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normal-thoughts-official · 4 years

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Thawing From the Middle

Raphael Santiago didn’t like to define himself by his hatreds, but this, he had to admit - he fucking hated the cold.

Good thing Maia’s so warm - and he can be, too, when she needs it.

Read it on ao3

Relationships: Maia Roberts/Raphael Santiago, Maia Roberts/Raphael Santiago/Simon Lewis/Meliorn (mentioned)

Characters: Raphael Santiago, Maia Roberts

Rated: T

Additional Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Polyamory, Daylighter Raphael Santiago, Past Abuse, Asexual Raphael Santiago, Autistic Raphael Santiago (implied/referenced), Abuse survivor Maia Roberts, Pack leader Maia Roberts

Raphael doesn’t like to think of himself as a man defined by his hatreds, even if he knows some people can think of no other traits to define him.

(Only if they don’t know you at all, he can hear Meliorn’s voice saying in his head.

We all know he’s a softie at heart, Simon and Maia had agreed.

The memory makes him smile.)

But this, he has to admit - he fucking hates the cold. It’s as much a part of himself as his own name.

It was the thing he had immediately despised about New York, as soon as he set foot there. In New York, 20°C - sorry, 70°F - was warm. Summer was so short it was less of a station and more a fluke. There was snow.

It was nothing like Guadalajara.

Guadalajara was burning, and loud, and colorful, in all of the best ways. It was hot, and the food was spicy, and midday was filled with the smell of the meals of the whole neighborhood.

New York was cold, like a sensory deprivation chamber. He felt trapped, and numb, and alone. The first few weeks there felt more like death than when he actually died.

And when he did die, well - cold was less of a state and more of a constant, for him.

He’d leave his clothes out on the Dumort roof, during the day, while he slept. They were all black, so they could keep the heat as much as possible; even the few red or green pieces had black cloth underneath, courtesy of Magnus’ tailor.

It did very little to help.

Besides, that’s another thing he’d always hated about the cold - having to wrap himself all around, being barely able to move, the textures all wrong and painful and keeping him sealed from the world, this depriving kind of too much.

It might be why becoming a Daylighter had been such a blessing for him - if he’d never had proof that God was by his side before, this one he couldn’t deny. Being able to feel the sun on his face again - to really feel warm - after almost a century… He could cry just from the pure sense he got that he wasn’t hated, wasn’t renegated, hadn’t been abandoned.

It might also be why he hasn’t taken a jacket with him, today. But that one he has to regret a little bit.

Even under Maia’s very generous pile of blankets, he is shivering. It’s not like they could do much for him, anyway; he has no heat for them to keep.

In his defense, it was warm when he left. And he works in a kitchen, so it’s always a bit too hot in there.

Your job isn’t just cooking and you know it, he can hear Maia say just like she did as she slapped him lightly with a towel, as the both of them finished closing Taki’s for the day. Just bring a jacket with you, she had finished, the annoyance leaving her tone in a single huff, making room for worry - and the painful kind of understanding that made him avert his eyes from her big, beautiful ones.

“Stop looking so miserable, you’re under, like, 10 blankets right now,” Maia says, laughing, in that way that lights her up until even he feels a little warmer.

“Doesn’t help a lot when there’s barely any warmth for them to keep,” he answers.

“You know, I’ve always admired the way you can mumble full sentences like that,” she answers, that same smile still shining in her eyes, and he swears that he can see it even on the little bounce of her hair as she finishes taking off her pants. She’s so lively, every little part of her body bursts with it.

“I didn’t mumble,” he mumbles, flopping his face down on the pillows.

“Sure,” she says easily, in a way that’d be more frustrating than some witty argument, but he can’t even complain because she finally turns off the light and lifts the covers to lay alongside him.

“Jesus Christ, you really are freezing,” is what she says as soon as her body even lightly touches his.

“Sorry,” he answers automatically, trying to keep his distance so he doesn’t freeze her.

“Don’t apologize, it’s fine,” she says, easily, like her skin didn’t break out in goosebumps the second it touched his.

Raphael huffs. “I promise I’ll bring a jacket next time,” he says, sitting up so he can rub his own arms in the hopes he can get some heat. “I’ll just-”

Maia sighs. “I get it, you know,” she says, honestly. “One time I almost froze up because-” she bites her lip.

Raphael turns to her, immediately, a weird sense of protectiveness overtaking him even as he knows she’s fine. “Because of what?” he asks, holding himself back from touching her with his icy hands.

“Because I didn’t want to Turn,” she says, not looking at him. She has one finger playing with one of her curls, twisting around like it’s cuddling with it. Her voice sounds the kind of soft that makes you feel hollow. “The wolf form is very warm, you know. Fur and all that. Way warmer than human,” she says. Then she turns to look at him, the force of her eyes always taking him by surprise for a second, so honest and so deep, “did you ever see me Turn, back when Luke was the Alpha?” she asks quietly.

“I think so,” he says. Him and Maia weren’t particularly close, at the time; never truly were until he had started dating Meliorn, and Simon, and helping her out at Taki’s, until suddenly she felt almost as much a part of her life as the place itself. He fights to bring the memory back, “it was like… you were breaking out of your body,” he says.

It’s true, too. Most werewolf transformations were smooth, almost instant. Maia’s was long, her whole body snapping and twisting like her body was fighting itself. It was painful to watch, and felt even more painful to remember, now.

“It felt like that, too,” she admits. “It hurt a lot. I felt like I was always fighting it. Even when I decided to Turn… It’s like a part of me didn’t want to acknowledge what was happening,” she admits.

Sometimes he forgets that Maia felt like a monster, too. He never got it. Sure, she was a werewolf, but that didn’t matter, in the same way that becoming a vampire never made Simon any less human. It wasn’t really about - the condition.

She nods like she knows what he’s thinking, and takes his hand to plant a kiss on it. It’s ridiculous, but it makes him feel a little less cold. “I didn’t feel like I was in control,” she admits, quietly. “Every time I Turned, I felt like it was being forced. Like it was proof that I still… Belonged to Jordan,” she finishes, quietly.

Raphael hisses, and he doesn’t even mind it. Jordan will always bring out the worst kind of hatred in his heart, pretty much like Camille did. He’s glad they’re both dead, unable to hurt the people he loves anymore.

She smiles again, like she’s thankful for his little display, for how automatically it comes to him. Her hand lingers on his, the both of them drawing comfort from the random patterns their fingers leave on each other’s skin. “After he died, things changed a little bit. I’ve been trying to reclaim my wolf. Make it mine. It brought me too many good things for me to let It belong to him,” she says.

Raphael nods. He can understand that. There’s still a lot he misses, but at the end of the day - he built a family after being a downworlder. Magnus. Cat. Madzie. His clan. His partners. The regulars at Taki’s. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost them, now. And he wouldn’t have had them if he hadn’t been Turned.

Maia sighs, like the words are tiring her out. “But I get it. I get that need to- pretend it won’t happen. The cold.”

“Thank you,” he says, even if that doesn’t sound like the appropriate answer; it’s the one he feels like he needs to give.

Maia smiles. “It’s come to mean a lot to me, to be able to Turn, and not fight it,” she continues. “And it’s really warm, too.”

He hums for a second, and then it dawns on him. “Is that an offer?” he asks, unable to keep the smile off his face, that wide one that’s just on the edge of laughter.

Maia, who had looked a little drawn, smiles back to him, relaxing back into the conversation. “If you don’t mind that we won’t be able to talk,” she says.

He shakes his head. “I don’t really feel like talking today, anyway,” he says, truthfully. He’s tired, and there’s that buzzing on his head that makes him feel like talking is too much of an effort, sometimes. Like it’s taking him from himself.

“You could have told me,” Maia says, not unkindly, getting up slightly and removing the top she usually wears to bed.

“I can handle it,” he points out.

“I know you can. I’m saying you don’t have to,” she fires back. Her tone is kind, but still cutting in that no-bullshit way only Maia can do. It’s one of the many things he loves about her; she’s very direct, when it matters.

He nods, and doesn’t say anything. She smiles, shimmying out of her panties, which earns her a snort that she fights back with nothing but a swat in his general direction. It’s a testament to how close they are, that Raphael doesn’t mind seeing her like this. It’s always a little terrifying, looking at someone and wondering what it would be like to want them, and feeling his stomach churn just at the thought. But Maia knows it doesn’t mean anything; and it doesn’t mean anything to her, either.

Besides, she’s beautiful, her skin almost as brown and shiny as her hair, making she look like the beginning of a starry night. She’s soft, too, and there’s just something about her that radiates warmth, and safety.

She’s the opposite of Raphael. All light and softness, but with the power to be sharp, and strong, lying underneath.

And then she Turns, and it’s like the midnight sky. Her transformation is smooth now, and mesmerizing to watch. Her fur is darker than her hair, her eyes glowing Alpha green - he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the brown, so much more real and beautiful and sweet; but somehow her Alpha green doesn’t look threatening when she’s like this; more like welcoming, and protective. Her fur is just as shiny as her hair, except not as curly. And she’s bigger too, bigger than Raphael - not that that takes a lot, he thinks bitterly - and yeah, she was right. She feels like a furnace, radiating heat.

She wastes no time either, immediately making Raphael lie down again - with a soft nudge of her paw over his shoulder, delicate and careful in that way that fills him with endearment. Then she lies on top of him, carefully so he gets adjusted to her weight. Somehow, looking into her eyes, he knows she’s smiling.

As soon as she settles, he wastes no time, his hands running to her back so he can stroke her beautiful fur. It’s nice that her fur is straighter than her hair, because they can both get the best of both worlds; the careful way he can squeeze her curls and run the tips of his fingers over her scalp, and the longer strokes alongside her fur. He feels warm in a second, the heat radiating from her making him feel full, and real, and home. He closes his eyes, and there’s the faint smell of the spices that still linger on both of them after so many hours at Taki’s, and the warmth from her body, and the perfect texture of her body. He’s enveloped in her, not like he’s trapped, or sealed away; but like they overflow with each other, simple and content.

He sighs, and she nuzzles his neck slightly, and he’s so happy he barely knows what to do with it.

“It’s an honor that you’re comfortable with me like this,” he says, because it’s true, and he wants to say it. He knows how far she’s had to go in order to even be comfortable in her wolf form by herself, much less with other people. “I love you.”

She wags her tail, completely disrupting the covers on top of them, and letting out an embarrassed whimper afterwards. Raphael can’t help it; he laughs.

“It’s ok,” he says, too tired of words to elaborate, but knowing that she knows what he means, anyway. Soon it would be too hot, with the covers over them like this. He barely feels an ounce of cold anymore, and it hasn’t even been a minute.

She nuzzles his neck again, settling against him for real this time, and soon her breaths even and she falls into peaceful, happy sleep. It looks like she’s smiling, and despite his tiredness, Raphael finds himself actively fighting the sleep so he can keep running his hands alongside her, watching over her sleep, enjoying her warmth.

Raphael Santiago hates the cold. But he never wanted to be defined by his hatreds. Not when love beats so loudly inside of him, thrumming with happiness and purpose.

When he wakes up the next day, sunlight hitting his face and a half-awake Maia mumbling because she forgot to close the window, he feels better rested than he has in years.

Centuries, even.

#sh #shadowhunters #maia roberts #raphael santiago #maphael #maiaphael #polycule #fic #maiaphael fic

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advotproject · 6 years

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Chips

February 5, 2015

I am a Jewish mother; I thrive on feeding. I am from the Middle East – we are offended if you don’t eat our food. I served two years in the Israeli Army. I know what it is like NOT to have the food you like at reach. I am a carb and sugar girl, and I love to nosh. I know what it is like to want something to eat and not be able to have it. Chocolate is a food group in my world.

In my work with incarcerated youth, food has played a role in establishing trust, showing my love, proving that my word can be relied upon, and really just filling that sweet need. I used to bring snacks every week, a little bit of a bribe and a lot about just doing something special for my girls. This round of workshops I was not allowed to do that. Somewhere something happened, and such it is in places like this – now food is not permitted. I kicked, I begged, I nudged. Oy, did I nudge. Finally, the director allowed me to bring a treat three times:

1. When we reach the midway point of the program 2. The day of the show 3. At our last meeting

I take what I can get. He realizes he doesn’t have a choice. Today was the midway point. I brought doughnuts, Taki Chips (very, very spicy chips) and lemonade. The overly tattooed boy at Vons smiled, “Now that’s a party, ha, ha, nothing healthy!” I have a pang of guilt, but let it go. I used to have a deal, that out of every few snacks I bring, one would be healthy. Not because I am pushing the healthy food, I tell the girls, but just to give an option, to invite the possibility of yogurt, fruit and maybe some granola to enter their world. To which one 16-year-old who was five months pregnant said, “This healthy shit? Is actually good Ms.” They loved the fresh fruit.

I would try to get things I know they don’t have many chances to taste like papaya, kiwi. I introduced them to new tastes. It was exciting and funny for them and me. But today was a little different. This is a tough group. I want them to see that I see them, respect them. I get them what I know will surprise them, and make them happy. I want to comfort them. God, how I want to comfort them. So, I buy the unhealthy food, some might not approve. Ah, but my girls? Well, they are elated. We wrote poetry today. It was deep and a little intense and we ended with food. We sat around a long table; there was laughter and an abundance of joy. I carefully pass out the chips, put in a bowl for each girl, and although I like spicy food, this is too intense for me. I am very careful not to touch anything with my fingers.

“Aren’t you having some Ms.?” “I can’t eat this. It’s too spicy for me,” I say. “If I even touch my fingers, I’m finished.” They think that is hilarious. Then it is quiet. “Ms? Why did you get it if you can’t eat it?” “Because you eat it.” Again quiet. “Wow, that’s a lot of money to get this for us.” “Not really,” I say. (ALL of the food together cost less than 30 dollars). “NO it’s a lot,” they are adamant. “Wow.” “Thank you, thank you.” Oh, so many thank yous. And then it happened, the one I have been trying to get to, the one who barely smiles, walked over stood real close to me and whispered, “You got me my favorite.” I take a deep breath and smile. “You deserve it. You have been doing a great job, and we are half way through the program.” “You got me my favorite,” she says again, and there it was, a smile.

I have been waiting five weeks. It is the tough ones, I know, that are the ones who have been hurt the most. They are the ones I need to win the trust of, and when they smile? I know they are ready to let me in. And, if they do not let me in, at least they can give the tough mask a rest.

“Ah ha,” I said. “Be careful, be careful, it’s showing, it is showing,” I say. “What?” She says in a panic. “YOUR SMILE!”

That makes her laugh. She finally looked her age. “You should do that more often,” I say. “You have a beautiful smile.” And in a heartbeat she gives me that street look. “Don’t do that,” I say. “Now you look like you’re going to steal my car.” We both burst out laughing. “You’re funny, Ms.” she says. “And, you brought me my favorite food,” she smiles again. She cleans up the trash, takes my bag and walks me to the office. It’s the little things. It is an intention. It is paying attention. It is sometimes as simple as a bag of chips. So this week, figure out someone’s chips, and give it to them. Give them their favorite, and make them smile. I promise you, you will smile more.

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kaayyyr-blog · 7 years

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I missed him every day.

But I never had the audacity to cry in your arms.

Instead I take my time to cry myself to sleep because you never asked me about him. I told you how much he meant to me, and you never asked. And in times when I did miss him at night I would pretend to be asleep so you wouldn't have to see my tears.

And that really sucks.

I thought I really liked you.

You wanted to know everything about me. All the details everything.

You saw me naked. But you didn't know me.

I told you the things that you tell people when they want to get to know you.

I miss him. All the time.

And when I'd have anxiety... I didn't want you to touch me. You didn't know that, but regardless you still wouldn't.

You'd know when I was curled in the corner of the bed facing the wall away from you, quiet. And all you'd say to me, "Tell me something". I'd be driving, again another anxious moment where sometimes I just want it to be quiet. And all you'd say to me, "you okay." Me: "yeah I'm fine" you: "well tell me something"

TELL YOU WHAT.

I've told you about my exes boyfriends my ex girlfriend, my nightmares, my day dreams, that every night I cry myself to sleep because I miss my uncle, the time i crashed my car, that I'd rather just sleep with a blanket than under the covers because it keeps me warmer that way, how much I love going to the beach, and how much I loved soccer, when my birthday was, and about my bestfriends, my worst enemies, my favorite and worst color, what I like to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my relationships with my family, my anxieties with sirens, and just my anxieties, my love for spicy food, sour food, and Chinese food, how much I love to sing even though I suck, my poetry, the color of my room, etc etc. the list goes on.

But when I wake up in the morning you don't ask me about my nightmares. Or my dreams. If I thought about him today, because even though it makes me sad you should know it makes me happy. You don't ask me how I am once I hear a siren. You still try to get me to sleep under the covers even though id rather share a blanket with you. You never took me to the beach even though we spent over half of the summer together. You never asked about my soccer career, you couldn't remember my best friends name none the less when my birthday was. But I had it easy because yours was a national holiday. You didn't understand why I had enemies, even though you know that I hate people. You couldn't remember my favorite color. You couldn't remember my worst because you'd wear that color all the time. You would make me pancakes and waffles for breakfast but you knew I liked 2 over easy eggs, 4 pieces of sausage and a piece of toast, sometimes with avocado. I don't eat lunch. An occasional bag of chips would do. You always would tell my parents "hi" over text if I was with them but never asked about our current relationship. You never did anything when I'd tie my hands in knots. You'd just say "what are you doing" DONT ASK. DO. You never bought me takis even though you said you would. You'd only complain about how bad they were for me, and that it was probably the reason why I gained weight. You never bought me candy when I was on my period, or got me Panda Express even though you knew how much I loved Chinese food during shark week. If I started to sing a song, you'd change it to a song I just so happened to not know. You never asked to see my poetry or write you a poem. And when I did, all you said was "interesting." You've never even seen the inside of my room and with that you will never see the inside of my sheets. You'd say the word hate even though I told you to say "strongly dislike" because hate is too strong of a word.

Tell me a memory about myself that you weren't in.

You couldn't.

Because you were so fixated on "taking this time to know me" you forgot the things that mattered most. Like the last strong memory I had of my uncle was snow boarding with him and my siblings. Or the time I decided to be an idiot and scooter down the hill and crashed so hard I couldn't play in my soccer game the next day.

YOU. DONT EVEN KNOW MY BIRTHDAY.

everyone knows my password to unlock my phone is my birthday. I ask you to text my mom. And you say "what's your password". If you were smart and trusted me, your thumb print would have already been in my phone. "What's your password." "My birthday" "*stared blankly*"

My anxieties and my uncle and my well being and self worth is more important to me than sex is as important to you.

Me. I should have been more important to you.

Not because I'd be taking something "so precious" from you.

Go fuck yourself.You won't see me truly naked.

Because you don't deserve to.

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