REALLY struggling... maybe the problem is me and not the clearly albeist system I'm forced to work in.

Maybe I don't love it enough. Maybe I'm not as passionate and dedicated and driven to succeed with my art as I think I am. And it is so unbelievably soul crushing to think that because, that's it for me, that's all I can think to do with my life. I don't really have anything else, which I know sounds dramatic but, yeah. And the idea that I might not care for it enough, or that simply caring for it isn't enough, is really messing with me.

Uh so I'm not really sure what I'm asking aside from, WHAT DO I DO? How do I manage this? How do you deal with the imposter syndrome? Help????

Okay so, there's a LOT to unpack here, bean, and we're gonna do it now at 2:39am because why the fuck not, right?

You're 18 which means your brain is still developing. That means you have to deal with the chaotic brain chemistry that comes with growing on top of the chaos of adhd. That sucks.

The whole swings and roundabouts thinking on your ability is, sadly, very common. Too common to be as normalised as it is tbh. The first thought process is the Good One. That's the one that is Accurate To You And Your Needs. The second thought process is the Society Mindset Of Judgement.

I call thoughts like that "brain weasels" - a concept my friend Lily mentioned one day in chat and I just instantly accepted it as reality.

All those bad thoughts, all those moments of "you're a failure" are given a Name in my mind. That is Brian. Brain Weasel Brian. My mother calls them Brain Weasel Paddy.

I heartily advocate that sort of thing. Adopting this method of Attributing A Name to the thoughts that Don't Help You, is a good method of teaching your brain to separate the bad thoughts and the good ones that help.

Sometimes it doesn't work. In my depressive episodes, it doesn't work great if at all. But that happens. Sometimes nothing helps then. Sometimes existing is about as much as I can manage. It's Sucky but it's not permanent.

Rarely, is anything truly permanent. We just tend to think they are.

Next, hyper fixating on fear.

Again, pretty damned normal if also very sucky. Our brains, no matter whether we're neurodiverse or not, are Very Good at remembering the bad and giving up lots of Risk Lists to consider. This mechanism helps us as a species in the wild, of course, but in the world we live in now... well, it's not the best mechanism out there.

We can't stop it, though. It's part of our evolution as humans. We can figure out tricks to help manage it. See, the biggest problem we have with fear and anxiety is we try to push it down and away or we obsess over it. Those are the worst options.

Anxiety and fear have to be imagined to be like smoke. Its there in the air. Its part of it when a fire happens and we need fires for warmth. So anxiety and fear is natural. It's healthy to have both but not so much that we can't function. The mechanism is messing up if we can't function.

Anyway.

Have you ever tried to capture smoke in your hands? It's not possible. You can't cup your hands like you would with water, can't grip it like you would a solid. No. Because smoke is a gas and it moves and shifts and fills up any space it can.

Anxiety and fear are like smoke. They're part of everything and exists because of Reasons and they can be a good thing but can also be a bad thing too.

It can also become too familiar for us sometimes. Like a smoker who lights up and savours the smell of a burning cigarette.

We cling to what we know even if what we know is bad for us. It's human nature. But just because we cling to what we know doesn't mean we can't be brave and let it go. That's human nature too.

We're a species of messy contradictions, after all.

Medication helps the brain chemistry and assists that fear and anxiety mechanism. It's not a cure, contrary to belief, but it will help. Therapy helps you work through things and medication helps settle your brain which will help you further.

Does that mean it's going to fix you? No, because you're not broken. You're different but not broken.

With your art and illustration and your desire to become an illustrator, I can wholly understand the frustration you feel.

But I wonder, does that frustration stem from fear of failure or from feeling so many emotions and not being able to figure out their source?

If its the former, then that's understandable. We all fear failure. But sometimes, it's not failure we actually fear. What we really fear is success. Because we don't know what to do if we succeed. That's a long term thing.

Failure can be immediate and short term. It's something we can think about in the immediate future because our brains are able to follow the tangent of time enough for that.

But success. Success means long term considerations. It means thinking about what comes after. It means considering potential promotions, opportunities, work pieces, connections and so on. It means thinking of those things beyond the short term where our brain's are most comfortable.

ADHD brains are not really built for long term planning. We're good planners for short term things. Good problem solvers. But rarely is it a long term sort of solution we come up with.

Not because we can't, but because we get so mirred in the details, in the What Ifs and the Possibilities that we lose our focus on the Whole Picture. We lose the tangent.

I don't necessarily think you're not passionate enough. Hardly anyone who draws lacks passion. They may lack technique, but passion... That's something any artist needs in my opinion. Even just a spark.

But being able to use that passion, to convey it, now that's the challenge. That's Hard.

Sometimes it's next to impossible.

The thing is, ADHD and Autism make you feel things Deeply and Chaotically. This makes you struggle to process those feelings.

Being a young adult with Expectations and Responsibilities on top of sucky brain growth chemistry just makes that struggle worse.

You may not be able to channel your passion into your art currently, but that doesn't mean you don't have it.

Think of your passion like a tube that's got a blockage in it. The pressure inside is immense but you've got nothing on hand to remove the blockage. It'll take time to develop the tools, to find them, to help. Or. It might have to remove itself.

This doesn't make you lacking in passion. It just makes you temporarily injured in the passion department. We don't blame someone for a sprained ankle resting. Don't blame yourself for taking time off because of this.

Imposter syndrome is... Hard. So, so hard.

I don't have an answer for you about how to handle it. I do a pretty poor job of it myself. I fake confidence, am awful at accepting praise, and constantly feel inadequate. I just hide it really well.

But that's emotion. That's fear and doubt and anxiety. That's societal expectations stoking the emotional disturbance of imposter syndrome.

Logic tells me different.

But logic is hard to believe. Especially when the emotions are very Loud and Distracting.

Sometimes you have to call those doubts and fears for what they are: Brain Weasels.

Sometimes you have to think of it all like it's smoke.

Sometimes you have to sit down and meditate, crossing a mental bridge between reason and emotion to deliver a message to both sides.

We are individuals who pick out pebbles from the river and admire them. Sometimes we keep them. Sometimes we put them back. Most times, we move on. Those pebbles are difficulties, challenges, doubts.

ADHD tends to try and keep the pebbles. Imposter syndrome uses them as building blocks.

Sometimes you have to dig out the foundations and toss those pebbles back before you can start to work on fixing up the rest.

This has become very rambly now, I'm sorry. Its 3:24am and I need to sleep. I do hope this helps in some way, though. If not for you, then for others.

#Kat replies #ADHD #Neurodiversity #Neurodiverse #Autism #Mental health #Disability

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jonah-aesthetic · 3 years

Text

That One Pt. 2 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: After Jonah Takes Y/n to his favourite ice cream parlour and takes care of her. She’s conflicted on her feelings for him, is he who everyone thinks he is? Or is he hiding himself from the world?

Word Count: 5K+

Author’s Note: More POC characters and pictured links. Sawyer may or may not be in this one. I feel like this part wasn’t good, but enjoy. Not edited.

Rating: 16+

Part 1

________________

Mentally preparing yourself for the aimless flirting you let a sigh leave your lips.Turing toward him, your breath hitched as you looked up into his green. predatory smirk etched into his pink lips, you wanted them on yours. Nope you mentally hissed at yourself, you didn’t you couldn’t. That’s what you told yourself because you did want him. every inch of him tangled within you. But you couldn’t give him that satisfaction, so you bite at his ego every chance you got. Jonah was after you, everywhere you seemed to go he fell into your path.

“Babe? Really?” Glaring him town, didn’t seem to work since he held a few inches from you.

“You love it, now lets get you home.” His hand is gentle resting between your shoulder blades. Beginning to guide you to the door, swerving you through the crowd making sure no one bumped into you. “What if I don’t want to leave?” The alcohol in your veins doing the talking for you.

“I didn’t think you did, Ivette has Daniel.” Jonah states still walking you do the door. You sighed in response, he was right you didn’t want to stay here if it wasn’t with Ivette. And frankly you didn't mind leave especially with your aching feet still in those heels.

“Leaving so soon?” Julie’s sickly sweet voice was recognisable anywhere. You immediate turned at the first word, Jonah in tow following your every move like it was his job.

Julie wasn’t alone, two others flanked her side. You met them before at brunch a few weeks ago. Rachel on her right, gleaming with her beautiful Korean features. Savannah on her left, beaming with her fiery red hair.

Julie had on the exact replica of your dress, but hers was a crisp white. Gorgeous contrast against her mahogany skin, “Yeah I’m not feeling it, Jonah is giving me a ride home.” Your tone innocent as you smiled at them. He leaned into your side at the mention of his name, His arm now snaking around your waist in a protecting manner. Shuddering you felt the need to push him away, but not in the presence of her.

“So the rumours are true, you two are together?” The prodding question came from Rachel. Watching the way Jonah clung onto you, maybe it was an excuse to hold you and maybe it wasn't.

“I would of never pegged you two together.” Savannah chokes on a laugh. Where was Ivette when you needed her?

“It’s the unlikely to fall in love. Isn't it?” Jonah asks, almost making your eye balls pop out of their sockets. Yet you still held eye contact with Julie hoping she didn’t see the way you just slipped up.

“Yes I guess it is.” Julie stares you down, trying to uncover the lie wrapping in the truth. Rachel and Savannah sharing curious glances, shit.

“Have a good night Julie, I know I sure will.” You mange to get out, blaming it on the liquor still hanging in. Surprised etched into their features watching the way Jonah guided you for the door again.

“Glad to see that your chicken pox cleared nicely!” Julie hollered from behind both of you, halting in your tracks, Jonah walked right into you.

“They did, thanks.” You choked on the words in your throat, not sure on how to reply to her.

Jonah helped you into the passenger’s seat of his Jeep. Thanking him you slid into the leather seat and rested your back against it. He shut the Jeep door, eyes connecting with his for a brief moment before he jogged to the drivers side. Collecting himself inside looking to you, distracted by the phone in your hands. Seeing no message from Trey still, why would their be? It’s 3:09am.

“What?” You ask finally noticing his stare,

“Chicken pox?” He asks amused,

“It’s a long story, due for another time.” You curse yourself for implying you wanted to see him again.

“I knew you wanted to see me again.” He teases turning the key in the ignition, the jeep wakes and begins to roll. Lurching forward as Jonah presses on the gas. Balancing his foot off the clutch, smooth enough for there not to be a jerk in the motion of the Jeep.

“Thank you, for going along in there. I don’t think Julie likes me that much.” You change direction of the conversation. Jonah’s cologne reaching your nose, cinnamon and honey. Not an ounce of alcohol lingering in, you smile lightly. It must of been pop whirling in that cup of his earlier.

“Julie palekin, never liked her much. The money her daddy has morphs her personality. “ Jonah says, gripping the steering wheel firmly, switching gears with the climbing speed. Green eyes on the road, glancing at you every so often. “I didn’t mind playing your boyfriend again. I’m getting good at it don’t you think?” The smirk is back onto his lips, teasing you till you die must of been his mission.

“This is the last time, Marais.” You say now turning your attention towards the window. Sky pitch black, littering with beautiful stars. Watching the street signs as Jonah passes them. Staying quite noticing you wanted and only the hum of the radio was heard.

Gale

Peterson

Everett

Boston

Instead of making a left turn towards campus Jonah turns the Jeep right, into the city. You sit up confused, eyes holding worry as you felt the anxiety creep in. “You’re going the wrong way.” you note, looking at Jonah, “Relax I know where I’m going.” He says humorously watching the way you reacted.

“Where are we going exactly?”

“You’ll see.” his voice calming

Less then ten minutes later Jonah pulls the Jeep into a deserted parking lot. Chocolate spot was written in glowing brown lettering a top the building. Glowing light poured through the windows indicating it was still open. Parking he cut the engine. Turning to Jonah, he had this intoxicating smile, one you hadn’t seen before. Nothing like the wolfish smirk that was always plastered on his lips.

“Where are we?” You asked cautiously,

“ if you read the letters, that with probably give you a hint.”

“Funny, I meant what exactly is the chocolate spot?” Curiosity dripping in your words.

“An ice cream parlour, now hurry up or l’ll leave you here. Fair warning Cheryl has a mean alarm.” Jonah says before climbing out of the vehicle, who is cheryl?

You sigh for the millionth time thinking it was best to follow him. Rather then wait for his slow ass in the car. By yourself at 3;30 in the morning. Before you could reach for the handle the door opened for you. Causing the lights in the car to flash on again. Looking up you were met with Jonah’s beaming face.

“I can open the door myself.” You whisper pointedly at him, green eyes watching as you tried to move your legs. Seething at the burning sensation blossoming onto the pads on your feet. With the adrenaline and the fading affect of the liquor, you felt the entire pain that these high heels endured.

“What?” Jonah’s voice holding concern, as he came to your side to aid you in any way he could. Too blind from the pain you hadn’t noticed how close he was willingly to get. Breath mingling with yours.

“Heels,” You mustered through you teeth.

Without another word Jonah knelled in front of you, moving your knees towards him to have your legs dangling out of the jeep. “Ouch!” You yelped at the sudden bolt of pain rushing up your legs, “Sorry.” Jonah mumbled before his warm hands started working on the buckle around your ankle. Jonah’s eyebrows knitted together, concentrating on the task at hand.

You watched him, wondering what it’d feel like to rake a hand through those curls. What it’d feel like to read a book and have his head tuck safely in your lap.

Unclasping the buckle he firmly gripped the back of your calf. His other hand on the bottom of the heel as he soft removed the death trap you called a shoe. Pulling the straps out of various wounds, opening the cuts. You seethed gripping the door frame of the jeep till your knuckled turned white. “Fuck. you’re bleeding. How did you manage to walk out of there without twisting your ankle?” He asks looking up at you, placing the heel on the floor of the vehicle.

“Adrenaline and alcohol.” You say with a shrug.

“That’s it.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t respond only stared at you for a little longer. Then his attention on the other cages foot, Doing the same. But this time he counted down from three before removing the shoe. Giving you time to mentally prepare yourself of the stinging yank. “There, your cute little toes are free, Although they’re sporting some nasty battle wounds.” Jonah smiled before standing up again, your feet feeling free and light as ever.

“My hero, what would I do without you?” You asked mimicking a princess, not thinking.

“No need to thank me m’lady it was all my pleasure.” Jonah plays along and bows to you in the process, you both burst into a fit of laughter. Enjoying the way they meld together perfectly. The laughing died out as your mind wandered off

Stop, don’t give in. Not to Jonah Marais. But this guy in front of you didn’t feel like that Jonah everybody knew. The one who go himself into heavy trouble giving him those brutal bruises you forgot about. The one who had everyone falling at his feet, the one who goes through them like it was a damn race. This kindness he was giving you was a trick. It had to be right?

“Let me help you out,” Jonah offers his hand out to you. Spotting gorgeous ink crawl up into his sleeve. You nod too sacred your mouth would betray you. Placing your hand in his, warm sensation worked it’s way up and you fought the urge to pull away. You grip stead in Jonah’s giving a small smile before you started to jump.

Your feet never hit the cold paved ground, Jonah crouched capturing you in his arms. He groaned lightly as you screeched in his ear unaware of his devious plan. One arm against your back and another under you legs in a bridal style manor. He chuckled at the way you reacted to him, wide eyed as your heart thumped wildly in your chest.

“If I told you, you would’ve bite my head off.” He explained himself, closing the jeep door with his back. With a loud honk, it locked.

You only glared at him because he was right. You would’ve objected the idea of him carrying you inside. Would’ve risk infection then agree to be in his arms, especially with the intoxication. You didn’t trust yourself this close to him, where you breathe danced with his, where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. Where you could feel his words vibrate within his chest.

Walking inside you were memorised by the place, you could easily tell the theme was retro. The floors were tiled black and white like a chess board. Both the booths and chair were a pastel teal and pink. Down the aisle of the tables was a vintage jukebox, teal and pink neon lights ran along it.

“Jonah my boy! Come in! Come in!” The words covered in a french accent. Behind the counter stood and older man, short and pudgy. Black hair with bits of grey sprinkling in, dark brown eyes resembled the earth. A bright smile towards the both of you.

“Hello to you too Marcel.” Jonah chuckles walking to the counter,

Marcel’s smile became brighter as he spots you in Jonah’s arms. Eye’s sparkling, “Oh who is this sweet thing? Must be your girlfriend.” It was more of a statement then a question, “No, Marcel this is y/n, she’s just a friend.” Jonah explained and you swore you could here the drop in his voice.

Jonah Finally places you into a cotton candy booth. After shows you all the ice cream choices behind the glass casing. Ordering and catching up with Marcel which didn’t seem to be much as he seemed to come her often. Almost as if he knew the parlour like the back of his hand.

The leather began to stick to the backs of your thighs, bare feet on the cool marble floor. You over hear Jonah asking for the first aid kit as you looked around the place a little more. Noticing a group of younger kids, laughing and leaning into each other, show each other videos from their phones. Probably fourteen or fifteenth. Another couple sat at a centre table, beautiful smiles as they talked. Must of been one of those deep conve-

“Jesus Jonah!” You hiss at him,

The sting ran up your nerves, scrunching up your face as you tried to yank your foot from his death grip. It only tightened making sure your foot didn’t slip. You wondered how he’d react if you kicked him with your free foot, on to his ass.

His expression bored and slightly irritated, holding a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol above the cut. It gleamed bright red from the light above, vaguely cleaned.

“Stop being a wuss and let me disinfect.”

“It fucking Burns Marais!”

“I know.”

“Give me some sympathy.”

He sighs, placing a cotton ball down a small serving plate Marcel donated for the cause. Jonah reached into his back pocket, his eyes never straying from your. “Here.” He places a black bandanna that has seen better days then this in your hand. You grimace and look at him, “What’s this?” you mumble. He rolls his eyes at you, “Just bite down on it! It’ll help with the pain.And before you ask yes it’s clean.”

You shrug, what did you have to lose? Folding the tattered fabric you did as told. you gave Jonah a thumbs up and an eager nod like you were ready for war. He shakes his head and chuckles, thinking you were the cutest thing this world had to offer.

Did he always have a piece of material rotting in his butt pocket for situation like this? If so, where the hell was it ten minutes ago?

You whimper into the cloth. Feeling the burning returning as he began disinfecting your wounds again. He glanced up for a few seconds seeing he discomfort in your eyes. Then the focus back on your foot.

You watched him. The way he took care of you within the last hour, you were surprised he was still single. He serenaded girls left and right with is band and his gentle touch. He never got to you, what was the point if it was just a night? what was the point if it didn’t turn into something more? Yet with all these thoughts you wanted him but you kept telling yourself no. Wha-

No. You blamed the thoughts on the alcohol still swimming in your system.

By the time Jonah finished each cut and bandaged them, Marcel brought your ice cream cups. Sliding them across the table with an innocent smile, capturing yours you stared in awe at your favourite flavour. Confusion etched into your eyebrows though, the ice cream behind the glass was hard and this was soft ice cream.

“Marcel mixes in a little bit of milk before blending it. And out comes this delicious soft ice cream.” Jonah moans sliding into the booth across from you. Mint chocolate chip ice cream already caught on the side on his lip. “Try it.” he pushes excitedly.

You do, digging out a fair amount and capturing the spoon in your mouth. Jonah watches every muscle you make. The ice cream hits your tongue your taste buds exploding. It tasted like the feeling of hugging a puppy, like pure happiness. His green eyes brighten and a genuine smile spreads onto his lips.

“This is absolutely amazing.” You beam,

“My thoughts exactly.” Jonah shoves another spoon of ice past his lips.

Jonah Marais

The radio played a gorgeous melody of Good Nights by Whethan. Hand full of gleaming rings tapped against the smooth steering wheel. Jonah hummed the lyrics thinking about sampling this song one day. Right hand curling on the gear shift, levelling the the clutch and the acceleration. His foot slips and drops the clutch causing the vehicle to jerk.

It was an instinct when his head whipped to you with concern glinting in his eyes. But Jonah sighed in relief at the sight of you. Head rested on the window, legs tucked into your body tightly. Your eyes closed and lips slightly parted, letting snores escape. Smile spread on to his lips. You were asleep in his passenger window.

Fuck you were asleep. How the hell was he going to get you through the corridors of your dorm? He didn’t feel comfortable going through your purse. Because if he did that would give you another reason not to trust him. Jonah couldn't risk that right now. The only choice was to bring you to his place. Not the fraternity, but his own personal space.

There was minimal traffic at four in the morning, Jonah weaved through it with ease and got to his apartment quick. He collected you in his arms with ease as if you were the missing piece to his complicated puzzle. You never squirmed at Cheryl’s loud honk when she locked.

Walking into his generous apartment he immediately shushed Sawyer, his three year-old Labrador. Nonetheless the asshole still managed to muster a bark, “Shut up, it’s me dingus.” Jonah whisper hissed at him, shaking his head at his dog before carrying you to his bedroom. Sawyer trailed with the light jingle of his collar and tag clashing together.

Laying you down Jonah turned for his closet, walking in as he strip out of his gross clothing. He found a pair of sweats and pulled them on, letting them rest on his hips. Coming back into the room he was startled to see you siting up. Coddling Sawyers head in your thighs, massive smile on his lips as his tail wagged.

“Hey,” Jonah greets,

Y/n turned to him a sleepy smile on her lips and a dazed look in her eyes. Half asleep, she was still cute as ever. Sawyer must of had the dumb courage to wake her up with a kiss like she was Snow White

“Have you meet Sawyer?” She asks, not realising that was his dog.

“Yeah, he’s a good dog.” He lied.

“Yes he is. Yes he is.” y/n speaks to sawyer in a baby voice, her attention on the dog again. Jonah laughs before turning back into the closet. He yanks one of his old band tees of the hanger, he smiles and shrugs. y/n can rep it for the night even if it was just in his apartment.

“Put this on, I don’t think you want to sleeping in that dress,” Jonah Throws the shirt at y/n and it hits her right in the face. “Shit!” he mumbles resisting the urge to laugh and escapes the room before she had the chance to curse him.

He digs up a blanket and a pillow from the hallway closet. Coming into the den he makes a makeshift bed on the soft leather couch. This would be the first time sleeping on them since he didn’t being girls to this apartment. It was his personal home, he didn’t want them poking around when they woke. Seeing parts of him nobody got to see. Y/n was different. Jonah honest didn't care if she saw or even took a souvenir on her way out.

walking back to check on her, Jonah tapped two knuckles on the door frame. There was no answer so he waited, still no response. Assuming she fell back asleep he entered his bedroom and smiled, y/n cuddled into Sawyer like she was meant to be there. As if Jonah saw her every night in his bed and still got those butterflies.

Small snores came both of them, their chests expanding with every breath. Walking in he spotting her green dress and bag a few inches away from the bed. First he morphed the dress in a ball and shot it into his hamper like a basket ball. Secondly he set her purse on the nightstand for her to find in the morning. He started for the door, but halted at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue.

“Jonah?”

“Yes” His words were urgent as he whirled to face her. Face half tucking into sawyer’s back as sleep swam in her eyes like a pool. “Could you please stay with me till I fall asleep?” Her words held a form of desperation, he was utterly confused by it. Thee y/n was asking him, Jonah Marais who she wasn’t too fond of to sleep in bed with her? He had to be dreaming because she would never say that in the bright of day. Although she was half asleep in his bed and never questioned it.

“I don’t know, you already have Sawyer.” He gives her time to reject him,

“Maybe it’s a little greedy, but I want both of you please? Just until I fall asleep and then you can leave.” She offers, but as soon as he’s beside her he knows he wont want to leave.

“Y-yeah I guess I can do that.” he stammers on his words.

“Thank you.” She mumbles with a small smile.

Jonah nods not sure how to response to her, he circles the bed and climbs into the right side. Heart pounding against his rib cage. He glances over already seeing y/n on her side and one hand cradling her face. Jonah gets into the same position, close enough so that her breath hits his face.

“What does it feel like to perform with the guys?” She asks a question Jonah never thought she cared about.

“Ecstasy. Singing these lyrics and fingers dancing on the guitar. It just gives me adrenaline like nothing before. Like i’m on top of a mountain and there’s nothing I can’t do. Like searching for paradise and finally finding it. It feels like home, as if I meant to do this for the rest of my life.” Y/n is quite watching the way Jonah beams talking about playing with his band.

“That’s what painting feels like to me, or did.” She says into a yawn that made him chuckle.

“You don’t paint anymore?”

“Nah passions don’t pay the bills. It’s what my dad always said. So here I am trying my shot at the medical field, the family profession.” Y/n yawns again as he eyes begin to droop.

“What’s the point if your hearts not in it?” He starts to pry,

“Not all of use have trust founds, we have to work for it.” He voice sounding more tired by the second.

“Your dad’s a plastic surgeon.” Jonah notes, blood boiling at this new information.

“He worked for all of it and now so do I.” Her eyes fully closed, knowing she was about to pass out any minute now.

“That’s...” He trailed off not knowing what to say to that, y/f/n was pushing her to become something she’s not. That sentence tasted metallic in his mouth, if y/n was his. He’d purchase an entire panting studio just for her and call it Jonah’s muse. because she indeed his muse,

Light snores soon erupted in the air, looking over he couldn’t stop smiling at the sight. You looked younger when you slept, resembling an angel. No a goddess. You looked so fucking attractive with his band tee on. His face was technically on your body as well as the rest of his band mates. Jonah would still take that as a win.

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

Y/n

The afternoon sun woke you up, warmth spreading along your body. Eyes still fluttered closed you roll over bumping into warm flesh. Your brain gives you a few seconds to bask in the warmth of Jonah. Then it clicks. There’s a body in your bed, recoiling at lighten speed you hit the floor. Pain sparks through your tail bone and a delicate headache pounds into your skull.

Sitting on the floor of a foreign room you begin to remember last night. The party. Ivette handing you off to Jonah at said party, well Daniel did. Jonah driving you home, scratch that to an ice cream parlour. His gentle hands tending to high heel wounds. Devouring the most amazing ice cream. Jonah driving you home. That’s it that’s all you remember, it doesn't explain how you got here.

Looking around frantically you caught sight of a dog you’ve never seen before. Watching you at the foot of the massive bed covered in black silk sheets. Two doors, one and exit to the hallway. The other was most likely a closet with piles of clothes spilling out. Large windows lined the room and a glass desk resting at the best view.

Heart missing a beat as you helped yourself off the floor.Taking cautious steps to the bed, spotting Jonah sleeping peaceful. On his back with sprawled out arms. Beautiful ink scattered along his right arm and the left side of his chest. Soft features as the sun engulfed him in the glorious light. It’d take no effort to crawl back into his bed. Rest your head onto his chest and listen to his heart beat.

You couldn’t.

You flee taking your purse with you on the way out. Unlocking the door and taking the elevator down. Struggling you fetch your phone out, praying that it still had life left to live and call Ivette. Wasn’t till this moment you realise you only had on a t-shirt. It was most definitely Jonah’s, massive fit reaching the mid of your thighs. Oh and let’s not forget the fact that it had his entire band on it.

The phone barely rang twice when Ivette picks up. “I need you to pick me up, like five minutes ago. Jonah took me to this ice cream parlour last night and next think I know I’m waking up in his bed. I don’t know where my dress is.” You rush your words out in a panic.

The elevator dings, you dash out getting a weird look from the door man. Stopping in your tracks with a modified expression on your face. you just walked out into the busiest street downtown. Not only were you wearing an oversized band t-shirt, no it wouldn’t stop there. You were also Bare. Foot.

“That doesn’t make sense Jonah never came home last night,” She says tiredly on the other line. Still waking up in Daniel’s bed, not a surprise there.

“His apartment! I’m pretty sure I know what Jonah looks like. He had a golden Labrador ring a bell?You got me into this mess, now get me out.” You looked like a whining toddler, mind splattering as you complained to her.

“A Labrador? Did you take something? Send me your fucking location.” That was Ivette’s mom voice, which totally meant she was going to curse your ass as soon as you got in the car.

“Sawyer.” a hushed male voice said in the background. there was a rustle on the other line. Ivette covered the mic, but you could still here them.

“What?”

“Jonah’s dog. He probably took her to his personal apartment.”

“I thought he lives here with you guys.”

“He does sometimes, but he mostly lives there. That’s beside the point, I know where it is.” A few more words are shared before the ruffle is back. She uncovered the mic.

“Daniel knows where you are, we’ll be there in thirsty. Stay put and don’t take anything else.” Ivette explains as if you didn’t here every word they spoke.

“I didn’t take anything.” Before the words are heard Ivette hangs up and cuts the line without saying goodbye.

Roughly forty minutes later Ivette’s range rover pulls to the crib so fast the rims almost kissed it.“Finally.” you mumbled to yourself, it’d probably would’ve been faster if you hailed a cab. But the bill would’ve been brutal.

The passenger window rolls down uncovering Ivette giving you a knowing smirk. Daniel gives a small wave from the driver’ seat, you flash him an irritated smile. His blue eyes almost pop out of their sockets before he’s attention is on the road.

“I really love the dress, every iconic. Don’t you think Daniel?” Ivette’s voice is teasing and sickly sweet.

“ Yeah. Those shirts were a demo, test run for real merch. It never got launched so only we have those shirts.” Daniel Pipes in looking at the fabric that clothed your body.

“Not only did Jonah take you to his apartment but he gave you his prised possession,” Ivette continues the teasing know that it got under you skin.

“Shut up.” You say sharply, annoyed on how long they took to pick you up. Should ran upstairs and woke Jonah up.

“What can’t take the teasing?” Ivette asks as you climb into the back seat. The scent of sweet cherry enters your nose as the leather circles around your body.

“Not when I woke to Jonah and Daniel taking forty minutes to get here!” You spit, the anger eating you alive. You stare at the back of his head and shoot daggers at him. Brunette roots starting to grown under his bleached blonde hair.

“They also have our last name and birth year on the back.” His words sound forced as he tried to fill the tense air. You shake your head and scoff. “Of course they fucking do. It’s almost like having a hickey on my neck shouting to the world I belong to someone. This is worse because everybody on campus knows who Jonah Marais is!” They go quiet and you begin stare out the window done with your little rant.

Daniel presses on the gas abruptly causing the vehicle to speed forward. Your back hits the seat with the impact. He goes through traffic like this is some NASCAR championship. You begin to wonder how the shirt got on your body. You were going kill him you just didn’t know how yet.

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

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the second part of That One.

Which was your favourite part?

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx

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smol-and-trashy · 3 years

Text

Another JJBA vore fic? It’s more likely than you’d think (Vento Aureo)

A/N: I was going to write more, but died in the process. There might be another chapter after this... let’s see. Here’s some giorno vore because i hate myself ahah. It’s super OOC. GioGio’s canon fave food is chocolate and pudding sooooo….sorry for writing this. :)

___________

Guido Mista was a man who preferred to live life stress-free. While betraying the mafioso boss wasn’t exactly the definition of living a peaceful life, when had his life since joining the Passione been totally easygoing? Ultimately, he trusted Bruno’s decision and followed suit.

However, waking up in the dark amidst a sea of stickiness was more than he bargained for. Mista tried shifting his arms, but with each bit of movement, the substance would get heavier. His thick brows furrowed; whatever he was trapped in looked like mud, but... he sniffed. It had a cloyingly sweet aroma to it, almost chocolatey. That didn’t make sense though, did that punk the boss sent have a Stand able to turn liquid into food and then use it to trap their opponents? He couldn’t recall. Normally, he would prefer to not think of such troubles, deeming them as unnecessary worries, but being alone in strange terrain can do a number to a person’s mental state.

From what he could remember of the fight, the man they fought had some kind of defensive Stand. It shot some sort of unscented gas in his face before proceeding to punch him each time he tried getting near. He must’ve been off that day because even his Sex Pistols kept missing the man, he tried redirecting them, but they landed in various areas, everywhere but his target. Narancia was having the same problem, which made Mista begin to believe that this man had some kind of bullet defensive Stand instead. The only people who were able to get a solid hit on the user were Buccellati and Giorno. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who made the final blow. Was I knocked out? Mista remembered bleeding from his head and shoulders but never actually slipping unconsciousness. Shit, he must’ve been more formidable than I thought! Least we got him though!

However, when Mista attempted to reach a hand to check if he were still bleeding or to at least wipe the crusted blood off, he found himself still unable to move his arms. They were submerged in the depths of the chocolate mud, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but the substance was unyielding.

“Yo! Buccellati? Narancia? Giorno? Trish? Anybody?” he tried shouting but received no response. If he listened carefully, he could hear muffled voices around him, but no one was actively trying to break open his prison. Maybe they’re working on it? Or maybe I’ve been captured, and it’s one of the boss’ men around me? C’mon guys, where are you?

Suddenly, something metallic came from the sky and ripped the dark ceiling off. Mista’s heart jumped to his throat at the sight of a gigantic white-clothed table with various dishes surrounding his now broken prison. He could hear something shuffle from far above, and Mista looked up, way up, obsidian eyes comically widening as he caught a glimpse of a familiar pink suit and golden hair: everything began to click.

Above was Giorno Giovanna, under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve welcomed the sight of his friend, but the young blond before him appeared to be reaching monstrous heights.

His breath hitched as the metal spoon came closer, slowly digging near his shrunken body. How he wanted to maintain his cool, pretend like he wasn’t in any danger, and that Giorno would notice him with ease, but even for him, that was unrealistic. The teen’s sea blue eyes glazed over him, focusing more on a conversation from above than his dessert. Mista’s stomach turned, for someone as overly cautious as Giorno, especially after betraying the boss, he had to let his guard down at the worst possible moment. Mista couldn’t help but to let out a bitter bark of laughter, he could always count on his stroke of luck to get him into the strangest situations.

“Oi Giorno! Look down!” While his hands were glued to his sides from the thickness of the pudding, he still had his voice. However, Giorno showed no indication of hearing him, not even taking a moment to look down as he took another truck-sized scoop of the pudding, thankfully missing Mista.

“Watch it! This isn’t funny, man!” he snapped, desperation swirling with fear while his heart thrummed against his chest. How Giorno couldn’t see his blue hat contrasting with the creamy brown of the pudding was beyond him.

“C’mon Giorno, please look down! I don’t wanna die!”

He received no response from above, only the spoon coming back down. This time catching Mista and dragging the terrified gunslinger above. Time slowed down as Mista was brought up, moving past the teenager’s partially open chest and finally halting in front of slightly parted lips.

Mista prayed that one of the other team Buccellati members could see his pathetic wriggles on Giorno’s spoon. Both Buccellati and Giorno had always been absurdly perceptive; they had to notice that Mista was amiss. Even though the latter was about to unintentionally kill him, they had to notice something was off!

While he couldn’t see much beyond the oversized blond and globs of pudding, his prayers were answered from a deep, familiar voice nearby:

“Has anyone seen Mista?” Bruno inquired, and Mista thanked God, finally someone had noticed his absence!

“Oh! He’s still passed out on the couch like a baby!” Narancia interjected.

“In the turtle?”

“Yeah—!”

There was a long pause, and Giorno thankfully lowered the spoon back down. Mista assumed one of them was peering inside the turtle’s pocket dimension.

“Oh, it does look like he’s sleeping there. Giorno, you weren’t able to heal all of his wounds?”

“He was badly beaten, he should be fully recovered in about an hour.” Giorno sounded apologetic, while the tiny brunette was about to have another panic attack.

What?! How could he be inside the turtle when he was clearly stuck in Giorno's pudding?

The spoon shifted and rose up again, Mista’s blood froze. He was really going to die, and no one would notice he was gone. While he would be stewing away inside Giorno, they would believe he was healing from the previous fight. How could this happen?

Unwittingly trapped in his increasingly negative thoughts, Mista didn’t even notice he was already pressed up to Giorno's lips. His eyes shot wide, cruelly brought back to his unfortunate reality. Before he could even utter a scream, he was promptly shoved inside the humid maw, darkness flooding his vision.

As the light closed in, framed by rows of teeth and strings of saliva, Mista felt his stomach turn over. The sopping, crowded cavern of Giorno’s mouth was an experience Mista would rather die than relive. He was tossed and thrown about inside the stuffy mouth; trying to avoid sharp teeth from chewing him to bits but it seemed like the more he tried to struggle, the more soaked in saliva he got. Eech, this is so freaking disgusting!

The tongue beneath him shifted and threw Mista towards the back of the throat along with the rest of the chewed-up muck. With a simple flick of the tongue, Mista was sucked down the crushing throat.

He felt like a tube of toothpaste, squeezed until there was nothing left in him. The powerful muscles of Giorno’s esophagus were relentlessly crushing his tiny form. There was no room to squirm, so his cheeks were squished to the slimy, contracting walls. As Mista descended further down into the teen’s chest, he could hear a heavy, even heartbeat causing thumping vibrations all around him like an internal bass.

For what seemed like hours, Mista was slowly descending down the tight gullet. He could hear the groans and grumbles of the acid pit below, and as he was about to let out a yell in retaliation, he found himself released from the suffocating constraints of the esophagus.

Mista struggled in mid-air, one hand grasped on his hat while the other flailing about before dropping into a dark sea of stomach juices and masticated mush. Not taking a second to process his new environment, Mista swam to the nearest wall, banging and pleading to be released. The hot juices splashed at his bare midriff, while the walls constricted around him, unsure what exactly to do with him. He was thrown to the other side of the stomach, gasping for air, clean air, as he clawed onto the nearest wall, trying to maintain some balance, but failing as the stomach lurched unexpectedly and he fell face-first into the juices.

“C’mon man!” he cries out, hoisting himself up and unsuccessfully trying to wipe off the gastric juices.

Mista sharply inhales, the creeping feeling of disgust cried under his skin, but he shoved it down; there had to be a way to get Giorno’s attention. He was not going to go down like this.

Dark eyes nervously avert to his gun, his hands waver over the weapon. He didn’t want it to come down like this, but if there was no release in sight, and Giorno still had no idea where he was—what if he doesn’t realize by the time I become a pile of bones? Swallowing heavily and raising his gun, he takes a deep breath and finally pulls the trigger. Sorry, Giorno.

“Sex Pistols!”

—-

Pressing a hand to his flat stomach, Giorno paused, trying not to let his anxieties spike. If there were Stands who could spread viruses, produce mirror worlds, or even shrink themselves and others, surely there was a possibility that someone’s Stand may have infiltrated his own body. Giorno’s lips curled in revulsion. Activating Golden Experience, he tested for another soul. He knew the rest of the team were now shooting him perplexing looks and whispers at the notion of him bringing out his Stand, but right now, he didn’t care, he had to focus. Sure enough, he detected another life inside him. Giorno swallowed hard, trying to contain both his fear and anger into a mask of passive indifference. Useless, how could I let my guard down? It was an extreme invasion of his privacy and he wanted nothing more but to get this thing out as soon as possible. Now, it was more a matter on how to go about removing the Stand. He knew nothing about it other than it was currently inside him and wreaking havoc on his insides. Giorno had no idea if it was planting any explosives or plotting mind control from within.

He looked up, finally facing the confused, worried faces of his comrades.

“…Is everything okay, Giorno?” Buccellati finally broke the silence, calm, slightly concerned blue eyes stared into Giorno’s uneasy blues.

#JoJo vore #jjba vore #unaware pred #unwilling prey #soft vore #safe vore #vore writer #vore fanfic

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honeydots · 4 years

Note

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em.

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be.

(ao3 link)

He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream.

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?”

Maybe he was in a hospital.

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning.

But what did he know?

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital. As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made.

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place.

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure.

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed.

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet.

And, he was already standing.

It wasn’t hard to pull out.

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last.

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name?

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone.

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that.

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital.

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete.

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials.

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all.

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in.

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big.

“Holy shit.”

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.”

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?”

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?”

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket.

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?”

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh… Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?”

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.”

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.”

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?”

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however.

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it?

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.”

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him.

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones.

He straightened himself up. “Okay.”

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit.

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious.

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously.

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like, just a second, okay?”

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road.

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling. He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him.

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.”

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like.

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat.

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.”

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all.

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took.

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes.

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I’m listening.”

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed.

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.”

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before.

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.”

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished.

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water.

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,” Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?”

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless.

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.”

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.”

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had.

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?”

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life.

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart.

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?”

“I don’t know.”

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into.

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?”

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn.

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.”

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store.

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get.

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories.

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival.

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head.

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too.

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.”

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought.

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all.

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line.

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out.

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave.

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no.

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad.

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him.

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better.

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection.

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank.

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him.

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed.

Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too.

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant.

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead.

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular.

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore.

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance.

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all.

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.”

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.”

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other.

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck.

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.”

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

“And can we go in?”

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.”

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.”

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.”

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed.

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one.

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway.

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep.

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least.

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure.

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician?

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though.

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had.

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging.

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.”

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands.

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window.

The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.”

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone.

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression.

“You didn’t say a word about notes

on the phone, you know.”

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.”

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again.

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.”

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds.

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital.

Ohya held the key out to Goro.

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?”

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment.

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said.

“No sweat.”

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure.

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault.

One more deep breath.

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times.

And it was nearly empty.

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming.

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it.

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read.

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471”

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one.

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind.

This could’ve belonged to me.

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself.

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other.

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next.

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.”

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning.

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it.

“To whom it may concern,

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways.

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one.

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame.

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep.

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off.

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key?

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances.

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards.

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it.

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in.

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide.

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat.

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?”

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.”

Good. “I need to speak with her.”

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often.

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area.

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?”

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.”

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all.

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked.

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?”

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.”

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would.

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.”

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?”

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically.

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.”

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.”

“Out.”

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over.

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said.

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on.

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway.

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?”

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.”

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him.

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank.

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud.

Ohya gawked.

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.”

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.”

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?”

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.”

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.”

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top.

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up.

“We’ll see.”

#thank u for the aaaask!!!#this is shuake but akira is actually not in it at all whatsoever #also im so sorry i know the ending is. unsatisfying.#i just realized if i wanted the most satisfying ending possible this would go from 8k to like 32k at least #maybe once i post all these prompts on ao3 ill consider adding chapters to this cause i do like the premise #this is also like. my first published non comedic piece. so a lot of this is experimental for myself #anyway i hope you enjoy!!!#my fics #ask #anonymous #my p5 fics

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