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bvlladonnas · 2 months

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𝗪here'd All The Time Go? Dr. Dog ♥︎ 0:09 ━●────────── 3:54 ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻

♡ — esmeralda has been homesick lately. whether it's for the warmth veracruz provides or the fact that she can't crawl into her father's arms when she's sad, she isn't sure. she misses her mother brushing her hair, and the parties that didn't end until sun up when she'd pass out on rafa. the hustle and bustle of new york city and the mornings spent in homeschool math class. but most of all she misses luna, and the esme she could be for them when they were anywhere but here.

their favorite place lately has been the roof; when you look up, you can see all the stars and constellations, the lack of light pollution illuminating the sky in a way that reminds esme of her favorite nightlight. the shingles of the house don't hurt her back, and when she holds luna's hand she's sure they could never fall; even if they did, it'd be together. so it'd be okay.

but right now things aren't okay, which esme has become adept at realizing in the past couple of years. kids had been meaner recently, spurred on by those movies their mom always does; which esme doesn't really get — can't those idiots tell what's real or not ? their mom isn't a bruja, she's just cool. she's gotten a lot better at brushing it off.

luna hasn't, though. defending their mother came naturally, esme did it too, but her skin's thicker, used to shielding luna from what she could. at age eleven she stands tall ( four foot nine, thank you ) and spits vitriol to any child bold enough to talk mean to luna in front of her. that's the issue, though — they don't do it in front of her now. and she only finds out later, when they're on the roof and luna's crying because it's been a particularly bad day ( which seems to be happening increasingly often ).

" lunita - lunita, esta bien. son pendejos que no saben de lo que hablan. " ( " lunita — lunita, it's okay. they're stupid anyway. don't have any clue what they're talking about. " ). her voice is gentle — she doesn't know to harden it around luna yet, has never had to. luna cries when esme sounds even a little bit mad, she doesn't want to set her off even more.

"¿ya se, pero porque todo via lo asen? mami no ase nada malo. ¡es su trabajo ! she's cool ! " ( " i know they are, so why do they keep doing it ? mami doesn't do anything bad. it's her job ! she's cool ! " ) luna's voice is full of all the emotions the world hasn't tried to wring out of her yet. their words pierce esme's little heart and, if she were older, maybe she'd know how to take them away. right now she can only flounder.

" es como - ¿tu cuerdas lo que dijo papi? ¿cuando vino dante la semana pasada y los junto a todos para hablara? " ( " it's like — you remember what papi said ? when dante came over last week and he sat us all down ? " ) esme props herself up on her elbows, not satisfied with how flippant she seems while laying down. this isn't anything to be flippant about, this is her sibling's feelings. " papi dijo que la jente van a hablara - que no les gusta las cosas que no entinden. so los llamen cosas como raros y brujas y - y es porque son celosos. " ( " papi said people were going to talk, that — that they don't like things they don't understand. so they call us freaks, or weird, or brujas, and — and it's 'cause they're jealous. " )

sometimes she doesn't really know if she believes that. sometimes she thinks it's because her father just wants them to feel better, and that maybe they are kind of freaky. but esme doesn't understand why that would be so bad. she wishes dante could just be with them all the time, so that maybe he could beat them up and then she wouldn't have to be so mean.

luna's quiet in response and it worries her. luna is many things, quiet has never been one of them. the soft sniffle startles esme and she jumps into action quick, pulling luna into her arms. her chin hooks right on top of luna's, like it's meant to, and she's immediately softening her tone even more.

" lunita - ¿habla con migo, porfavor ? tienes que habalar. " ( " lunita — talk to me, please ? you need to talk. " ) tries to pitch her voice down so she doesn't sound like an eleven year old playing parent. it doesn't work.

" ¿no saban que las palabras dañar ? " ( " don't they know that words mean something ? " )

that makes esme freeze. because, well — how does she argue with that ? they've been taught that their entire life. it's a dominguez-herrera motto, at this point. so she pivots, or tries to.

" pues - son estupidos. ya tu deji eso. nosotros no devemos a escuchar a la gente que no son honestos con sues palabras. " a childish attempt at comfort, but it's from a child, so that's to be expected. ( " well — they're stupid. i told you that. we shouldn't listen to stupid people who wouldn't be honest with their words anyway. " )

" ¿pero como yo se que tu no estas mientiendo? " ( " but how do i know you're not lying ? " )

esme considers telling luna that if she were lying, then their parents would be lying, and their entire extended family, too. but she bites her tongue; it'll just hurt them more.

so she pulls away, fishing around in her sweats pocket. luna looks confused, brows tightly knit and fresh tears beginning to well up in her eyes because esme just stopped hugging them. esme finds what she needs quickly — a pocket knife she'd swiped from david at their last party.

she flips it open — luna's more confused for about two seconds, until esme rolls up one sleeve of the snoopy as a dinosaur t-shirt her mother had gotten her for halloween. then their eyes go wide and she remembers the movie they watched the other night when they weren't supposed to be watching tv — the hangover, or something. she'd thought it was really cool and meaningful — what could bond you better than blood ?

she's shaky when she brings the blade to her palm, but her voice is even. if only so luna believes her more, " yo nunca tu a hecho mientieras y yo se que eso tambien su escucha como una mientira pero - vamos as see un pacto. ¿no mas esmos estoy y yo nuca puedo a echar te una mintera, esta bien? y yo nuca tu eviria a ser eso. las palabras si dañia pero tambien tienen otor setimento. " ( " i would never lie to you, and i know that sounds like a lie, too, but — we're going to make a pact. as long as we do this, i can't lie to you, okay ? and i never would. words mean something. " )

and if esme had the vocabulary, or the forethought, or the words to say it she'd tell luna that this means she'd never lie to her. that the blood pact isn't what makes them honest; it's not a truth serum, a sincerity spell, but a representation of her devotion. that as long as she can hold a hand to her palm and bleed freely, she will never lie to the other. so long as she lives and breathes.

but she doesn't, and so she closes her palm around the knife in her hand, slides it across the skin and shuts her eyes tight through the pain. it's almost exhilarating, and it isn't deep. the knife comes out the other side crimson, and she hands it to a now eager luna. the tears are drying up, the sniffles now few and far between, and esme feels invincible. she did it. she doesn't think about what shielding luna from so much harm might lead to, because she's done the one job she's decided to take on for life. and so she can rest a little easier.

" blood brothers. "

luna follows suit quickly after — their shared scrunched up face of determination is sweet. they clasp hands and their blood mixes, they laugh because it stings. then they laugh because they're happy. they stay like that for a bit, hands clasped and curled together like kittens. nothing could hurt them now, not when they have each other. and nothing could bring them dow —

" ¡estrella! ¡luna! mis amores, — ¿porques estan ai riva - tu esta saliendo sangre? ¡¿que esites ?! " ( " estrella ! luna ! my loves, why are you up her — are you bleeding ?! what did you do ?! " )

okay, well, maybe their mom can.

it's weird to think that that was nearly fourteen years ago. that the bullying came to a head a week later and they'd left for new york. esme traces the little scars that litter her left palm, the result of countless blood pacts. countless promises, countless assurances. we don't lie, we don't hide, we're honest all the time.

it makes esme's heart seize and she isn't entirely sure why. she shakes her head to clear it, throwing her bag over her shoulder — she's got an exam to take. can't be thinking of childhood silliness now.

#* self para / esme.#self harm tw #not because sad but like yk #blood tw #bullying tw #haha #i'm normal!#very very normal #this has been brewing in my brain since i got high and had a transcendant experience #is that a word #anwyay #some dialogue didn't really lend itself to translation and i'm tired so take htis as it is #and it's translated more conversational but still

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marshmellowtea · 11 months

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Proshippers literally pretend that POCD means you are a pedophile and want it what the fuck are you on about? Proshippers try to force pwOCD to engage in checking compulsions because they pretend it's pro-recovery.

normally this is the kind of ask that i would just quietly delete but i'm actually going to answer it rn because this is so absurd i have to laugh. no, bestie, the people pretending that people with pocd are pedophiles are YOU GUYS. that's all you! antis are the one who i have seen treating intrusive thoughts as secret desires. antis are the ones i've seen with "people with pocd dni" in their bios. and fucking antis are the ones who have made pocd so commonplace on this website in the first fucking place because of the way you try to look for proof people are predators in the most innocuous shit.

believe it or not, part of ocd recovery is accepting the thoughts you have and learning to deal with them in some way. y'all want people to feel ashamed of their intrusive thoughts forever to "prove" they're a good person and that's the exact opposite of healing. that's just making ocd worse. and, in speaking of learning to deal with them, one of the ways to DO that is to write fiction about said thoughts and make them less scary to you! that's part of the reason why i create and enjoy fucked up fictional content! it's a way of dealing with my intrusive thoughts that puts the power back in MY hands, and treating these fictional depictions meant as coping mechanisms as "proof" someone's a predator is not just stupid, it's also cruel, because you are actively trying to make someone's disorder worse.

i guess you missed this part of my original post, so i'll say it again here: when i was an anti, you fucking people had me so convinced i was doomed to sa a child because of 1) the fact i like dark fiction exploring topics such as csa, and 2) my intrusive thoughts themselves, that i thought i was going to have to commit suicide. my life was in danger because of you people. and i was a fucking teenager when this all was happening! i should not have had to deal with that, but because you made this environment so toxic and preyed on my already existing ocd, i did! i was miserable and i hated myself and i thought i was a predator in the making! that's a horrible way to live!

tldr; go fuck yourself anon lmao, you have no idea what you're talking about and the extensive damage people like you have done to people with ocd. fuck off <3

#i'm not gonna address the 'force people to engage with compulsions' part cuz honestly idk what the fuck you are talking about lmao #so please get this through your head: your community has done me so much harm and i will never be swayed back to your side #i will not say irreparable harm because distancing myself from y'all and becoming proship has helped immensely with my pocd specifically #but harm nonetheless #(also as a pro para person i don't love the conflation of 'pedophile' with 'person who hurts children'#because studies have shown most child molesters are not actually attracted to their victims #but i figured now wasn't the time for that discussion)#csa tw #suicide tw #ask to tag #why i left the anti cult and decided to just enjoy things: a memoir #marshy gets asks #anonymous

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strawberrycollectivex3 · 21 days

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would it be weird to want programmed alters ? like - wanting someone to program alters into your system ? sometimes we just want alters to be programmed into our system or to be brainwashed . it feels wrong but at the same time we can't control it ...

#tw programming #tw brainwashing #endo neutral #endo safe #endo friendly #dni harmful paras #system #plural system #pro endo

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ariaboughton · 6 months

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a week-ish after the dock meeting.

Pretending life is just as normal as it's always been was proving a bit more of a chore than she expected. Every small sound, she jumps at. Every sudden movement out of the corner of her eye and she's on edge.

It'd been days, and she'd only slept a few hours at a time. It was different than her usual insomnia - paired with the need to make a deadline, with knowing that she had to produce results by a certain time. This was an ever-present dread. A stone in her stomach, heavy, sinking further.

In an attempt to try and get back into a regular schedule, she'd spent the day tidying up her apartment. It wasn't great. There were dirty clothes strewn about, left exactly where she'd discarded them. There were piles of paper and print-outs and books around the couch, which she'd claimed as her new bed.

The only pristine bit in the place was the bedroom - gone untouched since the moment she'd stepped over the threshold after trying to erase Sam's smile from her mind. In any other situation, she would have seen that smile as comforting, disarming. Now, it brings a sense of dread with it. And her mind won't let go.

She's chopping potatoes. For the regular schedule plan. There are green beans already set aside and prepared to toss in with some garlic. She's cubing the potatoes, and dumping them into a large bowl filled with water. There's too much food here for her, but the repetitive motion of chopping and cooking and plopping is relaxing.

Except the faucet is dripping. Huge drops of water beading against the metal rim. Gravity takes it and sends it down into the basin. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound of the water - and the plop of the potatoes - reminds her of the sound of the Hudson. It's a passing thought that should be nothing but that. Instead, every drip reminds her of it.

Every plop brings the image of the water lapping up against the dock. She sets the knife down and takes a deep breath, looking down at the finished vegetables. She busies her hands with throwing the beans into the pan, but the whole time she narrates the actions in her mind in an attempt to not think about the water.

Pick up the green beans. Put them into the pan. Oil. Salt. Pepper. Garlic. Onions..? Pad of butter. Stir. There's footsteps outside of your door.

She freezes right in the middle of it, listening to the clunk-clunk-clunk of boots against wood. The thoughts in her mind are quiet just for a moment as she's still in her worry. And once the sound is gone, she imagines one of them in the hallway, waiting. She imagines someone in a nice suit leaning against a dark car, smoking a cigarette. Cliche. She imagines a knife, nicking against her skin. She imagines the blood pooling in her kitchen floor. She imagines what it might be like to bleed out with no one around but her killer.

Her phone beeps and she jumps, with her hand still on the pan, throwing it off the stove and all of the food within it onto the floor. In her panic, she forgets the food and runs to the phone - simply to make sure it's not the burner she'd been handed. Simply to make sure that she wouldn't miss the time limit.

It's just her mother.

She drops the phone on the couch and paces around the mess in her living room, one of her hands moving to her face to pick at a spot on her cheek. She pulls at the skin - unblemished - in an attempt to self-soothe. Her heart races. She's sweating, cheeks flushed, but her stomach is cold.

The food was thrown out.

Stepping foot into the kitchen had made her start to ruminate again - analyzing everything she'd said and done within the last twenty four hours, thinking about the sounds above and below her, thinking about the large knife sitting on her cutting board and imagining what it would feel like between her ribs.

She'd ordered pizza.

It goes untouched, sitting on her coffee table. Aria sits on the couch and stares at the box, wondering if the delivery guy had been a part of it. If the way he'd looked at her was a little too knowing, if his smile was a little too cocky. Everything that she could trust was turned on its head with one simple truth.

She pulls her knees to her chest, hands shaking and breathing uneven.

Eventually she passes out, and wakes up to the sound of her phone chirping once more. She jumps for both of them to check which one had gone off - the time glaring up at her to tell her that she'd only been asleep for around an hour. Not enough time for rest.

Her gaze shifts to the pizza box, then to the door. She stands up to check the lock. Unlocks it, locks it again. Pulls at the door. Walks to the couch, reaches for the pizza. Pause. Stand. Check lock. Unlock, re-lock. Pull. Couch - door - couch -

She stops the cycle after the third time by slamming the heel of her hand into her forehead. "Stop it, idiot. Oh my god, it's not that fucking serious." Hit, hit, hit. Not hard enough to hurt longer than a few minutes.

She manages to eat one slice. Picks at a second. She manages by pressing her knuckles deep into the meat of her thigh and focusing on the discomfort and the pain. When she gets used to it, she shifts or brings her fist down hard. There will be a bruise the next morning. But it provides some grounding, allows her mind to be pulled away from overbearing, cycling, death spiral of obsession.

#self para #just a glimpse of aria's uh.. ocd issues lol #mental health tw /#blood tw /#self harm tw /#its super brief but just in case #lmk if i missed any tags!

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luci-in-the-stars · 9 months

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TIMING : A few days before the start of the school semester

LOCATION: Milo's apartment PARTIES: @escudofracturado & @luci-in-the-stars

SUMMARY: Luci goes to let Milo know she moved to Wicked's Rest to start school, shocking him because she's supposed to be going to Brown. It's a nightmare!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Sibling death, Self Harm, Domestic Abuse, Suicidal ideation, Suicide (attempts mentioned), vague transphobia mentioned.

Luci wasn’t often good at emotions. She didn’t really care much about them, and if she couldn’t understand where they came from she was more frustrated than anything else. She needed reasons and emotions very rarely had tangible ones. Usually she didn’t bother considering them.

So standing there in front of her brother's door made her pause as a sickening feeling came over her that she didn’t have words for. She felt something in her stomach fall while she was still standing still. It made her want to run away, avoid this place and she couldn’t place why immediately.

After all it was Milo, not someone dangerous. She shouldn’t feel anything so negative - so anxiety producing - when it came to him. He was her brother not a creature in the night or someone to make her life miserable. He’d never even yelled at Luci really, so why was she shaking? Why did she want to cry?

Then it struck her that she was scared he was going to push her away again. For some reason she had done something so wrong that he was going to leave her again. It was dread she was feeling and she didn’t want to write down that observation at all. She wanted to walk away - but she couldn’t. Stuck in this looming doom Luci didn’t know what to do.

So, while standing in front of the door she couldn’t seem to knock or walk away for a moment, until she felt a nagging voice in the back of her mind to not be a coward. Clenching her jaw for a second, Luci let out a breath she wasn’t aware she steeled herself and knocked on the door trying to keep a neutral face, hurriedly moving her glasses up to have some sort of motion that wasn’t writing down her thoughts.

“Hi, Milo. Can I come in?” Luci said her voice unusually quiet and with a slight waver notably only glancing over to her brother.

—

Milo didn’t know what he’d been expecting to see when he opened the door. His bet would’ve been on maybe a delivery person, a package of some sort, but certainly not his baby sister.

He’d had a dream like this before, but this felt too real, everything was too detailed for it to be a dream. His usual dreams were too hazy, too wavery, like there was a bad signal and one wrong move would make you lose your connection. This wasn’t the vague image of a person who he just somehow knew was his sister, this was actually his sister standing in front of him, and the sight of her made him perk up for a second before he began to really process it.

Luci was here.

“Luz?” It was practically an exhalation. All the air had been knocked out of him the moment he realized it was her. For a moment, he could only stare dumbly at her, eyes wide as he tried to breathe through the feeling of panic rising in his chest. Luci was here.

A million questions tried to come out all at once as Milo fought to keep his fear and anxiety in check. He needed to shove it down before it could come pouring out like the stream of nonsense he was stuttering out. “What– How are you– Why– Are you okay??? How did you… What?” Luci was in Wicked’s Rest. She wanted to come in. He could not lose control.

"You shouldn't–" Fuck. He felt like he might throw up. But as he really looked at his sister, he noticed the tense way she held herself, the way she was shaking ever so slightly, the pained expression on her face. And his stomach fell as some of the fear gave way to concern and an overwhelming amount of guilt and shame that left him feeling hollowed out.

He was the biggest piece of shit in existence, and he was absolutely going to hell. But he wordlessly stepped aside, holding the door open to allow her in.

—

Luci wasn’t quite sure what to expect, something that couldn’t help but make her uneasy. Before he left - before everything had crumbled down - she could tell you exactly what he would do. She would have ducked under his arm and told him about her latest experiment, her hair slightly singed or her hands covered with ink stains. He would have laughed or sighed or done something she would have categorized and she would have felt immediately at home.

Instead she stood there frozen for a moment wanting not to perceive what was happening her hands instead tapping at her bag. He had questions, and she had the answers to them - but they went so quickly past her Luci didn’t want to answer them let alone breathe.

He started to tell her to go away - that’s the only thing she really could take that she shouldn’t - she shouldn’t be there. It made her snap back in some ways, Luci’s jaw twitching shut for a moment. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear obviously, she wanted to hear that there had been a reason and then an explanation of that reason, but it was something she was prepared for. Glancing at him she almost said something, until he moved to let her in.

It made her pause, again a shift in what she expected, before quietly moving to go into the apartment, her hands now gripping at her bag. “Thank you,” she said quietly, realizing she didn’t exactly know where she was going, now paused in the hallway again uncharacteristically unsure.

“I don’t know where to go,” Luci continued, leaving the questions in the air looking towards Milo to help. “I - am sorry to surprise you, but I figured this was the most likely to make sure - I would have called.”

___

It all felt wrong. It was wrong, just as it had been for months. He should’ve been at work at the center or at home in his apartment with his friends, Luci should’ve been getting ready to go off to college, Genevieve should’ve been there.

But their older sister was dead, and he was at fault. Their older sister was dead, and being in New York without her had made him want to die. Their older sister was dead, and he had abandoned Luci at home because he couldn’t hurt her, too. Their older sister was dead, and Milo was terrified his younger sister would be next.

Every slight change in her face or her body language felt like someone was taking an axe to his chest. He had hurt her. Of course, he had hurt her. The guilt was always there, just underneath the surface, a constant weight on his soul that threatened to pull him under at any moment. But, it was better than the alternative. It was better that Luci hate him for the rest of their lives than to risk losing her, too. He certainly deserved that much, and he already hated himself so goddamn much anyway. The only reason he was still breathing was because life was a joke, and he was such a miserable fucking failure that he couldn’t even succeed at trying to kill himself. Again. Maybe the third time would actually be the charm, but he didn’t have it in him to try only to fail again. Not now.

Had she tracked him down to tell him what a piece of shit he was? It felt unlikely coming from Luci, even if it was what he deserved. She didn’t look mad, though, didn’t look at him with the same hatred he saw in the mirror, in his own eyes. She just looked small, sad. The same way she’d looked when they were kids and their parents started fighting.

There had been a point in his life, even before he’d really come to understand the situation they’d grown up in, and all the damage and hurt their parents had inflicted upon all of them, where Milo had sworn he would never be like their father. But here he was, with his little sister looking at him nearly the same way she’d looked at their dad as she said a meek ‘thank you’ and walked inside. And it hurt him so incredibly deeply that he was surprised his chest didn’t start weeping blood right then and there. It hurt so badly that he wanted to pull out the razor blades and do it himself.

“You don’t– you don’t have to apologize,” he said. His voice felt far away, words falling out of his mouth purely on autopilot because he sure as fuck wasn’t thinking them through whatsoever– his head was too foggy for that. “Is everything okay?” Glancing over her, she seemed fine, physically. Had something happened? After a moment, he turned, threading his hands through his hair and grasping on tightly, as if he could somehow manage to hold his mind together that way. “Luci, what are you doing here?”

His sister was in Wicked’s Rest, and not only could Milo not protect her from the town’s many dangers, but being around him actively put her in more danger. This was so beyond bad. The only thing keeping the situation from imploding on the spot was his inability to handle the amount of emotions that suddenly came flooding out. His mind had shut the fuck down like a shitty failsafe protocol, trying in vain to keep the floodwaters at bay.

—

The way that Milo considered her made Luci feel more like an apparition than a person in the moment, her eyes glancing around to find bits of a life that she’d been forcibly removed from. She wondered briefly who was living with Milo, bits and pieces not matching him. She wanted to ask, but part of her felt it was intrusive seeing as he was staring at her like she was a phantom. Something that haunted him, that seemed to pull out emotions she couldn’t quite place, but someone who wasn’t real anymore.

Still, she wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t haunting him and it was better for her to be shocking and suddenly real again then pretend that she wasn’t here. She existed, and she took up space. Luci interacted with the world, and in turn it responded to her. She wasn’t a figment or something abstract. She was real and she was going to respond.

“I don’t need to, no,” Luci said, nodding slightly considering the words. After all, she wasn’t really sorry for showing up suddenly. It was her right to do so, like it was Milo’s right to run away. She got to make decisions so after taking a breath she tried to shake the nerves she wasn’t good at handling and looked at him what she hoped was normally but knowing that she probably still looked nervous.

At the question Luci wished she’d asked one first. She didn’t like the question because it implied a lot of different things. Was she okay? It depended on what he meant by that. Her magic was failing, she was burning things and causing small calamities wherever she went. That probably wasn’t okay, but that wasn’t something she wanted to tell him at the moment. After all, that had to have been the reason that he ran right? He had to have figured out she’d lost control - what other reason was there to leave suddenly. Not much else made sense. So with the little bit of the false confidence she borrowed from observing other people in her grade she raised her shoulders a little bit and stopped fiddling and said, “Yes. I’m perfectly fine. I have all ten fingers and ten toes - and no added ones either.”

As he moved to look away from her though, her false arrogance deflated somewhat as she tried to follow what he was doing. Luci hadn’t expected him to act so differently and then suddenly - another question she was hesitant to answer.

“I - go to school here, and the semester started,” Luci almost mumbled, glancing back at the door. Whatever confidence that she had that she could handle what Milo said or did seemed to be crumbling down around her again. “I came to see you before classes started. I figured we could hang out - or you know. I just wanted to say hi.” She stumbled over her last statement realizing that it probably sounded lame. She’d tried to work shop it - even said it in the mirror of the hotel she rented waiting for the dorms to open - but it never came out particularly confident.

“I figured you would want to know if I was in town,” Luci said, finally deciding that she was probably lame and should have waited a while more. Maybe she would have made a better ghost.

—

There was such sorrow in her eyes, but he could also see a spark of something else underneath it as she looked back at him– likely anger. Even if she didn’t really look it, she had to be mad at him. How couldn’t she be? She knew she shouldn’t be apologizing to her piece of shit brother, and she straightened as she continued speaking, answering his question.

No added ones, either. Half-breathing, half-choking, a strangled laugh escaped from his mouth at the statement. It caught him off guard and it was so very Luci that it just sucker punched him in the guts. There was a swelling of energy, the air between the two siblings suddenly feeling charged, a calm before the storm. Clutching at his hair, Milo forced himself to breathe until the current seemed to dissipate. But the calm didn’t last very long.

“You, what?” He spun around to face her. “I thought you– Weren’t you– What about Brown?!” She’d been accepted to the Ivy League. Had it been a financial matter? He didn’t know, but he could feel himself hanging on by a thread. She should leave. He should tell her to leave. Wait, she was going to school in Wicked’s Rest?!

—

Luci blinked as she saw Milo for a moment more like the one in her memory, always surprised somehow with something that she said. It almost made her relax to hear him laugh except - when she focused it didn’t really sound like a laugh though, it sounded like a breakdown. Something was wrong.

Something was wrong again, and no one told her. She swallowed that feeling keeping that thought in her mind to write down later before she was startled again suddenly face to face with Milo. Part of her was suddenly afraid again, but she squashed it down before it could settle on her phase. She didn’t need to be afraid of her brother. She wouldn’t be afraid of him.

Instead, she paused looking at him for a moment before tilting her head as she tried to take in what was happening. It wouldn't react badly, instead reaching into her bag to pull out her welcome packet to show him, tilting it so he could see the oddly comforting cow creature. “I didn’t accept Brown’s offer,” She said with a shrug. “I wanted to go here, so I accepted the offer. Isn’t the mascot cute? Her name is Bessie.”

It was a bit more complicated than that, and she could feel the unasked questions on her as she looked at the little cow mascot she was oddly attached to before looking back up at him. “Tia said it was fine.” That was at least true, while their mother didn’t really seem to care either way, she had at least seemed to acknowledge that it was her choice was was just happy she was still going to college. In fact, she seemed a bit happy Luci had made a choice. It wasn’t often that she did without consideration from other people. After all it was Gen who - Luci decided not to finish the thought and instead looked at Milo.

“Milo, breathe please,” Luci said calmly, not quite sure why it was upsetting him this much, and part of her nervous it was because of her. That she had done something that had made her so awful to be around that she couldn’t exist in the same town as him.

Maybe it’s because she wasn’t reliable, and couldn’t help at all. Maybe even now he though she wasn’t useful or good to be around. Swallowing the fear she said softly, “I did get scholarships here too. I-I’m not going to need any help or anything like that. You don’t have to change your life here, I promise. I’m not trying to butt in.” The sound of her voice almost made Luci wince at how pitiful it sounded but she just muscled through it.

____

There was no way this was just a coincidence. He had never heard the name Wicked’s Rest until he went searching for a way to fix his magic, and he’d never heard Luci mention anything about schools in Maine. Granted, he hadn’t been able to keep up with all the college application talk, but still. Why would she come to this random small town in Maine just to go to a state school? No, this couldn’t be a coincidence, it was his fault. Milo had left, and he’d hurt her, so she had come to find him. This was his fault. Because of him, Genevieve no longer had any future, and Luci had made a decision that would negatively impact hers. She’d turned down an Ivy League, for fuck’s sake.

If there were a way he could not just die, but, like, cease to have ever existed, that’d be cool. His sisters could be alive and happy and together, while he could just not be anything or do anything ever again. If he could make it happen, he would in a heartbeat.

She was right, he needed to breathe. He needed to breathe, and he needed to stay calm. He could not lose control.

But she sounded so small, and so timid. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. He should tell her to leave, but she needed to understand. “Luci, this town is really dangerous. You shouldn’t–” He could feel the fear, panic, worry, hurt, rising in his throat. He forced himself to breathe again. “You should leave before you get hurt.”

The thought of her staying here, living amongst the monsters and mayhem, facing off against nightmarish creatures and beings that he thought only existed in the world of fiction, it was all too much. “Please, Luz… I can’t–” I can’t lose you, too. He couldn’t force the words out, instead the thought just lingered in his mind, echoing over and over. As it bounced around his head, he could feel the thread snapping, could feel the wall between himself and his mess of emotions beginning to crumble, beginning to let in the murky floodwaters.

Even as his vision went blurry with tears, his eyes widened as he felt that familiar buzz under his skin. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! It was building fast, he could feel it crackling in his palms. He spoke quickly, tone urgent even as his voice trembled. “Luci, you need to leave rig–”

Too late.

Magic surged through him, exploding outward in a flash of blue that he barely saw through the tears pouring out of his eyes. He was unable to do anything before it began to circle him, phantom brambles beginning to form all over his body, twining around his limbs, his torso, his neck. Milo could feel them poking into his skin, sturdy, holding him tight as if they were solid wood.

—

There was something that Luci didn’t know, she could feel it in the air and part of that infuriated her. While there were things she couldn’t know, secrets the stars were hardly ever going to give up for the small alchemist, it didn’t make her less upset that they wouldn’t. She studied laws and rules that were supposed to be firm, so why did it seem like they kept bending to punish her now.

Why did her brother not seem to want her around any more? Why didn’t Gen trust her at all? Why did everything keep falling around on Luci and why wasn’t she apparently allowed to know why?

“Everywhere can be dangerous,” Luci said, sounding more like a petulant child than she normally did, annoyed that she was being told what to do again, her cheeks feeling warm with what she perceived as chastisement. “I’m not leaving. I’m moving into my dorm tomorrow, actually. I’m not going to get hurt.”

Whatever annoyance she had faded from her face as she saw Milo’s panic get worse. Her eyes darting around to see that something wasn’t right. Whatever he was worried about was making him - “Milo - Milo calm down,” She said softly, the magic looking too familiar for her own comfort, her eyes not wide with unknown fear but something known. “I’m not - Milo please breathe.”

She couldn’t help the scream, as her automatic response was to hit the wall behind her getting away from the shocking blue, her hands dropping her folder as she raised them over her face again waiting for an impact. Still, instead of feeling the heat she had imagined being there there wasn’t anything which she wasn’t expecting. Last time a spell - she was pretty sure Milo had put on her had kept the heat away, and she shouldn’t have that on herself anymore. Shaking for a moment she tried to breathe before looking out of her hands and being struck for a moment.

“M-Milo what’s going on. Why is your magic acting like -,” Luz managed to close her mouth before she continued that specific thought not wanting to worry him more. Cautiously she moved off the wall slowly trying not to startle him as she decided she needed to do something.

“Calm down, or I’m going to have to try and dissipate this,” Luci said softly, moving towards him not flinching away from the sparks, her voice becoming more clinical than she usually held with Milo. “I know you don’t want to see me and you probably don’t like me, but you need to focus right here right now. Because I can’t leave you like this, and you know that. So if you want me out so badly, calm down.” It sounded harsh, but it had to be at least closer to the truth. “Look at me and breathe. Just trust me for a moment please.”

___

She was arguing with him. She didn’t understand, she didn’t know about all the monsters, all the creatures, the crystals, the deaths and disappearances. If he really gave enough of a shit about his own wellbeing, he wouldn’t still be here. If she understood, she probably wouldn’t want him here either. Or, at least, she wouldn’t have before he ruined everything. Because, truly, that’s what he’d done, it was what he was good at– ruining every single thing he touched.

He ruined his relationship, ruined his friendships, ruined his life, his sister’s future, his magic. Genevieve was dead and it was his. Fucking. Fault. Luci screamed, and for a moment his heart stopped. For a moment, all he heard was Genevieve, the way she’d yelled just as everything was ruined forever. Milo couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch his breath, wasn’t sure his heart was working. “Luci?!” The spectral vines tightened around him, seeming to pulse in time with his erratic heartbeat.

But then she got up, started speaking, and his heart restarted. He heaved a massive sigh of relief, the movement making the dull thorns dig into his skin. He was overcome with such a feeling of relief that nothing had happened that he almost felt lightheaded. For a moment he could breathe a little more easily, the vines loosening slightly.

Of course, it couldn’t last. After the relief came the guilt and pure panic at the thought of just how poorly that could’ve ended, of how, for a moment, he had thought his worst nightmare was coming true. Even through the fabric of his clothes, the thorns dug into his ruined skin, the rows of lines, all in various stages of healing, some whitened, fading with time, some puffy and red and brand new. Milo wished it did anything to take away from the giant, aching wound that used to be his chest, but, shocker, it really didn’t.

She can not see the scars, she’d be so upset. But she shouldn’t be, not after what I did. She wouldn’t if she knew. Wait, …did she know? What if that was why she was here? She knows what you did, she just wants you to admit it. Luci hates you and you deserve it– I deserve it. The vines should just fucking suffocate me and be done with it. You’re a waste of fucking space. They’d all be better off anyway. His legs gave out, and while the vines kept him upright, he still slumped further onto the brambles, the thorns digging into his skin in a way that teetered past the point of uncomfortable and straight into painful. Still, it couldn't compare to the ache inside.

Milo had sworn he would never be like his father. However, deep down, he had already known the fact of the matter– he was his father’s son, his unwanted son, no less. He had that darkness within him, that fire, that destructive anger that turned everything in its wake to ash. And most of the time he could keep it in check, keep it turned inward rather than outwards, but he’d always been scared of this. Maybe his magic wasn’t even broken, maybe this was just him, his curse to bear. What if all along he was always just this fire, this destruction, this desolation, this chaos? He wasn’t even supposed to be capable of it, as steeped in his studies into the protective arts as he was, but it didn’t matter, did it? It was him.

Luci was talking. It took him a minute to pull himself out of the firestorm of his mind, another just to calm down enough to actually process what she was saying. I know you don’t want to see me and you probably don’t like me. His entire being pulsed with an ache that he wished would manifest as something physical. There was a black hole where his heart should be. She thought this was her fault. She thought he hated her. “Luz, no,” he choked out. “I don’t– No– ‘S my fault– Not–” Milo didn’t even know what he was saying, he just needed her to understand. It was him. “Love you– ‘M so sorry–”

—

It was horrific, and part of her wanted to scream again when she saw what his magic was doing. It felt like something she wasn’t supposed to see, like her aunt crying at Gen’s funeral. It just didn’t make sense. It didn’t click, that something so scary could have been done.

It wasn’t how it was supposed to go either. He was supposed to be a little mad that his kid sister followed him, but begrudgingly let her back in. She was supposed to gently ask what happened and get some answers. They were supposed to work together on the mystery of what was going on - and Luci was going to help him. She had planned it out, and that was the most likely scenario.

So why was she now looking at something that seemed to be hurting her brother that came from himself. Why wasn’t he trying to move away from it, instead sinking into vines? She didn’t understand and part of her wanted to cry and call - but she wouldn’t pick up anymore. Luci was going to have to try and talk through this, and she’d never figured out how to say the right words to calm Milo down. There was an ache that she decided she was going to figure out later, instead focusing on what he was trying to say moving closer to him.

“I don’t care,” she said, trying to look at where the vines were coming from. Where she could pull to get them off of her brother. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care who’s fault it was what- What you’re hiding from me. Let me help you.” Luci said, trying to find out a solution and suddenly having an idea - that Gen would have hated.

Taking a breath, Luci’s hand went firmly onto Milo’s shoulder moving to try to get under the vines, not flinching as she felt bits of pain instead trying to free him. To get him to stand up and not just let them grow.If he wasn’t going to do it for his own sake, she was going to have to force him too.

“Milo stop letting them grow on you, or I’m going to have to -. Please breathe with me and stand up.” Luci looked at him in the eyes for a moment trying to find the words Gen would have used and coming up with nothing. She was going to have to do it her own way, “If you don’t I’m going to either pull these vines off of you myself or try a circle to transfer them, and I think both of them are going to make you upset so please calm down.” It was a threat, she wasn’t sure she could back up but he had to know that she was going to at least try.

“Please. I just found you again,” Luci said softly, more akin to a confession than anything else, her focus now on trying to keep her hand under the vines that seemed to want to push her away moving her other hand to the other shoulder flinching when it she felt the prick that time, “I love you too, and you are not leaving me like this.”

___

Milo couldn’t help but think of that Mitski lyric as the tears he’d been holding back ran down his face. Lately, I've been crying like a tall child. He was sobbing like he was a kid again, trying to catch his breath, taking in shallow gasps of air. The dull thorns dug into his abdomen at every shuddering sob, every attempt at filling his aching lungs.

He was having a full on menty b in front of his little sister, it was pathetic. He was freaking her out, and she shouldn’t have to deal with it at all. But still she was trying to calm him down, trying to wiggle her hand under the magical brambles and pull them off of him. It made him the void ache, but there was a warmth to it, too. The tears kept falling, but he was gaining a little more clarity, focusing on Luci, how as much as he didn’t deserve her, she was there anyway. ow if Gen were here she would help calm him down before gently tearing him a new one for this.

He croaked out a laugh at her threat, mouth pulling up into a watery smile in spite of himself. Her next words helped pull him together, wound not entirely closing, but made much more manageable. I love you too, and you are not leaving me like this. He needed to get it together for her. There was nothing to be done about the crying, though. If anything, he was just crying harder now, the pain just replaced by his sorrow, his love and concern for his sister. He had to do it for her.

So, he nodded, and focused on his breath like he had learned in therapy. Deep breaths, in and out, incredibly shaky at first, but slowly they evened out. As they did, the vines began to loosen more and more until they finally dissipated. He just barely managed to keep himself from collapsing onto the floor, but he did, he forced himself to as he pulled his sister into a hug. It made his breath hitch and his eyes water, so he breathed through it, pulling back after a moment.

He didn’t know what to say. What could he say after that, after everything? “Sorry,” he managed. “I’m– I’m sorry.” For all of it. There were a few attempts at other sentences, but he felt the tears welling up, the lump in his throat grow when he tried. “Are– Are you okay? Your hands?” None had actually pierced his skin, it seemed, only leaving deep red indents on his skin that left him wondering if they would bruise, and a few cuts that he could feel had reopened on his thighs. Thankfully his sweats were black and would hide any blood from Luci’s eyes– Luci who had been trying to pry them off of him. He really hoped she hadn’t managed to hurt herself in the process.

—

Luci wasn’t sure what else to do trying to get her hands under the vines seemed like her best option then trying to talk. She wasn’t good at words - or rather she wasn’t good at the type of words people wanted to hear when they were sad. It wasn’t something that she mastered, and most of the time if she was being honest she couldn’t care enough to bother with it. After all, actions spoke louder than words most of the time right? Maybe she couldn’t talk about it, but she could try and remove them.

She couldn’t be Genevieve. She didn’t want to be her sister as much as she loved her, she knew that those shoes were too big to fill. Her words wouldn’t be as soothing as hers were. So instead she waited a breath to hear if he was going to try and help her get these off of him, or if she was going to try her admittedly terribly executed threat. Hearing a - what she could only assume was a laugh - she wasn’t sure how to respond for a moment.

Then, slowly the vines seemed to loosen around him as he started breathing evenly. She was too scared to say anything, to do anything other than watch and still try to move the vines, worried that her words would be wrong again. She’d make the vines come back somehow and he wouldn’t listen to her again.

Suddenly though, she was being pulled into a hug to a still shaking Milo and for a moment Luci broke a little burying her head into his shoulder ignoring the way her glasses poked at her face as she did so. For a moment she was five again not knowing what to say and just desperately wanting the noise to go away, and knowing that while he couldn’t stop it Milo would at least keep it away for a little.

Then he pulled away, and Luci tried to right her face, her hand going up to her glasses knowing that she must look like a mess. She’d tried very hard to be put together, and show that she was an adult now and all of her things were everywhere and she’d made her brother cry. Again. For things she wasn’t quite sure she understood. Again.

Clearing her throat she said, “It’s okay. Oh - uh - no, they're fine. Just bruised. Not too bad.” Luci said realizing that the pain she’d thought was sharp wasn’t. She’d been so concerned that they were hurting him that she hadn’t realized they were dulled. They probably wouldn’t have even bruised her if she hadn’t jammed her hands under the vines. Still, she didn’t want him looking closer - the burns on her arms may not have been as bad as they could have been, but there were still marks. So she looked to make sure her sleeves were down before showing him her hands. “It’s okay, see? But you should probably sit down. Can we go sit down? I’ll clean up here.”

____

Luci had never been the most physically affectionate of the De La Vega siblings, so the fact that she leaned into the hug surprised him a little, caused a few more tears to escape from his eyes. He just let them fall, though, not wanting to let go quite yet. The ache in his chest no longer felt so heavy. Now it was more of a balloon lifting him up rather than an anchor dragging him down.

After a few moments and a quick squeeze, Milo released her. There was a pitiful, apologetic smile on his face as he wiped at his eyes and runny nose. Luci looked upset, and it made the guilt swell up, however, he quickly pushed it away. His self loathing could wait, she was standing in front of him right then.

He frowned at the red marks on her hands– his fault– but she was right, it wasn’t anything too bad, thank god. “Sorry.” It was barely audible, more of an exhalation than anything else. It had been a reckless move on her part, but he would’ve done the same if it had been her tangled up in magical restraints. Plus, what was he going to do? Chastise her? Make her feel like shit for trying to help? Make this situation even more tense? Make her hate him? No. No, he wouldn’t– couldn’t. He didn’t even have the energy for it if he wanted to.

Speaking of his nonexistent energy levels, he really wasn’t sure he would be able to hold himself upright for much longer. “Yeah, let’s sit.” What little energy he did have left was going toward holding himself together, not letting Luci see him for the small, pathetic, guilty child he really was. Waving off her attempts at picking up after him, Milo nodded toward the nearby couch. “Just leave it, Luz, I’ll get it later.”

He practically collapsed onto the sofa, but still, he made sure to leave enough space for his sister to sit. There was also another seat– he would definitely understand if she didn’t want to be seated next to him right now.

—

“Not your fault. I’m the one who decided to put my hands underneath brambles,” Luci said softly, mostly to herself. After all, she’d gotten her own hands bruised doing something admittedly futile. If he was being fair, he should have scolded her but maybe both of them were too tired for things that should happen. She didn’t really like how all of this ended up and just wanted to calm down.

Even though he had said to leave it, Luci still reached down to carefully move her papers back into the folder and put it into her bag not willing to leave them scattered and knowing that he was probably too tired to help her later. Still, it hadn’t taken her long before she moved towards the- now observing more of the place where lived - after him. It seemed nice, and she had about a million questions she wanted to ask him and knew that he was probably not going to answer any of them.

So Luci moved towards the couch plopping down next to him in an exaggerated sigh and sat for a moment looking at Milo. Part of her wanted to smile that he was there, but most of her was still shaken about everything that had just happened. So after considering it for a moment she said matter of factly, “You know - I had a powerpoint presentation for you and now I don’t think either of us are really going to be able to pay proper attention. So I am going to have to come back to give that to you.” She was trying at least, to act normal although admittedly she wasn’t sure what response she was going to get. “So you better not move again without telling me. Or its just going to get longer.”

—

Not your fault.

But it was. If he hadn’t freaked out, there wouldn’t have been brambles. If he hadn’t left like he did, maybe she would be at Brown instead of the town from hell. If Genevieve were alive. If he hadn’t asked her for her. If he had left the damn stone alone. It was all his fault. If his attempt had– He pushed the thought away.

Of course, she didn’t leave it for later, so Milo went over to help, handing her a bundle of papers as well as picking up something that seemed to have fallen in the midst of the ruckus. Then, he slumped into the couch cushions, feeling absolutely drained. He had sustained those brambles for a bit, hadn’t he? It’d been a while since he’d done anything quite so strenuous– well, aside from the caves, at least.

He didn’t know what to expect from Luci. She was planning on going to school here in Wicked’s Rest, she had come here looking for him, she possibly thought he was mad at her??? What the hell was he supposed to say to her? Milo couldn’t look her in the eyes and tell her that Genevieve’s death had been his fault, he just couldn’t. It made him the world’s biggest coward, the worst human being on the planet, but he just could not do it. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t face her reaction, the hatred and disgust and disappointment in her eyes. He could barely live with himself now, but having Luci look at him, see him for the monster, the ruinous thing that he really was? That would utterly destroy him. It was what he deserved, but, at his core, he truly was his father’s son– a spineless, selfish man.

So he stayed quiet, leaving his sister to break the silence.

And he promptly snorted, a grin spreading over his face even as more tears began to well up because goddammit Luci. “Okay,” he agreed. Then, again, much more softly, “okay.” Milo knew that he could spend the rest of his life apologizing and trying to make it up to her, and it still wouldn’t be enough. But he was still going to try. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he apologized again. “I’m really sorry, Luz.”

—

Luci huffed slightly when he didn’t just sit down, but decided that the fight was better left unsaid. There were a lot of things left unsaid between the two of them. While she didn’t know everything - she knew that it was bad. Something bad was happening, but - well they were still here. For the moment that was going to have to be enough.

Still, her mouth did tilt up to see the grin go over his face even if she had to ignore the tears that seemed to suggest that he was still in a private war he wasn’t going to share with her. It seemed that maybe the rift wasn’t unsurmountable between the two of them even if he had seemed to want to make it that way. Unlike before, Luci wouldn’t let that happen again.

Leaning back on the couch Luci sighed and said, “I know. You’ve said. I’m not sure about what for or why, but I know you’re sorry. I forgive you. Whatever it is, I forgive you okay? So stop ignoring me.” She wasn’t exactly what for, but there wasn’t anything that she wouldn’t have forgiven him for so she decided it was alright to say. As long as he stayed this time she would forgive him. “I was bluffing though - I probably won’t make you sit through a powerpoint. Still, don’t leave okay? ” Her voice wobbled a little at the end although she was hoping that would be ignored.

—

Milo hadn’t seen her smile in months. Seeing it almost broke through the dam that he was trying to put back into place. He couldn’t start to break down again, though, not in front of her. So, he shoved a hand in his pocket, pressed down through the fabric onto the wounds that had reopened, finding some clarity in the sting.

He watched her lean back, listened as she brushed off his apologies. Of course, she could say she forgave him now, but she didn’t know what he’d done. The comment about ignoring her made his heart fall, though. His immediate instinct was to apologize, but he bit back on the words. “For leaving,” he replied instead. His eyes stung as he, at least partially, explained the ‘why’ and ‘what for.’ “And ignoring you. And I’ll sit through your powerpoint, if you want,” he gave her a small smile. “I know you probably put a lot of work into it. Can’t let that go to waste.”

If he were a stronger man, Milo would be able to do whatever was necessary to keep Luci safe. But he wasn’t strong, the crack in her voice striking him like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t say no, couldn’t hurt her again, couldn’t stand leaving her for another time. And he certainly couldn’t just leave her if she was really going to stay here in Wicked’s Rest. While he was entirely useless now, he was still her brother, he still had to try to protect her. He had tried when the monsters were only in closets and under beds. Now that they were real and deadly and here, he would not leave her to face them alone.

“Okay,” Milo agreed quietly. As he spoke, he thought of Cass and of Mack’s party, of that night at the death pit. “I promise.”

He knew that sooner or later, Luci was going to find out, that she was going to see him for what he truly was. Sooner or later, she would realize that he was a monster, too. But until then, he supposed he would try.

#sibling death tw #self harm tw #domestic abuse tw #suicidal ideation tw #Suicide tw #transphobia tw #call me when you have the time; milo #para: Milo #a dangerous disposition; para #Banner was done by Ang and is beautiful #angst was provided by both but! it's gonna be okay :)#this thread is heavy so please be careful.

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lukas-dark-miracles · 11 months

Text

A New Gospel || Solo

TIMING: About Twenty Years ago

SUMMARY: Lizzie, turning the kind Father Lukas, realizes that she needs to inspire him if he’s going to continue along. Thus, a new dark Gospel is written.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Self Harm tw, Religious Trauma tw

Elżbieta was used to sireing and, more importantly, how to guide someone through the beginning of their vampirism. She was fond of it. It was an amusement to see humans slowly transition to becoming vampires - and honestly, most of the time, it was the only entertainment she had now. Seeing places rise and fall was always fun, but there was something almost special about knowing they were her handiwork.

Which is why she wasn't too fond when she heard a commotion upstairs in her richly decorated home that sounded like Lukas was doing something silly again. While he was never mean or even unkind - he was difficult. While her other fledglings quickly gave up silly notions of religion and ethics, the Priest seemed to cling to them - even when they hurt him. She had a feeling that he was doing exactly that. Sighing, she got up from her latest novel and pondered what she should do to ease some of the guilt.

Then it hit her. Something she could do to stop all of this nonsense as she climbed the stairs. After all, Lukas was a man of God, was he not? And what was she if not an Angel. Were they not supposed to be guiding lights? He already thought she was one; he called her an Angel, so she would play that role.

Going into the darkened room, she couldn't help but see him like she could vaguely recall someone in a Church pew. He was kneeling on the ground, candles around him, looking very much like the Catholic Priest he once was. If it wasn't for the obvious misery in his body, she might have even said it looked peaceful. Taking in the scene momentarily, she moved in front of him, waiting for him to notice her.

Once he did, Lizzie kneeled before him, mirroring his custom and taking in the Priest she had changed. Even now, he looked like goodness, even if his face was contorted with pain as he finally broke. He looked haunted, his body shaking. "I can't. I can't keep holding it. What sort of punishment is this? Why can't I hold it? What did I do that was so wrong," He cried out, his eyes looking towards hers in a wild way. He looked more like a wounded cat than a human. He looked like he was in agony.

She soon found the source of his pain as his hands were carefully wrapped in a Rosary that she could have sworn she'd thrown out. He must have fished it out of the trash carefully, wanting once again to pray for sins that he had committed. It was a pain in the ass that he kept doing so - but now she couldn't seem to find any anger in it. Not when his hands were shaking so hard his body was vibrating lightly. Not when he sounded like he was about to break. It wouldn't do, truly. She could already see his hands were red and raw - the beads that must have once given him comfort now burning in as he seemingly had tried to pray a rosary round. She was sure he hadn't gotten past the Apostle's creed, his hand still clutching the Crucifix in his palm like it was his only tether to earth.

Maybe it was.

"Lukas, this isn't a punishment," Lizzie said softly, her brown eyes catching his as she pulled her shawl off to gently cover his hands. She could feel the burning under it; she didn't want to touch the Rosary at all. She gently pushed the beads off his hands, seeing idly that he had managed to burn his skin badly this time. She doubted that it would heal to nothing. He was going to have to live with those scars. Tugging the Crucifix out of his hand with the bottom of the shawl, she could see how he almost immediately relaxed. She could tell it already felt a bit better than letting go of a hot pan. It still burned, but it wasn't hell anymore.

"It's a test. You know when I talked to you about balance, correct? That the world needs both light and dark?" She said gently, taking his hands into hers as she examined him. She would have to wrap them up when he was calmer. She couldn't remember if they had talked about it, but she also doubted that he could remember anything right now. "It's just a test. As you know, the light has gotten too strong, and we need to balance again. Like I told you, that's why we need to spread the word that what people think is evil is just allowing nature to settle. You and I are just as needed as those who walk around in the light. To know peace, you must have war looming. Once we get people to understand that - to accept the darkness in their souls, we can all be saved." Her voice almost turned into a coo as he slowly calmed down; his hands slowly stopped tremoring in her hands.

"We need to show them the dark, then? People can be saved if we show them the dark?" Lukas said unsurely - like a small child trying to understand mortality. It almost made Lizzie smile - the fact that he was so simple to think that anyone would be saved.

"Exactly that, little mouse," She said, watching him flinch slightly at the nickname. He must have remembered her whispering that when she was stabbing him. Pity she liked that endearment. "Because we cannot show them through the light, we will show them through the dark. We will have people's worse and not try to fix them but accept them. We will let them do their worst to test the light, and when it becomes a standstill, we will know that we were right."

Lukas looked at her again, with those wide blue eyes that seemed too light for a monster. What an awfully interesting dichotomy - a man and a monster. Before she could ponder more, he replied with a voice still hollowed from crying, "You're right. Of course, you're right."

Standing up and now leaning over the much taller man, Lizzie hid her smile as she kissed his forehead cradling his face as she did, her thumb brushing over the stubble he couldn't seem to grow out. Leaning down towards his ear, she wondered if he could hear the smile in her voice as she gently said, "Stop hurting yourself, Starlight. You need to tell the people what you've learned and lead them. I can't do it by myself. I'm getting too close to my change. You're my only hope. So you must be strong for us."

It was a gentle lie and one that Lukas did seem to respond to, his head bowing as she put her arms around him, this nickname apparently not attached to pain. She could feel him sobbing as he finally seemed to accept something big that she had no idea the nature of. She wondered idly if he actually believed her; he shouldn't. She had never once cared about the masses - why should she? In the grand scheme, only the strong survived anyway. Sure, she cared about individuals as much as she could, but she very much had given up any sense of common bonds between people as a whole.

Still, maybe this would save him, something she couldn't help but want. She wanted to see Lukas back to the man with the sparkling blue eyes she had found so intriguing. She wanted him to be intelligent and gently wise again. She wanted to see that light that had almost blinded her, that kindness she had not been accustomed to in years. While she had wanted him to be changed, she hadn't wanted to break Lukas. She had tried to form him into something grander than a short human life.

So yes, if this meant he would finally escape the despair that seemed to fill his soul, it would be worth it. Even if she would have to pretend that there was some sort of higher meaning. After all, what was a little lie for a man's soul? He may become more interesting than the hollowed man she'd left him.

She couldn't wait to see what a preacher man would do with a corrupt gospel. Would he create a flock - she'd let him do so. Would he turn to hate God? That might also be interesting to see the venom from a righteously angry pan turned from the light as harshly as he was. What would he do with this new idea that the dark also was necessary and that salvation could come from treachery? She wasn't sure, and for the first time in decades, Lizzie was excited to see the outcome.

#Self harm tw #your love is sunlight; solo #our gentle sins; para

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thelemmallama · 6 months

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I'm former pro-para turned anti-para these days, but not because I've been convinced by existing anti-para arguments, but because I discovered new ones for myself. 99% of existing/visible anti-para arguments are fucking stupid; that sadly has not changed. (For one, most anti-paras don't even reject the premise of "paraphilia" as a scientifically valid condition in the first place)

I'm tired of just everyone being dumb in para-related discourse and completely failing to describe the differences they've observed and carve reality at the joints. So I felt compelled to clear things up (also partly because of personal stuff happening to me recently), and made these infographics(?) in the process:

also the explanation itself; here's some very messy notes under the cut that I don't have energy to edit

an actually consistent argument against MAPs, including non-offenders (from a former supporter)

(1: diagram?)(if you encounter a 'necessary evil' situation; someone probably screwed up earlier down the line)(trolley, pull, don't pull - real evil: someone tied these people to the tracks)(admit, deny - real evil: you've been fantasizing about children) why it's harmful to think about children sexually

'what would be destroyed by the truth, should be' {- pro-maps would call this thoughtcrime, and literally no-one addresses it}

related: sa survivors don't disclose not bc 'feeling like bad person' shame, but bc of "doesn't want ppl to think of them being sa'd" shame {- even in a perfectly accepting world, there is the tradeoff of getting it off your chest vs }

if you look at things through agency-maximizing consequentialism (which solves/avoids the horrifying edge cases of happiness-maximizing consequentialism like powering a utopia witha forsaked child or sacrificing us all to the utility monster), thoughts do indeed cause harm

(3?) arousal is not pleasure

sa survivors experience arousal when sa'd; they did NOT enjoy it [ ('pleasure' or 'gratification' being used to describe sex (e.g. sexual assault, one's body 'betraying' you for feeling pleasure), and compare substituting 'pleasure' or 'gratification' in descriptions of being itchy/etc) no no no no, you're still trapped in the 'arousal = pleasure' framework. by saying that negative experiences of arousal are ego-dystonic, you're still assuming arousal is intrinsically pleasureable and it's a negative experience because the person doesn't want to feel pleasure in this situation, not because the arousal itself is the exact opposite of pleasurable.

an example of how arousal can be a negative yet ego-syntonic experience could be if a person is sexually assaulted, but they have extremely low self-worth, despises themself and believe they deserve to suffer. then the profoundly painful experience of sexual assault could be ego-syntonic, as they feel like it's their rightful punishment. however just because the arousal was ego-syntonic does not at all imply it was pleasurable or that they 'enjoyed it', any more than a self-harmer 'enjoyed' hurting themself because they chose to do so. ]

mere stimulation: aroused pleasure: enjoy/gratification/desire idk: erotic/titilating/excitement/horny/get off on

every word for being sexually aroused or something causing sexual arousal carries with it the implication that it's a positive experience. sexual excitement? titilation? horny? get off on? even 'sexual arousal' itself!

(2?) "pedophilia" not biologically based

most are men: gender essentialist implications

child marriage was widespread

children/innocence/vulnerability to violation/don't think of pink elephants

currently most people not attracted to children bc we correctly recognize it's harmful to sexually interact with children. it's like eating a sandwich vs eating a sandwich after knowing the cucumber had been used as a dildo. physical sensation same

(thing that first clued me in) on ao3, there are barely any fics about non-offending pedophiles, while there are tons of underage fics. given how prevalent proship discourse is and how much it overlaps with map discourse, wouldn't there be more stories about non-offending pedophiles? instead, even among the sympathetically-depicted pedophiles a majority is offending. it just seems really sus that that narrative seems to resonate more with people than that of the non-offending pedophile.

(4)(diagram?) 'arousal wrt children' on two axes: positive/negative valence, deliberate/instinctive

pocd

self-harm/catharsis

wants to change

map who push for (no)map acceptance

then when i said 'it's harmful to think about children sexually', i mean positive valence thought. what about deliberate? i'm not feeling convicted on this and am open to arguments why it's wrong, but i believe deliberately thinking about csa in a negative way is like deliberately thinking about other atricites in a negative way. the 'fiction is not reality' thing applies specifically to this quadrant. and yes, it's worrying there's no clear line between mere depiction and endorsement, but that can be applied to fascist genocides as well, and i don't see many people arguing against all depictions of fascist genocides in fiction because of this. people still manage to identify and condemn positive depictions/endorsements of fascism, and the same should be applied to csa and desire-for-children.

what about the 'is it okay to tell' test? it's clearly abusive to talk about deliberately dwelling on the abuse of a specific real child that exists or has existed (other than your past self), so i believe that's harmful to do, even if you attribute negative valence to the abuse. but if the valence is negative - you're rightfully thinking of it as something horrific rather than something enjoyable - i believe it's morally neutral to dwell on the abuse of a random child you imagined, or yourself from the past. (fictional children are a grey area imo; if the child is from a story that depicts csa in the source material for catharsis/coping, that's different from if the child is from nonsexual children's media

#anti para #pro para #cw csa #cw self harm #tw csa #antis please interact #paras please interact #share freely no attribution necessary

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vanoincidence · 10 months

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Pot Meet Kettle || Van & Emilio

TIMING: current. LOCATION: worm row, emilio's apartment. PARTIES: @mortemoppetere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van does NOT break into emilio's apartment. CONTENT WARNINGS: implied self harm as a form of anxiety relief.

Maybe it was a little dumb, showing up at his apartment unannounced. Really, she wanted nothing to do with the guy, but with the constant back and forth online, she had to admit she was interested to know why he was so bulliable. Maybe Nora had broken him in, or maybe he just didn’t care. It was probably the latter. The only reason she even knew where he lived in the first was because of when she’d gone home with Wynne. But Van was going to make it his problem now. When it came to a select few adults, her social anxiety was nonexistent. Granted, visiting the apartments to insist on being gifted slim jims wasn’t the only reason she had swung by. Seeing Wynne would have been nice, too.

The door was ajar when she arrived, and maybe something in her should have told her to turn around, but Emilio was typically sloppy, so she figured this was the norm. Little did she know, she was kind of right. “Emilio?” She pushed the door open with the palm of her hand, peering inside. Instead of a full grown man, she saw a dog whose tail was wagging back and forth. “Hello.” She half-expected it to pounce, to bite, or to start barking, but it didn’t. It sat there kind of stupidly. She wondered if this was how she looked sometimes. “Hi.” She looked around the apartment, confused as to why he wasn’t coming out. “Did he die? I bet he died.” That was a sad thought, but maybe he had succumbed to the slim jim gods. “What’s your name?” She asked the dog, crouching down by the door, sticking her hand out for Perro to sniff as he trotted over.

—

Jeff had wandered into his apartment again. Ranting and raving, going on about how someone had moved all his furniture around. Normally, Emilio would have just tossed the guy into the hall and shut the door, but he’d been feeling generous that morning. He’d scooped his neighbor up off the floor and practically dragged him across the hall to his own apartment, accepting the smacks the man delivered against his chest and the rampant screaming his ears with a quiet, “Yeah, yeah,” as he opened the door to the other apartment with one hand. It was unlocked; Emilio wasn’t sure if that lock was as broken as his own or if Jeff just never knew where his keys were to lock it. Both options seemed plausible. His own apartment door was left ajar as he dragged Jeff into his actual living room, kicking his neighbor’s door shut behind him.

It took a few moments to get Jeff settled on the sofa; Emilio held his remote in front of his face. “Do you know what this is?”

“Mind control,” Jeff mumbled. Emilio sighed.

“Sure,” he agreed. He pointed the remote at the TV, switching on some sitcom with an irritating laugh track. Good. Served the guy right. “Stay here. Watch this. Don’t come to my apartment anymore. Dog bites, remember?”

Jeff mumbled something else, but Emilio was no longer listening. He ducked out of the apartment and went back across the hall, shoving his way into his own apartment with a sigh…

…only to stop at the sight of a figure crouching in the floor with Perro.

Immediately, Emilio went for a knife. His hand gripped the handle, though he didn’t remove the weapon from his pocket. The figure shifted, and he caught sight of an unfortunately familiar face. “The hell are you doing in here?” He demanded. Perro, having caught sight of his owner returning, yipped and scampered over to him, unbalanced on his three legs. Emilio crouched to scoop him up. “Why do you know where I live?”

—

Van jumped as Emilio’s voice rang from behind her. She lost her balance and slumped to the side, pushing against the wall opposite of where Emilio now stood. “You scared me. You shouldn’t creep up on people like that.” The confidence she wore was thin, but the ache of exhaustion and desperation buried deep into the core of who she was at this point. It was easier to pretend to be somebody else; somebody who showed up at others’ homes just to annoy them. Emilio seemed like an easy target for that, because if something were to happen, she could always tattle to Nora and she was sure her friend would put him in his place.

“You live by Wynne.” Van motioned to the hallway by jutting her chin out in a vague direction before getting to her feet. “I know Wynne. I came here to say hi to Wynne.” Not really a lie. “But then I remembered you live here, too.” She grinned at him before her gaze wandered back to the dog that he held in his arms. “Your dog is metal. Three legs. Could probably outrun me. Super cool.” What was she even saying? “Hey, you got any leftover slim jims I can grab?” She needed to leave. She needed to sleep. But she needed to keep busy.

If she wasn’t busy, then the thoughts came. She’d make somebody else frustrated with her, let them yell, force herself to believe she deserved it (even though in this case, she probably did). Emilio was the right person to go about this with. She already bullied him relentlessly online. “I see you grew your hands back. It must have been really hard, being a worm.”

—

“You are in my apartment,” Emilio pointed out, raising a brow. “I don’t think it counts as creeping up on you if you broke in.” She looked different than she had the last time he’d seen her, he noted. More tired, more uncertain. It was definitely a far cry from the show she put up online, the one where she was loud and brash and confident. He suspected this version of her was a little closer to the truth, felt a pang of something in his chest at the thought of it. He shouldn’t give a shit. He shouldn’t give anything resembling a shit. She was annoying, she was always bothering him, she didn’t know when to let something go.

But she was a kid.

She was a kid, and she looked a little lost in his apartment like this. It was hard for Emilio to hold on to any anger with kids, especially when she mentioned Wynne’s name. “Didn’t realize you knew them,” he commented. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Small town. Why did you come to my apartment?” He glanced down at Perro in his arms, stroking the dog absently. “His name is Perro. He likes you.” The last part was said with a hint of suspicion. Perro didn’t like people unless there was a little something extra about them. The kid wasn’t undead, and she didn’t seem weird enough to be fae. A shifter, maybe? Certainly not a hunter. “I don’t know. Check the cabinet.”

There was something familiar, he realized, about the way she was moving. Like she was walking through syrup, like it was hard to get her limbs to cooperate. Tired, he realized. The kid was tired. Bags under her eyes to rival the ones Emilio himself tended to support, voice thick with sleep. Normally, he’d chalk the weird shit she was saying up to exhaustion, too, but… he was pretty sure that part was just who the kid was. “Yeah, sure. Real struggle. Are you done?”

—

“The door was open. There was a dog inside. What was I supposed to do?” Really, the only reason she even remembered where Emilio lived was because of the stains on the carpet outside and the makeshift Axis Investigations sign that was on a piece of paper. Even if the paper looked like it had ripped at some point between the time she’d come around with Wynne and now. Van looked at the dog as it squirmed in Emilio’s grip, but looking otherwise content. She had taken him for more of a bird person. Who would have thought.

“I do. They’re really nice.” Nicer than Van deserved, probably. Especially now. She wondered what they’d think of her if they knew the truth about her. Would they be scared? Nora hadn’t been, but that was Nora. Nora was the bravest person Van had ever met. “Because the door was broken, plus your sign ripped. Figured you would want to know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and blinked away the exhaustion as her vision began to blur slightly. She needed another red bull. She’d have to get one after she left Emilio. “Perro.” Van knew enough Spanish to know that Emilio had named his dog dog. Not totally surprising. “Of course he’d like me, I’m a delight.” The joke fell flat and she looked over her shoulder towards the cabinets that Emilio mentioned.

It felt wrong to go through his things, even if there’d been an invitation to do so. Then again, she had kind of broken into his apartment. She pursed her lips and dug her fingers into her forearms. “Done with what? Joking about you being a worm? Did you like the picture I made?” Van wanted some semblance of normalcy, and arguing with the town snitch (or who she assumed was the town snitch given the PI title) would maybe be the best way to do that, she realized. If he didn’t know about what had happened with Debbie now, would he ever? Nora hadn’t told him, and Van wasn’t sure if Cass, Ren, or even Thea knew the guy. She hoped they’d be safe from him snooping around. “But to answer your question, yes, I guess I am.”

—

“So you walk into any house with a dog inside?” Arguing with Van always felt like arguing with a brick wall. Nothing he said ever seemed to make it through that thick skull of hers. Every statement he offered was met with a prepared retort, like she was waiting for it. A less stubborn man — or a smarter one — probably would have given up trying. But Emilio would rather argue with a literal brick wall for hours than admit he was wrong once, and it tended to show pretty well in situations like this one. He was pretty sure that, this time at least, he was right, anyway. Walking into someone’s apartment without being invited seemed like the kind of thing most people would take offense to.

He might have been angrier about it if she weren’t a kid, or if she weren’t friends with Wynne, Nora, and Ren, or if he had the energy to be angry about anything today. It didn’t look like he was the only one lacking in energy here, though; Van looked about as tired as Emilio felt, and that was saying something. “The door is always broken. And the sign is always ripped. I don’t need you to tell me that.” And he doubted that was why she’d come in. Van wasn’t here to be helpful; he might not know her well, but he knew her well enough to be very aware of that much. He waited for her to say something about the dog’s name, already on the defensive, but she let it drop. Said of course the dog would like her, because she didn’t know what it meant. “He doesn’t usually,” Emilio said, still suspicious. A werewolf, maybe? Gael was proof enough that someone could be one of those without knowing, and Van didn’t seem to act like someone who was aware of the supernatural.

She looked into the kitchen but didn’t go there, and Emilio grumbled for a moment before limping that way. He set Perro down next to his food bowl, which he happily busied himself with, then began digging through the cabinets. Sure enough, there was a box of slim jims he’d barely touched, though it looked like Rhett had been into it. He pulled a few out of the box and, as an afterthought, started a pot of coffee before going back to Van and thrusting the snacks towards her. “Here.” She was annoying, but she was still a kid and he was still a father, even without anyone left to be a father to. It was hard to see a kid in piss poor shape without it swirling up old feelings. “You look like shit, you know.”

—

“Maybe I do. Maybe the dogs are begging me to take them home with me.” Realistically, Van hadn’t ever done anything like this. Except maybe in the seventh grade when she stole the pet rabbit from her classroom because she insisted the teacher wasn’t feeding it right. The rabbit had been returned to the classroom the next day and lived out a happy and normal life, as a rabbit would. But this wasn’t like seventh grade. This was an adult’s house who she had broken into. Or, apartment, if you wanted to get technical. She did feel a little bad, but the impulsivity that’d began to cloud her judgment, or lack thereof, was more welcome than the reality.

“You should get it fixed. The sign, too. How are people supposed to take you seriously?” Maybe Emilio didn’t care if he was taken seriously. For a really long time, all Van wanted was to be taken seriously. For people to see her as worth having around. But that wouldn’t ever happen. Even Emilio wanted her out of his hair, but she couldn’t really blame him there. She was purposely being annoying, tugging at loose strings just to see which arm she could get to raise up, or what foot to kick out. She was definitely Jerry in this situation, she realized. The poor bastard across from her was definitely Tom. Unfortunate. “You mean you have a mean dog?” She tilted her head to the side, looking from Emilio to Perro, unconvinced that the dog could hurt a fly. He looked really sweet. “I guess that’d fit for the mean dog, mean man trope.” She needed to stop referencing parts of television that only came through in fanfic.

Van watched silently as Emilio set the dog down. She had half a mind to ask him to come to her, but he was busy with eating. Yeah, let the little man eat. She’d pet him later, if Emilio didn’t laser beam her hands off with the glare he was wearing. Van’s gaze followed Emilio as he began to rifle through his cabinets. Why he was doing this for her, she had no idea. Maybe so she’d leave faster? Well, that only made her want to stay longer. The slim jims were in front of her now and she had half a mind to tell him that she hadn’t actually wanted them. She should be eating better things, but she knew she wouldn’t get that here. She took them from him, frowning at his insult. “We’re twins, you know? I think I knew you in a past life. We were twins then, too. We’ve always looked like shit, Emilio.” That had been pulled from a show she watched a few years ago, but she didn’t figure that he would get the reference. She peeled the slim jim’s rapper down and took a bite. “But if you have to know, I’ve been fighting demons. A new patch of Candy Crush opened up that has been totally taking my time.” She took another bite and blinked up at him, then looked over to Perro as he continued polishing off his food bowl. “He really doesn’t like people?” The question came out sort of quiet, as if she didn’t want the answer. It meant that yet another being could detest her.

—

Emilio stiffened a little, shooting her a suspicious glare. “Do not steal my dog.” He held Perro a little more protectively against his chest, as if he was afraid she might come at him right then and there to snatch the dog from his arms. A stupid fear, he knew; whatever she was, he was pretty sure he could still take her in an altercation if it came right down to it. And he was at least seventy-five percent sure she was joking, anyway. Van didn’t really strike him as the ‘pet’ type, no matter what his paranoia might tell him. (And his paranoia, as always, told him a whole lot. Most of it wasn’t quite true. It was hard to remember that sometimes.)

“I’ve gotten it fixed. Many times. It doesn’t stay that way.” It was a waste of money, really, fixing things in this apartment. Either Emilio rebroke things himself when he was drunk or angry or having one of his ‘there but not there’ episodes or some angry client did the job for him. He couldn’t count how many times his door had been kicked in by someone who felt ‘wronged’ by his work. And then there were the handful of undead who managed to track him back to his apartment, looking to fight him when they thought he might be ill-prepared. Put it all together, and you had a man with no real reason to bother fixing his lock. As for the sign… “I don’t want my landlord to know what I’m doing.” This operation wasn’t exactly legal. “He is not mean. He just doesn’t like people.” He scratched Perro behind the ear absently, and the dog’s tail wagged furiously behind him. “But I am mean. So you should stop trying to talk to me.”

The statement probably didn’t entirely match his actions, and the fact that she took the slim jims without any kind of hesitation probably served as proof of that. With his hands free now, he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her, trying to determine… he wasn’t sure what. If she was okay? It wasn’t like Emilio cared about that. She was friends with Ren and Nora and Wynne, sure, but that didn’t mean he had to give a shit about her. Still, there was that stubborn ebb of concern at the bags under her eyes. He shoved it down with a scowl, rolling his eyes. “We are not twins. We’re not even the same age. And I didn’t have any past life. Also, I don’t look like shit. I look great.” He knew it wasn’t true. The bags under his eyes were probably just as bad as the ones under hers, if not worse. But it mattered less, didn’t it? It mattered less when it was him. “Demons?” He tried to determine if she was speaking metaphorically or not, hated that he had to wonder. Before Wynne, Teddy, and Levi, he’d assumed demons were a nonissue. Now, they seemed to be everywhere, in varying states of friendliness. But he doubted there was one named Candy Crush. Glancing to Perro, he shrugged. “Not usually,” he replied. “Took him a long time to warm up to Wynne. Seems to like you well enough, though.”

—

“Dude, don’t worry. Your dog is cool and all, but I like not having to go outside more than I have to.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Even though she’d probably be the last person that Emilio would ask to watch his dog, she had to admit she was a little inconvenienced by the thought that he might decide to let her take Perro afterall. Like that would ever happen.

She looked towards the door again, noticing the marks where the hinges met each other. “Uh huh.” She didn’t think he had actually tried to fix it. Van knew the type of man Emilio was, and that was only because of television. She had seen plenty of gruff men who pretended not to care about anything, but secretly care more than anyone else in the room. She knew nothing about him, or his background– knew only what he presented to her. He acted like a dad, but only a little. She had forgotten what having one around felt like. It was an absent, phantom thing– it burrowed itself deep into her most days, and being around somebody who would have been his age now? Or maybe Emilio was a little younger, she couldn’t tell with the dark circles under his eyes. Whatever. “You are mean, but the dog isn’t mean? Got it, got it.” She nodded firmly as if it put all the pieces of the puzzle into place. “Makes a lot of sense. Lucky for you, I don’t get offended easily.” That was a lie. But she had decided upon her first encounter with Emilio to not let him bother her.

“We are twins, and we could be, who are you to say? Plus you don’t know that, we don’t even remember them if they do exist.” What a terrible way to live, to remember everyone you had lost after years gone past. Then again, she was living those exact moments now, so what would the difference have been? “And we both look like shit. Twins, see?” She snapped off another bite of the slim jim, chewing thoughtfully as her eyes wandered around Emilio’s apartment. It smelled damp, and a little like whiskey. “Demons, yeah.” Van was confused, hadn’t Nora been teaching him how to not be old? Or did she point and laugh that he didn’t know anything at all. Probably the latter. “That’s… weird.” Wynne was great with animals. She had seen them with the rabbit, and with the cats that lived in their apartment. But she didn’t think any more of it, because she had no clue that she was in the presence of a supernatural sniffing dog. “But maybe it’s because I smell like pizza?” Not that she’d gone to her shift in a couple of days, but still. Luckily she had some days off saved up, even if she wasn’t getting paid for them. “I like him though, he’s cool.” She watched as he trotted from his bowl of food to Emilio’s feet, head tilted back. “He looks like he loves you too, so maybe I shouldn’t trust his judgment.” Before he could say anything, she dropped down into a crouched position, holding the slim jim far enough away from Perro as he turned around to address her. She extended her hand, scratching underneath his chin. “That was a joke, B-T-DUBS.”

—

He relaxed a little as she assured him she had no intention of stealing his dog. He had no reason not to believe her. She did seem like the kind of kid who’d want to avoid going outside as much as she could, after all. And… she probably didn’t have much desire for something she wasn’t able to take care of. Emilio was the only sort of person who yearned for that.

Her eyes went to the door, and she didn’t seem to believe him but Emilio couldn’t bring himself to care. What did it matter if she thought he wasn’t trying to fix his door? The door would stay broken either way, because it always did. You could fix something a thousand times, but you couldn’t stop someone from kicking it until it shattered all over again. And wasn’t it pointless, after a while? Wasn’t it a waste of time to fix something just so someone could break it again? Emilio had no concept of mythology, no familiarity with it, but he had no desire to make himself into Sisyphus, to slave over the same menial and pointless task each morning only to have it mean nothing by evening’s end. “Yes. The dog is just scared.” By less than he used to be, but still more than he should have been.

“We are not twins. I’m older than you. By a lot. And I know I didn’t have a past life.” He disliked the idea of it, the concept that he’d lived before this and would live after it as well. For a man who wasn’t quite sure he wanted to live at all, the idea of doing it over and over again was its own kind of Hell. “No. You look like shit. I am very handsome.” He dug his proverbial heels in, decided that this was the hill he’d die on. Emilio was very good, as it turned out, at dying on hills. He did it just about every day. “Sure,” he said. “Could be.” Except Wynne brought food right to his door, and Perro still took ages to warm up to them. He only ever liked someone right away if there was something nonhuman about them. Either not human at all, or human with something extra, like hunters. Never someone like Van who, until now, he’d thought was a normal kid. “He is cool.” He glanced down as Perro came to sit at his feet, huffing a quiet laugh. “Yeah, he’s got shit judgment. You’re right about that.” Perro turned to look at Van, tail wagging as she scratched under his chin. “If you have to say something is a joke, maybe you are bad at jokes.” As if Emilio didn’t suck at them, too.

—

“Who said anything about ages? It could be a soul thing.” The idea of being soulmates with Emilio, no matter how mystical and platonic, made her cringe. Gross. Van rolled her eyes at his insistence that they were not the same. He was right, but Van was all for continuing to poke fun at him for the sake of just doing so. “Fine. I do look like shit.” Because she did. She would admit it at any given point on any given day. She thrived on self-deprecation. “At least one of us twins has confidence. Why did it have to go to you?” She shot him a half-hearted glare before turning her attention back to Perro.

At least they could agree on something. That the little dog with three legs and an ever-moving tail was cool. Van had wanted a dog when she was younger, but her mom had said that she was just like one, and that she didn’t to take care of two. Turns out she hadn’t needed to for much longer. Her grandma had said the same, though, so really who was it that had won that argument? Now, she was thankful. Most days, she couldn’t even muster the energy to brush her hair. Always her teeth, though. Always.

“No, I’m good at jokes. I just had to tell you it was one because you probably thought I was being serious.” Van got to her feet as Perro trotted over to a cushion beside the couch. She snapped off another piece of her slim jim, watching Emilio carefully. Even from where she stood he was a little blurry. Maybe it wasn’t exhaustion, maybe she needed glasses. With a sigh, she folded the empty wrapper into her pocket. It’d probably come out in the wash days later after she found the energy to do it at all. “What kind of jokes do you like anyway? Or are you always like, serious?” Her tone deepened on serious, but she continued watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

—

“There is no soul thing.” Though he knew souls existed, Levi had made it seem as if they were just… there. Not quite as big as the priests he’d grown up around made it seem, not quite as all-encompassing as he’d been led to believe. Certainly not assigning people ‘twins’ in the form of annoying kids who tried to eat black sludge in the woods and broke into your apartment with bags under their eyes. “I deserve to be confident,” he replied, dry as ever. That wasn’t something he believed. When it came to what he deserved, Emilio knew the bottom of the barrel was a little too good for him.

Perro seemed content with the company, tail wagging lazily as Van looked at him. He wasn’t much of a guard dog but, then, Emilio supposed that had never been in the cards. With his small stature and three legs, the dog wasn’t going to be scaring much of anyone away. Still, he’d done his best to defend Emilio during the encounter with the mare, and that stood for something. He was a good dog. He was also probably the only thing that got Emilio out of bed most days.

Snorting, Emilio rolled his eyes. “I’ve never found any of your jokes funny.” It was a lie, though he wouldn’t admit to it. He did find it entertaining to see Van fuck with people online, sometimes, the same way he enjoyed it when Nora did it. “I like funny jokes,” he replied, watching as she tucked the wrapper away. He wondered if he ought to get her another one. “I’m serious when I want to be.” Which was never when he was supposed to be. “Do you want coffee? I do not have a clean mug. You can drink out of the pot.” That was what he usually did.

—

“Why can’t there be?” Because if there wasn’t, then who did she plead to? It wasn’t like she believed in any sort of God, but her grandmother had– in her own way. Had spoken to the sky like there was somebody listening. Van wasn’t sure she believed in that kind of thing, but she liked the idea of there being more, even if it scared her a little. Even if it had everything to do with wanting to know that Diana hadn’t been trapped forever. That she had ascended, somehow; became something else, something better than the corpse Van had made of her. At his comment about deserving to be confident, she simply rolled her eyes.

Van scrunched her nose, pairing it with another eye roll. “I’m hysterical, and you’re rude.” It was bold of her to call him rude considering she’d been the one to break into his apartment, but it wasn’t like she was about to start apologizing now. “I am funny, and I make funny jokes, Emilio.” Only sometimes, she wanted to add. If she wasn’t trying to be funny, then who even was she? It was kind of nice, Van decided, to not fall into her own desperation like she had been doing with her friends. Emilio didn’t care about her, and she didn’t mind. She liked it better that way, anyway. Because he didn’t tell her to eat good food, only yelled at her for trying to eat the bad kind. He didn’t try to pretend to be somebody who had left her life a long time ago. “Coffee? Why would you offer me coffee when you’ve got like, cake mugs?” She wondered if he even knew what that was. “You know, when you make a cake in a mug…” Van looked behind him, wondering how a slim jim would taste with coffee. Maybe it’d be good. “Only if I can drink the whole pot.”

—

“Because there isn’t.” He didn’t believe it, even as he said it. Emilio’s relationship with God was a complex one. He didn’t want to believe in religion anymore, wanted to cast the crutch far from his body like a hot coal burning his hands, but such things were so much easier said than done. Religion clung to him like wet clothing, sticking to his skin and weighing him down. Even now, telling Van there was no ‘soul thing’ despite knowing it wasn’t true in some throwaway argument to win their latest bickering match, there was a bitterness on his tongue.

Raising a brow, Emilio looked her over for a moment, as if assessing. “I am allowed to be rude in my own apartment.” He figured he held a trump card here, considering the fact that she’d kind of broken in. “I have never seen you be funny. Don’t you think you should show me sometime? All the jokes I’ve seen you make are bad.” He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do here. Cheer her up? Distract her? Whatever it was, he didn’t think he was doing a very good job at it. There were probably ways to make someone feel better that didn’t involve making fun of them. “Cake… mugs?” His brow furrowed, confusion clear. “Cake won’t fit in a mug.” Did she mean a cupcake, maybe? Emilio knew about those. “Sure. Take the whole pot. I don’t want to drink after you. You look like you have rabies.” Which he knew wasn’t transmitted through sharing drinks… but he also knew it’d offend her. He thought that might be funny.

—

Van rolled her eyes, deciding that arguing with Emilio about something as arbitrary over whether or not there were souls was getting too far from the point. Because that hadn’t been the point. It’d been about telling him that he looked as much like shit as she did, and because of that, they were twins. Maybe she would surprise him with a matching t-shirt later. Thing one and thing two, like the weird Disney adults wore when they went on trips together. He’d probably burn it. She’d have to get extras, she decided.

“You’re rude like, everywhere. It’s not just here.” Rude here, rude online, rude out in the woods– which, Van still wasn’t sure why a man had been trying to sell cheese there, but that was beside the point, and not a topic she wanted to bring up again out of fear that Emilio would yell at her again. And he continued displaying that fact like a petulant child. She placed her hands on her hips, half-wondering if this was even worth it at this point. If she should steal Perro and run away. He looked old. He probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. “Your life is a joke, dude. That means mine is, too. Because we’re twins. Duh.” She rolled her eyes at him. She felt like a kid again, arguing with her stupid geometry teacher who hadn’t taken the time to explain a problem to her and instead sent her to the office after she started to question his teaching methods.

“It’s mug cake, not full cake, so that way it can fit into a mug.” It was surprising to her that a man who looked like he ate garbage full time (just like her) hadn’t tried a mug cake. Sure, she’d watched copious amounts of five-minute recipes and that’s where she had learned about them, but did that matter? No! It didn’t! At the mention of her possibly having rabies, she snorted. “If anyone has rabies in this room, it’s you. Or like, tinnitus.” She didn’t correct herself, because she didn’t know it was different from tetanus. “But bring it on, old man. Give me the bean juice.” Maybe he’d yell at her about how it wasn’t juice. That could start another spiral. How many more things could she make Emilio angry about now? She was a little tired, and maybe overstaying her welcome, but he had been the one to offer coffee in the first place.

—

“Maybe I’m only rude to annoying people.” He could make the argument that, when he spoke to her online, he was still doing so from the comfort of his apartment… but he had a feeling she’d bring up their first encounter in the woods. Which was stupid, really, because he’d saved her ass. If not for him, who knew what might have happened when she ate that damn sludge. It seemed to vary from person to person, with the least fortunate turning into the sludge itself, but Van didn’t believe a word out of his mouth when it came to shit like that. It was part of why, before seeing Perro’s reaction to her, he’d assumed she was very human.

But he was rethinking that now.

It wasn’t a perfect litmus test, Perro’s little sniffer. He still got it wrong sometimes, decided someone supernatural wasn’t so great after all, or decided he liked a human. The dog had a mind all his own, but nine times out of ten? Perro knew when someone was packing a little something extra. And he seemed to think Van was. Emilio was inclined to believe him on that. He’d been right about Ren, right about Alan, right about everyone else they’d come into contact with so far. Why wouldn’t he be right about this, too?

“Why would you want to put a cake in a mug?” None of this made any sense. What would you drink your coffee out of if your mugs were full of cake? He was pretty sure Van was either confused or making shit up just to fuck with him, though he couldn’t quite decide which option was the truth. Knowing this kid, he was pretty sure it could go either way. “I don’t know. You look pretty rabid.” He rolled his eyes, limping back to the kitchen and grabbing the fresh pot of coffee. He shifted it in his grip as he held it towards her so that she could grab it by the handle and avoid burning herself. “Here. It’s hot. You gonna tell me why you actually came into my apartment? Gotta be more than just the door being open. You need something?”

—

“And maybe I’m only annoying to rude and annoying people.” It was a miracle that Van hadn’t stuck her tongue out like some petulant child to back up her point. She thought about her grandmother for a moment and the way that the older woman had begged her to act her age, especially in public. That didn’t matter anymore. Just like the knives she’d been told not to play with, the warnings and calls for obedience had walked out the door with her grandmother.

Van was too self-involved to really notice the way that Emilio was studying her, like there was something wrong with her. If she would have caught on, she would have agreed. Instead, her eyes continued to wander around his apartment. It seemed like it was sort of falling apart, but she couldn’t really judge him for that. The state of her house was… unsavory, to say the least. It was a miracle that somebody hadn’t called on her about the grass being too high. When her grandma had left, all maintenance had ceased.

“It’s like, a college thing. When you only have a microwave. It’s good, I swear.” Van wasn’t sure explaining it any further would enlighten Emilio, but she made a point to tuck the knowledge away. Maybe she would send him a subscription box of mug cakes. He’d probably be annoyed by it which would be a win in her book! “What, should I hiss or something?” She watched him as he moved towards the kitchen. She noticed the limp, too. She thought about asking if he’d hurt himself, but would he even tell her? Instead, she took it from him wordlessly, giving him a small nod. It smelled like the stuff she had at home. Just regular brew, nothing fancy. She liked diner coffee. “I don’t need anything. The door was open, I’m being so serious right now.” She looked over her shoulder to the now closed door. “Why would I need anything from you?” A distraction, Van thought. That was what she had needed, and he had provided. He was an old man with a bad knee who didn’t know enough was enough when it came to arguing with her. It was better than a video game. No weird, traumatizing cutscenes.

—

“I am not annoying. You are thinking of yourself.” He was arguing with a kid, and he knew it wasn’t a fight he’d win. Van was stubborn. She’d keep poking and prodding until he got frustrated and gave up, because this wasn’t the kind of ‘fight’ Emilio excelled at. Maybe with an adult, he could manage it — he and Teddy had participated in enough verbal sparring matches to make a mark — but a kid? He didn’t stand much of a chance, and he knew it.

That was all right, though. He wasn’t particularly interested in the bickering. Instead, he was focused on the way she looked like she might fall over any moment, like she was seconds away from passing out on his floor. She was looking at his apartment as he was looking at her, probably coming to the same conclusion everyone else did between these four walls — that Emilio was barely hanging on. That was all right. He could tell that she wasn’t hanging on very well, either.

“But I have more than a microwave.” Not that he ever used his oven. The most action it had gotten since Emilio moved in was when Teddy used it to cook Gabagool’s lamb. Still, if he were going to make a cake, wouldn’t the oven be his first instinct? “Sure. Start hissing.” She probably would. Van was a weird kid, odd in ways that didn’t entirely make sense to him. His eyes went to Perro again, tail wagging absently as he looked at Van. Maybe the ways in which she was odd would make more sense if he had more information. But how could he find out without pushing? Did he want to know? It felt like a burden, sometimes, knowing things. It felt heavier than he knew what to do with. She took the coffee and he watched her, glancing towards the closed door. “Do you walk into every apartment you walk by if the door is open? You should probably stop doing that.” Especially if she wasn’t human. What if he were a ranger or a warden, whichever was able to detect whatever it was she happened to be? What if he were the kind of person who’d stab someone just for being in the wrong place? She barely knew anything about him. Why did she feel safe enough to walk in his door without flinching? “I don’t know.”

—

“But it’s about the time it takes.” Van paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Or doesn’t take, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.” She didn’t know how a microwave could cook an egg in a couple of seconds when it felt like she was standing over a stovetop for hours. She figured that down the line, it’d probably just be better to show him what she was talking about than to keep bringing it up without any reference. Knowing him, he’d like them, just like he did the slim jims. It was his loss on the yoohoos.

When he told her to start hissing, she nearly spilled the pot of coffee. She grabbed it, wincing as the heat licked her fingers, but shook the pain away by pressing her fingers against the back of her ear– something her mom had always done. She wasn’t sure why she still did it. Van shook her head instead of starting to do what he had asked of her, even though she knew he hadn’t meant it. “Not right now. The throat is on cool down. Did too much car karaoke.” More like board karaoke, but she didn’t feel like explaining why she was carless right now.

At his question, she shrugged. “What if I said I did?” It wasn’t that she didn’t. Van had a weird habit of wandering into places she didn’t necessarily belong in. When she was a kid, her grandma had to practically force her out of somebody’s birthday party just because they had a bouncy house. Then again, that made a little more sense. “Yeah, I don’t know either.” She took a sip of the coffee, the liquid scalding the roof of her mouth. Ow. She flinched slightly, but kept drinking, ignoring the way it hurt the back of her throat. She wasn’t sure why she was chugging it now, but she couldn’t stop. She’d say it was to assert dominance, if Emilio asked. Really, it provided something she needed; reprieve from the jumbled thoughts in her head. “This was a good talk.” She should probably go. She looked around the apartment, then to Perro. “Can I buy him a toy? I don’t– I wasn’t allowed to have pets, so can I buy him one? Not his own pet, but a toy.” She could focus on something normal like a dog. Even if that same dog was supposedly not a fan of people, but had been of her. Maybe she wasn’t all bad, or maybe the dog had shit intuition.

—

Emilio had never made a mug cake before, but to be fair… he’d never actually made a traditional cake, either. He had no concept of how long either would take. Things did seem to take less time in the microwave, but who was he to say if the same could be said for a cake? Either way, though, he didn’t think it was something worth arguing with Van about. If he kept at it, she’d figure out he’d never done a lot of things, and she’d be annoying about it. He’d like to avoid her being annoying.

She seemed surprised at his ‘suggestion,’ spilling some of that hot coffee on her hand. Emilio raised a brow, looking down to where the liquid had dripped onto the dirty carpet as if he cared about that, as if the stain was even visible among all the other stains down there. “All right. Sure.” It’d probably freak Perro out if she started hissing, anyway… though he’d be more at ease if Perro were freaked out by her. The dog’s calmness set Emilio on edge, in spite of the fact that his views on the supernatural had shifted since Mexico.

“Then you should probably start picking out your favorite holding cell at the police station. Not everyone is nice like me. A gringa would have called the police on you.” There was no chance of Emilio calling them, of course, and even if there were, he doubted they’d respond. WRPD didn’t tend to waste their time responding to every little call from Worm Row. If they did, they’d probably never have time to do anything else. He raised a brow as she began swiftly draining the coffee pot, but didn’t comment. If she wanted to burn her mouth on it, that was fine. He wouldn’t stop her. “Sure,” he agreed. “Good talk.” He thought she’d leave then, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked back to Perro. His expression softened at her question. He understood her, to an extent. He’d never been allowed pets growing up, either, but he’d also never understood that they were a thing enough to want one. Still, he could admit that having Perro around… helped. In its own kind of way. “Yeah,” he told her with a nod. “Yeah, you can buy him a toy. He likes the ones that squeak.” And maybe the dog would help her, too. He was good at that. “Just do me a favor. When you come over to bring it to him… wait for me to answer the door before you come inside.”

#para: pot meet kettle #para: emilio #self harm tw #wickedswriting #//self harm is not actual self harm but it was put there 2 be safe

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greer-morgan · 9 months

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Family Ties | Self-Para

“It's just there's so much of it. The future is real, but... the past, well it's... all made up.”

Time: February

Place: District Ten (the funeral of Prairie Quartz)

Greer flicked open Prairie's knife, which was tucked at the bottom of the pocket of her long black coat. She ran her thumb along the blade and folded it closed again, before starting the process over in a steady rhythm. She'd nicked the pad of her thumb this same way at least a dozen times by now, so often that she knew there would be a scar there when she finally let it heal over.

It was an unseasonably mild day, almost pleasant. Greer was caught somewhere between grateful that Prairie had gotten a nice day and angry at the sun just for having the audacity to shine. But despite the sun, everything was still and stark, and bare. February seemed to be dipping her toe into spring for just a moment, ready to pull it back out again without warning. The threat of cold made all of the red and white flowers pop against the scenery and the new quartz headstone, freshly placed into hard earth.

They'd all stood in small groups for the memorial— a few peacekeepers, The Morgans, Greer by herself, Prairie's father by himself to give a speech— none of them brave enough to cry in front of the others. That vulnerability was a currency too valuable for any of them to be willing to exchange with the others. But it had been a nice service, Greer wished she could think as she walked away.

"Hey! hey, Greer wait up." Greer's brother jogged up behind her.

"What?" She tossed over her shoulder, almost deciding not to stop.

"I've... I've been thinkin'. There's a lot'a talk about what's goin' on in Eleven, and people are gettin' organized in Ten too. I've been thinkin' about helpin' out."

Greer laughed sharply, which cast a shadow of hurt over Cal’s features. "What's funny about that? I wanna make somethin’ happen. I thought you of all people’d be all about it."

"Why would I give a shit?" Greer turned to face him, settling under the low, twisted branches of a bare tree. She was tempted to lean against the trunk, already exhausted by both the day and the impending conversation, but she thought better of giving up whatever physical space she could command.

"'Cause shit's gonna be different. People are talkin' about endin' the Games, G. Don't you want that?" He answered her, a child-like optimism to his voice.

"Yeah, of course I- fuck, Cal... I guess-"

"You guess what?" He cut her off.

"I guess I just don't fuckin' believe you. You're not gonna get involved. You're not gonna risk your career, the money you get from dad. You're gonna what? Start swingin' a gun around? Killin' peacekeepers? There's a fat fuckin' chance of that. You? Who's so afraid of causin' a scene? Who'd never say one bad word against dad? Yeah, you're the real face of a rebellion, Cal."

"Oh, unlike you, who only knows how to cause a scene?"

"What's that mean?"

"You know exactly what it means. You love to yell and complain about everythin'. Oh, look at me. I'm the only one who's ever had a sad fuckin' feelin'. You won the Games and you just went and cut us all off? Why? For the drama of it?"

"I did not! I did not cut you all off!" The words ripped themselves from her throat with such force it was almost sore. Her skin grew hot with the frustration that no matter how loud her voice got, she was never heard. "I cut mom and dad off. I did not cut you off! It's not like any of y'all ever thought to call me either. That shit goes two ways."

"What the fuck happened to us, G? We used to be so close, and then one day you were like a whole different person."

"Sorry, I had some other shit goin' on."

"I'm not talkin' about the Games, and you know it. It was way before that. We used to do everything together, and now you're like this cold bitch I don't even recognize."

"It’s ‘cause I was the only one who ever got in trouble for any of it."

"Oh, yup. There it is," Cal rolled his eyes. "You remember things so much worse than they really were. You make everythin’ out to be the end of the damn world."

"I do not remember them worse. You just never got in trouble for anythin'! I stood in that damn corner starin' at a fuckin' wall for hours-"

"It was not hours."

"It was hours."

"It was maybe thirty minutes."

"It was hours. And it's not just that,” she breathed. “It's all the other shit too— the manipulative shit they’re always doin’. The time they took my bedroom door off the hinges? I still don't know what fuckin' for. Or all the times mom and dad pretended I wasn't even there. You didn't have to beg them to look at you on fuckin' Hearth Day, Cal! That house was a fuckin' prison, but it never affected you, 'cause you're mom and dad's perfect boy."

"It wasn't always easy for me either. Dad didn't hit you the way he hit me. It sucked sometimes, but he made me fuckin' tough, Greer."

"Yeah, real tough. Filin' paperwork and livin' off dad's money. You think he's gonna buy you nice things when you run off to play rebel?" They both knew from the start he was never really going to do it, but this was beyond that now. This was a lifetime of resentment boiling over, and neither was willing to cut the heat.

"Me? Look at you! It's real easy to be high and mighty, cuttin' off dad's money when you're bein' funded by the president. I don't see you strugglin' to make ends meet."

"You think I wanted this? Any of this? I should've died, but instead I played their stupid little game and did exactly what they all fuckin’ wanted from me— start to finish— and I get to live with that every day. Prairie's dead, and I couldn't bring her or anyone else home, and I get to live with that too. I should've died, and mom and dad don't give a single shit as long as it fits into their narrative, and they don't give a shit about your life, or Leighton, or Teeny, or Avery-Kate either. I hate to be the one to say it, but mom and dad don't actually give a shit if you're even alive, Cal. They never have. They never will."

"That's not true," Cal protested, even though a part of him knew it was. "Dad tells us all the time how you leavin' broke his heart."

"Yeah, well..." She shook her head. "Funny how he cares now. Could'a cared any time in the last twenty-four years. But I guess that’s the kinda thing that’s easier to say than do, ‘cause you only gotta say it when it makes you look good. No fuckin' follow through. Sorta like your whole rebel idea, huh?"

All that anger had fizzled into nothing but silence between them now. Silence that lasted too long. Silence that made Greer's chest ache. There was nothing left to say.

"I'll see you at the next one of these," Greer concluded, already walking away, tossing a half-hearted wave over her shoulder at him.

"Yeah," he answered her, more under his breath than out loud. “See ya then, I guess.”

#self harm tw #very light mention if you squint #abuse tw #death tw #it's general bad vibes okay but not too bad #also this is long af but I promise it's mostly just dialogue #self para #ah133 #133

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emine--yalaz · 1 year

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Consequences

Emine knew why they were laying low. She did get out to stir a little trouble, but for the most part she had been staying close to Kerem. He had told her about the text from Melissa and knew something was going to happen soon. It was only a matter of time.

It was something she wasn’t thinking about at the moment.

The sun was out and Spectre needed to be walked. They had picked their flat because of the park across from it. It was great to take her out and throw the ball.

Emine threw the ball, using the stick it came with, watching Spectre chase after it full speed. Her head turns to Kerem. “You would think after the fifteenth time we have thrown this, that she would get tired.” She giggles, crouching down when the Belgian Malinois comes running back with her tail wagging.

Spectre bumps into Emine, dropping the ball at his feet. “I think she likes when you throw it. Yours tend to go further than mine.” Before he can even respond to Emine, her head turns when he hears steps and a voice and instantly feels her body grow rigid and her hand falls down grab her knife. With Kerem she didn’t bring her gun out, but never left home without her knives.

Everything happened in a blur, her reaction off when a gun was pulled out and a fire shot. She didn’t even realise that a scream left her when she witnessed her dog shot in front of her, the body falling to the ground and blood splattered her clothes. Her heart pounded against her chest, breaking, and rage filled her eyes.

Her head snapped in the fucking Ruthacunt’s direction when he tossed a note at Kerem walking away. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” She mutters through gritted teeth, her steps making in his direction when her eyes drift to the limo he climbs into not surprised to see the bitch Lin there, but the only thing making her stop in her tracks is the other body....the traitor.

Another reason for her to hate Nevra. How could she let them kill the dog that she brought home with Kerem?

Dumbstruck, the Turk watched the limo pull away and she glanced over her shoulder at Kerem, unable to speak to him, her blood boiling and needing to end the life of something...or someone, she walked away.

The only time she had ever walked away from him. @msmelissalin, @erdogan-nevra, @kerem-dogulu

#consequences #self-para #character development #char dev #tw: death #tw: animal death #tw: animal harm

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wordsmithings · 1 year

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How To Kill A God - Post Jörmungandr fight

TW: Blood, mentions of bodily harm, swearing, pain. lots of it :D

So that was it, then.

Reza stood there, rather dumbfoundedly if he had to say so himself, as he watched Jörmungandr disappeared from in front of him in the blink of an eye and appeared almost instantaneously behind Chae. Before any of them could react, the rider, who pretty much everyone had forgotten about, rose and took care of the snake God in one swoop, fog and thunder and all. His body could barely contain the Godly powers manifested around them, and it was practically a miracle that he was standing where he stood at all, trembling at the sheer enormity of power that he could never phantom.

Was this how the people of old felt when they were in the presence of Gods warring amongst themselves? Helpless in their futile effort to neutralize an ambitious God that used them as pawns?

What was a man to a God, after all.

Fuck, he hated being philosophical.

Reza looked up as the rider spoke, when the finger was pointed at him. A shudder went down his spine when their eyes met. He felt his knees weakened at the sheer presence, though he forced himself not to buckle under pressure. God or not, he hated bending his knees to them more than anything. He gritted his teeth as he looked back at the rider; who looked old and young at the same time, who carried himself with the pride of a ruler, a father, a man and not a man. Reza wasn’t quite sure what sort of expression he wore, but it was definitely an unwelcoming one. Defiance till his very last breath.

But then his right eye started to hurt, to the point that plucking it out would be a much lesser pain than the one that he was feeling. Guttural scream escaped his lips as he clutched his right eye, wondering if this was the price for his insolence towards a God. It was a small price to pay, but good God did it hurt like Hell. Then a voice came to him, ethereal and fatherly.

My gift to you, son of man. To see possible futures when a grand choice is presented.

Then it whispered of warning; The children of Loki are still out there. So they might have to fight again. And they might not be so lucky then.

Fuck.

Both the rider and Jörmungandr disappeared after his warning, and the fog was lifted, bringing them back in Lords Wood. The pain in his right eye subsided, though the throbbing headache returned full force once the adrenaline cam crashing down. Reza still gritted his teeth as he assessed his own body; punctured wounds from Jörmungandr’s fangs on his arm began to close on itself as the spirits honoured the pack between them, and so was the wounds on his neck. He waited with bated breath for the consequence of forcing open the spiritual communication like it always did, but nothing came to. Perhaps the Gods’ power overrode the curse?

Reza turned to his companion, the situation was too somber for his liking, everyone was still reeling from what just happened. forcing himself to relax his body with a loud exhale as he took a step towards Helia and co.. He opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words that came from his lips. Instead, a coughing fit started to hit him, blood and black bile mixed together and stained his palm as he covered his mouth. His body crumpled as waves of pain engulfed him, his body spasmed and twitching on the ground as he choked on his own blood and vomit.

Ah, so it was delayed, he idly thought, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he started to lose consciousness from the immense pain. Muffled voices started to echo in his ears alongside a loud ringing from the spirits buzzing frantically around him. They wouldn’t be able to heal him from this, which was unfortunate. Reza tried to fight back the sleep that was gnawing at him, searching for Helia or Chae, or Hell, even Evanora, that edgy bastard. Who does she think anyway? The punisher? I should tease her about it. But sleep came to him anyway, his body felt heavy and limp on the wet forest ground. And though he knew not to, Reza let his consciousness slipped anyway, with such a silly thought in his mind and a small smirk on his lips.

==To be continued==

#blood tw #bodily harm tw #reza: hc para #I had to sneak away from work to write this cause I'm overflowing with idea #to torture reza 😈

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miloxhughes · 1 year

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Dec. 10th / 7:35am

No one knows what it's like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like To be hated To be fated To telling only lies

The heavy knocks that echoed throughout Milo’s apartment abruptly woke him up from a deep sleep. He groggily wiped his hand across his eyes and forehead, jaw clenching up tight as another series of knocks bounced off the walls of his condo. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He snarled out angrily, yanking his sheets and blanket off his nude form in one harsh sweep. Milo pulled a pair of sweatpants from off the floor and threaded his fingers through his unkempt bedhead. He had no clue who was at his door, but they were about to witness a very unpleasant side to Milo. The party-loving male had a late night that wrapped up only two hours ago. It started with doing what Nathan asked of him. Stopping by Le Cirque to see if anyone out of the ordinary was sticking out. No one appeared out of place while he was there. All seemed business as usual at the club. Just as he was finishing his last drink, a girl he had hooked up with a couple times before approached his table. One shot led to another, and another, and another. The pair eventually found their way back to her place where they continued to drink and snort lines off each other. The sun was just about to rise by the time Milo stumbled into his condo, dragging himself upstairs to pass out on his bed. If he had any idea that some pain-in-his-ass would be pounding on his door two hours later, Milo would have skipped out on his romp with the girl from the club.

He lumbered downstairs, muttering every curse word under the sun with each step he took. “This better be real fuckin’ important!” Milo unlocked his front door, yanking it open, ready to raise hell with the poor soul waiting for him. Standing at the threshold to his condo were two men wearing gold badges on the outside of the coats. Panic wasn’t a sensation Milo was used to. He had learned to thrive in chaos, which in turn made him less fearful in life. Seeing two cops at his door sparked a small flame of fright in his gut. Milo’s first and only thought was they were here to question him about Nathan and Freddie. Why else would two serious looking cops be standing at his door? “Uh, can I help you fellas with something?”

“Milo Hughes?” The first detective piped up.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?”

“I’m Detective Keller and this is Detective Barns. We’re from the homicide unit out in Boulder.” He added, showing Milo their badges.

His brows furrowed tightly together. “Homicide?”

“Yes. Your mother is Jamie Hughes, correct?”

Bewilderment etched into Milo’s features at the mention of his mom. He hadn’t heard or spoken to her since she had kicked him out when he was 19. She left town not long after that.

“Yeah, but I don't know where she is if that’s why you’re here. I haven’t seen her in years.”

The two detectives glanced at each other before turning back to look at Milo. “We’re sorry to be the ones to tell you this, but your mother’s body was found a few days ago in Boulder. It appears she overdosed on heroin. We ran her DNA and you were the only living relative we could find in our system. We need you to come to Boulder and identify her body.”

Milo stood motionless as the words sank deep into his head. He had made dark jokes before about his mother dying because of how heavily involved she was in drugs and alcohol. There was always a part of him that knew she wasn’t going to be long for this world. Not unless by some miracle she managed to sober up and stay clean. He never really considered how he might feel about her dying, mostly because he chose not to think about her at all. Milo had zero positive memories connected to his mother, so there was no reason to dwell on their past. He searched within himself for some kind of emotion to connect to her death, but there was nothing to be found. “Say I do this..,what happens then?”

“If you identify her as your mother, you have the option to either claim her body, or you can wave all claims to her body and give her over to the department of Transitional Assistance.”

Milo chewed into his bottom lip. One part of him wanted nothing to do with any of this. Why should he care what happens to her now that she’s gone for good? Then there was some unexplainable part of him that wanted to go and see for himself if it was really her. Milo felt entirely confident that he could handle it. He could identify her body, sign over his rights, and never have to think about it again. “Alright. I can make the drive today.”

“We would appreciate that, Mr. Hughes. Here’s my card. I wrote the address to the medical examiner on the back. Just ask for me or Detective Barns when you get there.”

A few hours later

Milo couldn’t help from shifting about as he waited in the front lobby of the medical examiner’s office. The back of his neck had been practically rubbed raw from the amount of times his palm had anxiously dragged back and forth across it. When he finally caught sight of one of the detectives who showed up at his condo, Milo shot up from his seat, ready and eager to be done with this whole thing. He escorted Milo to the morgue, pausing for a moment when they reached the door.

“Do you need a minute before we step in?”

A short huff blew past Milo’s lips. “No, let’s get this shit over with. I got somewhere to be tonight.”

The cop gave the younger male a concerning look before opening the door to the morgue. The smells that reached Milo’s nose were new and unpleasant. He couldn’t fathom how anyone would want to work around dead bodies for a living. The medical examiner greeted the pair, walking them over to where they were storing his mother’s body. Milo ignored the way his heart started to frantically pound like a jackhammer under his chest. His fingers balled into fists, digging his nails into his palms to focus on the pain and not his nervous heart rate. The medical examiner opened the door and pulled out the sliding steel table, revealing the black body bag containing the woman that had brought Milo into this world. The sound of the zipper being opened caused Milo’s stomach to lurch. He swallowed down the bit of bile rising to his throat, digging his blunt nails harder into the flesh of his palms. The examiner pushed the flap open. Milo glared down at the pale, unmoving body. There she was. The woman he was meant to love, but grew to hate was gone. His blue hues couldn’t tear away from her thin face and sunken eyes. Her skin had been robbed of all color and nothing was left but an ashy shade. Run. The voice popped into his head without warning. Milo tugged at the collar of his shirt as his throat started to tighten. “Yeah, it’s my mom. Give me whatever papers I need to sign to get rid of her. I don’t fuckin’ want her.”

Both men in the room started in slight surprise at the harsh words leaving Milo’s mouth. The detective tried to suggest Milo reconsider, but he immediately rejected the idea. His mind had been made up. All he wanted, needed, was to get this over with and get the hell out of there. His stomach twisted and turned as he quickly scribbled his signature on the necessary papers to hand over his mother. When the paperwork was done and he was free to leave, Milo all but bolted out of the building. He only made it halfway through the parking lot before losing his fight with the nausea in his stomach. It felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut, reeling him forwards as the contents in his stomach harshly spewed forth from his mouth. He retched until nothing was left and a series of dry heaves tightened up his spine. Dizzy and weak, Milo stumbled slightly towards his car, wiping the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He all but fell into his driver’s side seat, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. “You fuckin’ pussy. Get your shit together.” Milo angrily whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. The image of his mother in the body bag flashed into his mind, forcing his lids to snap open. He needed her out of his head. She didn’t deserve to be there. Water welled in his eyes, which in turn only made Milo more enraged with himself. He sat up in his seat and knocked his fist against his jaw, grunting roughly at the hard punch. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Milo refused to shed a single tear over his mother. God knows she didn’t shed any over how she treated her son. He snatched up his cell with trembling fingers and quickly texted his dealer. Milo knew exactly how to deal with ghosts from his past. The surefire cure to making all thoughts of his mother disappear. It didn’t matter how long it would take. Milo wasn’t going to stop until every trace of his mother vanished from his mind for good.

#self para 001 #tw death #tw loss #tw cops #tw morgue #tw drug mention #tw overdose #tw vomit #tw self harm #tw panic attack

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millenniumgod · 2 years

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He feels the sun shine through the window to soak into his skin, feels the breeze flow past the curtains, past him, through the hall. There's the lingering scent of fresh laundry upon it, warm and inviting. It's almost cathartic.

He hears only the birds and a couple of cars now. It's just early enough for there to still be a hush over the city.

These are all things he's experienced before, but not like this. Not with his own skin, his own ears. It's always been through someone else's. Through Ryou's, mostly. It's been three thousand years since he's felt his own senses.

When he looks into the mirror, the face that greets him is both familiar and different. Close to his original human self, but with a little bit of his host mixed in. He's not as coarse, not as worn. His scars have disappeared, leaving him as bare as a newborn.

It's... foreign. He almost likes it, but it's not quite him. The feeling begins to eat at him as memories of looking at his reflection in the river begin to resurface. He can recall seeing his face in pitchers and bowls full of water, fingers trailing along his right eye where the scar tissue was.

No, this isn't right. He's been granted a second chance, he should be grateful - but he's never really been the type. He keeps staring until disgust begins to creep in. He has to physically hold on to the countertop to keep himself from punching the glass.

Bakura - no longer the spirit, the entity - reaches down into the cabinet under the sink, where he's had a blade hidden for a couple of years. Following this, he produces a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. Seems moot, but he knows what questions he'll be asked after he's done and it will be funnier if he can honestly say that he'd taken at least a little precaution.

They sit on the sink counter for a moment while he debates with himself. Luckily for him, it doesn't matter which side wins.

He pops open the cap of the bottle, then flips open the knife. He douses the blade with alcohol and takes a breath in, eyes flicking back up to his awful reflection. The shadows under his eyes seem deeper - darker.

His skin stings, it burns, as he drags the blade across it. This pain, he remembers like it was yesterday. Blood streams down over his brow, over his eye, now closed. He continues to cut despite the hurt, he grits his teeth, and tries to stifle the yell that threatens to bubble out of him.

Flashes of his past life mix with his vision: scenes of guards standing over him, angry nobles threatening him. Finally, he sees the moment he just about lost his eye. Another guard approached him with a sharp rock, began carving into his face as he struggled.

He’s breathing heavy when everything clears up, the memories fade out and reality fades in. He looks into the mirror again, half of his vision red, and he lets out a primal yowl. Gods, it hurts. The pain - something he normally enjoys - is nearly unbearable.

His hand shakes as he presses it to the glass. It takes a moment to realize that it’s also red, but not because of his eyes. He leaves wet streaks wherever his fingers touch.

Oh, he’s losing a lot more than he thought he would, actually.

His senses begin to swim. The room sways back and forth as he stands, and he has to grab onto the sink to keep himself from falling. He feels faint, woozy.

After a second, he has to take a knee. After another, his vision goes from half red to straight black.

The last thing he feels is the cold tile on his cheek.

#AUGURY'S AUSPICE ; EX DIRIS #VERSION ; ASTROIEDES #BLACKEST MAGIC ; UNSAFE #TW: SELF MUTILATION #TW: SELF HARM #this is so fuckin long lmao whoops #so astroides is the verse where bakura has his own body and that's what i've been setting up for these last few self-paras #just because i'd like to have it #main verse is still the boys in ryou's body tho so that's what you'll get unless you specify you want this one *dabs*

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strawberrycollectivex3 · 6 days

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idk if you want healthy or unhealthy tips ed wise so ill give both!

healthy: exercise but not excessively

Limit caloric intake healthily

weigh regularly to monitor progress

eat healthier

if you can talk to a nutritionist/coach for help

unhealthy: limit meals

exercise excessively to the point of collapse

don't eat unless necessary

only drink water

weigh compulsively

stop buying food to not tempt yourself

replace meals with ice

coming from someone with a cis3d who's done all of the above, they can work! be safe and happy 3ding :] (3=e)

thank you !! we really appreciate the tips both the safe and unsafe ones !! we can do a little bit of both but thank you so much for the tips !!

#tw 3d #cw 3d #trans 3d #trans ed #pro rq 🌈🍓#rq 🌈🍓#pro radqueer #radqueer #pro transid #pro endo systems #pro endo #endo friendly #endo safe #system #dni harmful paras #dni anti endos #trans anorexia

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matthewbaudelaire · 4 months

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Synopsis: An emotional encounter involving his father drives Matthew to a self-destructive behavior. Jean-Claude (@duderosiers) takes him to hospital and the two share a sweet moment together. Trigger Warnings: hospital, self-harm, depression, suicide ideation, disturbing imagery

Matthew sat with his hands cradled in his lap, poorly wrapped with thin sheets of cotton gauze saturated scarlet. He had made his own poor attempt at tending to his wounds after the self-inflicted altercation with the bark of a pine tree and the sought after intentional fight with a random stranger out in the streets but it was hard when every movement made his fingers splinter with pain. He'd just managed to scrape the splinters from his knuckles and pour hydrogen peroxide over the mutilated skin and loosely wrap them, fingers already turning purple from the bruising. His lip was split, both eyes blackened, he was pretty sure a rib or two was bruised, and his thigh from when he'd been knocked down and kicked repeatedly until he stopped trying to get up. He hurt, all over, but it felt good. It felt like a relief to be so broken up outside that it finally matched how he was feeling on the outside, a strange macabre sort of validity that it was also shameful and he couldn't bear to have anyone look at him, least of all Jean-Claude and yet there he was in the passenger seat of the car with J.C. in the driver's, off to the hospital to be seen by more people.

"I'm sorry," he felt himself saying, his tongue felt sore, he must have bitten it at some point. He looked out the window, at the dark shadows of passing buildings and trees, almost imagining monsters within them that would chase the car. Maybe if he was lucky, one would swallow him whole. He didn't know what he expected when Matthew wouldn't text back or return his calls - the worst, probably, Jean-Claude knew that his boyfriend struggled with depression and reaching out when he needed help. That's why J.C often took the barging approach, worming his way into the cracks and ripping them apart till his endless need to care couldn't be ignored.

And yet - this? This was not something even he could've forseen. A hand bludgeoned, the man he adored broken into a thousand tiny pieces. The winces with each breath, the coaxing to get him into a car so the two could get him proper help. Jean-Claude was silent as he drove, his chattiness once again extinguished in the face of something he didn't know how to deal with. He hadn't asked how it had happened, wouldn't, knew that self-destructive tendencies ran in Baudelaire blood.

"Its okay," voice soft, a hand leaving the steering wheel to pat at a thigh. "It'll be okay," J.C wasn't convinced by his own words anymore.

Perhaps the worst part of all this was J.C.'s kindness towards him, it was so undeserved that Matthew felt his head shake as swollen eyes started to well with tears. He didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve him, the thoughts spiraled in his mind, taking root and not letting him go until it clutched around his lungs and made it even harder to breathe. He kept thinking back to the advice his uncle had given him, to ask Jean-Claude how much would be too much, where was the breaking point, what did he need to do to ruin this beyond repair, but fear paralyzed him and made him mute. All he could do now was hold his ruined hands and cry. It wasn't noticed at first, the tears silent before a hitch of breath alerted Jean-Claude to Matthew's sobs, panic immediately seizing him. He had seen his boyfriend in many states but, never likes this. So defeated, so clearly ready to give up and J.C made a split decision to suddenly turn the car and half-park on the side of the road just before they really hit the hospital. Engine killed, lights off, the vampire turned to his boyfriend. Oh. That beautiful face, how it was so often etched with sadness, with rage, while all he desired was to see it light up with a smile.

"Matty," voice low, hands reaching up to gently cup a jaw, being careful of bruising. "Oh Matty," What else was there to say? A thumb caressed skin lovingly. It even hurt to cry, the swollen parts of his face protested the emotion that spilled out of him, stretching skin uncomfortably as it burned beneath his skin, the only reprieve came from the cold touch of Jean-Claude's tender fingers against his stubbled jaw. "I'm sorry," he said again, tears hot, feeling like magma scouring down his cheeks. He swallowed thickly, "I --" he licked his lips, tasted salt and iron, "I tried to be better." It was so easy to fall and so hard to get back up. "I'm sorry." A shush came from his lips the moment his boyfriend began to apologise for the state he was in, J.C shaking his head. "No apologies," He asked of him sweetly, moving to carefully swipe away at fast falling tears, brow painted with both concern and sorrow. Everything he carried so quietly had reared up to eat him alive, J.C determined to salvage what he could from the jaws of a beast he wasn't sure he could beat. "I know. It's okay - to fall down again. I will help you back up everytime," And, he thought,the times you can't get up, I'll drag you up to stand and keep you propped upright till you can.

Jean-Claude knew his boyfriend was in pain, and desired him close anyways, gentle touches bringing Matty to his chest best he could for a hug. Had love always been so painful? He couldn't remember. Matthew shifted, uncomfortable as it was in the seat of the car, so that he could be pulled in closer to Jean-Claude, his thigh pushing against the buckle of the seatbelt near the center console against a tender bruise beneath his jeans. He told himself he deserved the discomfort and the pain as penance for every wrong he'd done. "You don't have to," voice muffled, weak and wavering, eyes burning as he sniffled and fear entered. This was too much, he was too much. Jean-Claude deserved better than him, someone who would smile with him always, someone who didn't need to be fitted back together, someone whose edges were a little less serrated, a little bit easier to swallow, not him who was more broken glass than person. "Am I --" his voice faltered, struggling to get the words out, to even find the right ones or any words at all, Am I hard to love? Will you leave? Am I so easy to leave? Please don't leave me.

"How much is too much?" He finally asked. Am I too much? Does it hurt too much? In the end he couldn't come up with his own words and borrowed the exact ones his uncle had given him, "What does fucking this up look like?" "I want to. I think you're worth it, you know that, deep down," Jean-Claude responded to him softly, cold lips pressing kiss after kiss to the others hairline. It was true, Matthew had taken root in him long ago and such a tree resisted the rot he was insistent he had. He thought about how he'd pined for Matty, wanted nothing more than to keep him in bed every morning after their early fumblings and feedings. How such a thing had blossomed into wanting him to be safe, warm, happy. Above all, loved. Was it unrealistic, to believe he alone could provide all those things? Perhaps but, J.C was willing to try.

The question caught him off guard, grip around Matty slackening slightly as the words hit his ears. How much is too much?. What did that mean? What does fucking this up look like? Ice crept up his spine slowly was - was Matty attempting to break up with him? Or persuade him to break up with him? Green eyes stared deeply into Hazel, shaking his head, curls bouncing with sheer force.

"Look at me." J.C all but demanded, soft voice discarded, waiting for the gaze. God. What a mess the face was, J.C would need to find who did this and make them pay somehow. "Honestly? I don't know. But - it isn't this. You told me, when we got together, that you'd disappoint me. Hasn't happened yet," He reminded him. "I'm in this relationship with all of you, Matty. The good and the not-so-good. People are complicated, I accept this part of you, and love it just as much as the other," Hazel eyes wanted to look away but the demand in Jean-Claude's voice for their eyes to meet was too pressing to ignore, so desperate to keep him, Matthew's eyes locked onto his. It was easy not to believe him, how could this not be a disappointment, he'd already convinced himself that he was one that it was hard to believe the opposite could be true but the rest of Jean-Claude's words stopped him. One word in particular. It registered in his eyes, the surprise at hearing it. Love. Was it love? Love. Could he really love him?

The dark bruising around his eyes, red and violet made the lightness of his eyes more apparent, lashes dark and clinging together in dampened spikes shadowed in the dimness of the car's interior, illuminated only by the streetlights outside that came down from through the windshield and the passenger window behind his head. His tumultuous emotions seemed to subside, the burning fear in his stomach dissipated as quickly as it had come and all that was left now was an all too familiar hollow ache as the emotions left his beaten and battered form.

"I'm sorry," the words ended up falling out of his lips once more, unable to do anything else but apologize again, "for being so much trouble… and for ignoring your texts." He leaned his head against the side of Jean-Claude's, "And for bleeding in your car." The energy in the vehicle seemed to drop all at once, the others sobs quietening down and leaving a hollow that Jean-Claude himself was all too familiar with. At least sadness filled something, nothing was endless, you chucked things at a black hole only foe them to get sucked in, and its pull to strengthen….

For him, Matty plugged that up. J.C hadn't felt better in years.

"You aren't trouble. You will never be troublesome nor a burden to me, Mon soleil," My sun, for he was just a planet that orbited him. Should the star collapse, J.C was sure to go with it. "What's a bit of blood to a vampire?" He asked, closing his eyes for a few brief moments as his boyfriend leaned against him. He listened to everything, the steady breathing, the thump of a slowing heartbeat, fingers drumming against a thigh. All lullabies capable of sending Jean-Claude to sleep….

"Feel like getting back on the road?" He wouldn't push if Matty needed a few more minutes. Matthew's eyes closed as well as he leaned into Jean-Claude, he had a firmness in him that was constantly surprising the human, a sense of security unfamiliar that he was still testing, the last thing he wanted to do was put too much weight on the other and damage the structural integrity that build him up. As much as J.C. said he would pick Matthew up whenever he fell, he did not want it to be too frequent, for every foundation, no matter how secure, was sure to crumble over time.

For the moment though, Matthew leaned the weight of his troubles and weary heart against him, relearning how to breathe, the drumming of the vampire's fingers against his thigh setting the pace for the beating of his heart until they were matched in time. As much as it hurt all over, part of him didn't want to leave. If they could just stay here like this, this small nice moment for a little bit longer, so he shook his head, forehead against the side of Jean-Claude's temple, the gesture felt more than seen.

"One more minute." The two sat, simply absorbing the company of the other, finding a quite solace in the silence of the car. Jean-Claude kept his eyes closed, not needing to breathe but doing it anyways. It often felt oddly calming to do such a thing, to focus on something else other than the silence his body gave. It was soon to be chaos in ED, a place J.C found himself frequenting with those he loved more than he'd like to admit.

One more minute. He counted it, tapped out all 60 of those seconds before slowly opening his eyes and letting out a sigh. It would be so easy to go home and hide from the world but…Matthew needed that hand looking at. Without it there would be no pottery, and with no pottery, a light would surely die within his boyfriend.

J.C turned, just a fraction, to press a careful kiss against his boyfriends lips. "Sorry. Pause is over," voice genuinely apologetic as he turned the key, engine roaring back to life. "Yeah," Matthew conceded, returning the kiss as reality filtered back in. He shifted back into his seat as the car's engine rumbled to life, thoughtless he tried to shift where the seatbelt strap rested against his shoulder and across his chest by sliding his hand across it, earning him a sharp sting of renewed pain from the action. He'd broken enough bones in the past to recognize how it felt. A broken hand previously wouldn't have mattered much to the human, an inconvenience only but now it was tied to something else he enjoyed and he couldn't deny that his thoughts were now lingering on the fact that he would have to stop pottery for some time until it healed and likely earn him a lot of disgruntled clients who were waiting for holiday presents. He would have a lot of time on his hands. A lot of time to do nothing. He wasn't good at nothing.

The drive to the hospital from here felt shorter than the first half, and they reached it unfairly soon. It was nearly a two hour wait in ED, even for a weeknight the place filled with an all manner of people. That was even before x-rays, prodding and poking, bones reset and wrapped up properly, pain meds administered. Go back to your doctor in a week to see how it's healing, rest etc etc. Questions regarding an assault, was there any charges that needed to be pressed? Jean-Claude made the decision to ask Matthew to stay at his for a day or two, just until he was somewhat standing stable. To look after him, to make sure that this self-destruction didn't spiral further into something worse.

If he was upset, worried, deeply concerned - J.C kept it quiet, knowing that his boyfriend would take such concerns as proof of his burdensome existence.

Still - it wasn't all bad. Having Matty at home felt nice, having him around was nice. "You alright?" He calls, shoving the front door open, bags in his arms full of actual food and a good brand of coffee. J.C often had some bits and bats in but, nothing substantial. Getting a meal with complimenting foods was a new challenge for the man who hadn't eaten in years. It wasn't always successful. Matthew has always tried to keep himself busy, because if he was busy then he wouldn't get caught up in the shroud of dark thoughts that seemed to follow him like a cloud of black smoke followed a coal engine, and being unable to work sucked. Being unable to do things sucked. He couldn’t even brew himself a decent cup of coffee without some assistance, the cast on his hand a wonderful nuisance. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was Jean-Claude. It was surprisingly really nice not having to say goodbye and instead only saying goodnight and then good morning. There was something entirely blissful about going to sleep in his arms and waking up still in them without the urgency or need to leave. It felt soft and delicate and he felt clumsy like a foal faced with something new.

"Yea, good," Matthew sounded from the couch, he'd just been watching some YouTube video where a professional volleyball player watched the anime Haikyu on his phone but stopped the video so he could get up, "Let me help, sansgue," quick to offer, always eager to try and help where he could. "I can take that." He had one partly good hand still. Everyday he got home and Matthew was still somewhere in the apartment made his little bud of anxiety shrivel further up, smile on his face as his boyfriend was quick to get up. J.C knew that not being at work, nor making art, was driving his boyfriend no short of stir-crazy. "Sure," A bag was handed immediately off, knowing that the other desperately desired something to do.

It was odd, living with someone else. Not bad odd - just different, coming home to a place that felt busy, no longer a lonely apartment. Jean-Claude hadn't properly lived with someone since….God, the 70s? And even then it wasn't like this. Matthew would eventually go home but…this was something to store for later. You can live together, it works.

"Wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner tomorrow? Or order in," The bruising wasn't…well. It wasn't great but J.C didn't think it looked as severe. Perhaps it was just him trying to convince himself Matty appeared better when…maybe be didn't. Matthew hoisted the bag in his grasp, concealing the strain and the pain by gritting his teeth until he had delivered it to a clear spot on the kitchen counter. He flexed his 'good' fingers, throbbing already from the short work and then started to remove items from the bag so they could be put away.

"And let the… two bushels of cauliflower you bought go to waste?" Matthew mused as he pulled them out. He teased because he could but really he was conscious of the dark purple bruises around his eyes, still a bit swollen, skin still tight. His hesitance on going out perhaps visible in the line of his lips, turned up into a smirk that was a little bit too small to be genuine. "Let's order in," he said, "I've been kind of craving mango sticky rice from that one Thai spot. You know, the one with the, um, teacup looking logo." "Its a vegetable. They're good for you," In actual fact, J.C felt somewhat overwhelmed by stepping into a supermarket and seeing everything on offer. Certainly, in his time, he'd been present at some lavish feasts but this was different. It gave him an odd sense of helplessness, and cauliflower happened to be on offer so he bought two. "I don't know what to do with it," He added on later, knowing he'd have to Google it. Jean-Claude was getting better with cooking but, knew he still had hurdles to cross. The vampire could hand make pasta but steaming? Very worrying.

"Order in it is," Thats why he asked, knowing that Matthew might not be up for strangers with their probing gazes and indelicate questions. Not even Jean-Claude knew what had happened to put his boyfriend in such a state…he still hadn't asked. "Oh yeah," Not that he'd really be partaking…even if he sometimes did get food just to feel more human, despite it tasting like ash on his tongue.

Never before has he missed being mortal. Now? It seemed to creep up on him in increasing amounts. Matthew nodded, his smile becoming more genuine, yes, vegetables were good for him and it was very sweet that he'd bought them considering that. He paused the task of unloading the bag of groceries to press a kiss against the cool side of the vampire's cheek. "I know what to do with cauliflower," he leaned into Jean-Claude’s side, "They're good roasted in the oven with olive oil. Salt and pepper. Or can make a cheese sauce and mix them in." A few random recipes off the top of his head or they could experiment.

He left one more kiss with J.C. before returning to the task of emptying the bag, pulling out a nice looking bag of coffee grounds that he sniffed and turned the packaging around so he could check it out further, clearly interested in it. Any given bit of affection is like an addiction to Jean-Claude who craves Matthew like no other thing. Its not even about the blood, its about feeling that somebody wants you, needs you. He was made to adore, yes but, he was also made to be adored.

Green eyes watch Matty fiddle with the coffee, hoping its a good enough offering. The last light of the day is long gone, winters darkness already in place, the warm glow of atmospheric lamps placed artfully around the apartment giving his boyfriend a soft aura. Oh, if that cold heart could swell with love it would. "I quite like you here. Having you all to myself," he admitted. The human lifts his head, turns to look at Jean-Claude as a small and soft smile begins to spread over his features; it hurts to smile, split lip and bruises pair any emotion with a dull throb, but he can't help it, the smile comes easily whenever he's with J.C. and it comes swiftly now. "I quite like being here." He makes his own quiet admission, "It's nice." Nice, such a small word to describe how it feels but he's never been good at expressing himself. The admission makes him all fluttery inside, unable to hide his own smile that immediately brightens up his features. He playfully bumps his hip against Matty's, hand raising to gently thumb against the plaster of the cast. J.C has drawn on it naturally, a bright Sunflower, leaving room for others who'll probably want to sign (Asher springs to his mind).

"Well," He humms, silly and fragile idea forming in his head. "You can stay as long as you want," More than the two days they'd agreed on. A week, a month, forever if he wanted. "And…I'll give you a spare key. So you can come round whenever you like," Matthew pauses, giving Jean-Claude a look that can only be described as vulnerable as the hazel in his eyes turns warm. "A spare key," he breathes slowly, feels the ache in his ribs as lungs expand. It's a second later of brief contemplation because he doesn't need to really think about it for too long to know that he wants it but that doesn't make it any less serious. A spare key, potentially room for him in a closet, a place for things in the bathroom, filling up the empty spaces of a kitchen with human things, things for him to make it a shared space of living, of living together eventually. "Okay," he nods once, eyes on the fingers on his cast bounce back up to J.C.'s face to see a smile that mirrors his own. "I'll stay the week," he says just as a start. I'll stay the week. The smile on his face seems to grow at the sheer idea of having Matty around more, sharp teeth on show and it takes restraint he usually doesn't have to jump at Matty and convince him to do filthy things on the damned kitchen counter. The spare key's a good idea then, it just makes sense that the other could come and go as he pleased, especially while still visibly injured. It was more than allowing him in, it was a chance to leave and come back to. It was a show of trust.

Those eyes! There must be a god for only a divine being could craft how they look when not clouded by pain or misery. J.C does indulge in his want, albeit carefully, slipping an arm around his boyfriends waist to bring him close for a kiss. He doesn't want to jostle any broken bones. His smile remains as he steps forward, reducing the space between them until there was none and still remains even as their lips meet. Physical pain almost entirely ignored for this pocket of happiness created just for them. He dares to be playful, as much as he can, nipping at the vampire's bottom lip as he pulls J.C.'s body even closer, earning himself a wince that manifests as a sharp inhale and a laugh. He remembers the soft admission made by Jean-Claude in the car, love, and feels it in his shoulders and across his chest applying a pressure there that makes his spine tingle in an unconscious shiver, thinking a quiet thought, Is this love? A foreign thing almost unfamiliar and not something he thought he'd ever be faced with, something that belonged entirely to others and couldn't be claimed by himself, somehow convinced he was forever barred from this precious thing, yet here he thought maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as unattainable as he thought. Matty leans into it, a source of delight for Jean-Claude who cannot stop the grin he gives into the kiss, bodies pressed flushed against eachother. Its almost maddening, the surge of emotion that rises through him whenever his boyfriend laughs, touches him gently, lavishes J.C with affection. Even then, the sound breaks forth from his lips anyways, a pure and happy sound and he pulls away only to kiss Matthew twice more afterwards. Hands move to secure themselves around the others neck. Ah, he thinks to himself, idly, it is love. It had been so many years since such an emotion had completely filled him up till it overflowed, unable to get the chalice any fuller than it currently was. "My boyfriend," he purrs softly. "You are mine. All mine, you know. I'm never giving up any inch of you," Matthew didn't anticipate the way Jean-Claude's purred words would make him feel but they glide over him warm like a velvet throw and envelop his heart. It's insane how much he physically responds to Jean-Claude's voice, goose bumps blossom down the backs of his arms and he thanks god that he's wearing a sweater to hide that fact. "I like the way that sounds," he mutters back lowly, speaking against his lips. "I like being yours."

#para: jean claude #hospital tw #self harm tw #depression tw #suicide ideation tw #disturbing imagry tw #finally got this up here lol

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